Then it dawned on him.
“What the hell, Cam! You tracked my phone’s location last night?”
“Had to. I knew you’d give me fuck all information otherwise,” she answered, like the absolute remorseless, relentless menace she’d always been. After his last little—episode—his shrink had gotten together with his mother and Cameron, convincing him to share his location with them on his phone. The app was set up to be used only as an emergency measure. She wasn’t supposed to be tracking his whereabouts because she wanted to know who, what, why, how, where, or when he went out to dinner or on a date. What the fuck? Unconcerned, acting totally innocent, Cameron placidly sipped her coffee, waiting for Tanner to divulge details of his evening. She obviously felt perfectly entitled to know everything and expected him to start talking.
But that façade didn’t remain in place for long. After about a minute, she broke.
“Oh, come off it! I was just being a concerned sister! Perfectly reasonable!”
“You’re a pain in the ass and a psycho!”
“Oh, give it up! Just tell me what I want to know,” she replied matter-of-factly.
Tanner glared at her in frustration, grabbed a chocolate croissant and stuffed most of it in his mouth in one go. He’dcave eventually, if only to set her straight on how not to use the location app for her own personal satisfaction. But, in the meantime, it was so much fun to stuff his cheeks with fresh baked goods like a squirrel loading up on acorns in the fall. And the sugar rush was amazingly satisfying while he delayed responding to her pesky-assed questions.
“Come on, Tan. What’s her name? Where’d you meet? Are you going to see her again?”
He swallowed the last bite of croissant down with a sip of coffee and sighed. “His name is Lance. I bought a desk from him—”
Of course, in her usual style, she interrupted him before he could finish.
“A guy?! Damn! How hard did you hit your head in that helo crash?”
He rolled his eyes.
“Chill out, Cam. Itwasn’ta date,” he explained, like it wasn’t immediately obvious. “The guy’s ex-girlfriend left a whole bunch of furniture behind when she moved out, told him she didn’t want any of it, and he offered to let me have it if I could help him fix a couple of things around his house. That’s all there is to it. Case closed.”
Cameron deflated and slumped over her coffee. With a put-upon sigh, she plucked an almond croissant from the box, taking a bite from it as she shook her head in disappointment.
“Can’t believe you let me think it was a date. Got all worked up for nothing!”
“I didn’t say anything about going out on a date. It’s your own damned fault for jumping to conclusions,” he said, snickering and waving the last glazed doughnut in front of her face.
She snatched it from him and stuffed it in her mouth so fast it was a blur. Then she stuck her tongue out at him.
“Cameron, please know I mean it when I say—you’re so very fucking annoying that you take it to a whole new level. Almost a professional one.”
Cameron pressed a hand to the middle of her chest, blinked rapidly and sniffled like she was trying to hold back tears.
“Oh, honey! You really do love me! That’s so sweet! Now go on and get in the shower. You reek, and we have to be at the hospital in 45 minutes.”
“What are you talking about?” Tanner asked, shaking his head. “The appointment for my arm is next week.” He’d just checked his calendar the night before when he promised Lance that he’d help him with some projects once he got his doctor’s approval.
“Sure, but I set up a follow up with the kinesiologist, Dr. Williston, that your surgeon referred you to for your leg. Guess I forgot to tell you.” She shrugged and smiled innocently. Tanner knew damned well she hadn’t forgotten at all. He’d flat out refused to go. His leg was done for. It would hurt for the rest of his life. He’d gotten that message loud and clear when the surgeon had explained his options. He also knew the surgeon had recommended Dr. Williston hoping that Tanner would finally agree to allow them to amputate the lower half of his leg, as the surgeon had originally recommended.
No. Fucking. Way.
“I’m not going.”
Maybe Cameron hadn’t quite understood where he stood on the issue. Or maybe she’d thought he’d cave under pressure. He wouldn’t. Not this time. Not ever. He’d fought tooth and nail to keep his left leg. As hard as it was to live with the pain, he sure as shit wasn’t going to let the doctors take it. Over his dead fucking body.
“Dr. Williston already knows how you feel. I swear—I’m not trying to trick you into anything. But if you want to keep walking on it, you need to learn how to keep it as healthy and mobile as possible.” She sounded so sincere that he paused to think this through.
As he did so, a tidal wave of panic swept over him, imagining having to survive yet another assessment and subsequent negative recommendation. He’d had more than enough of those already, and he sure as hell didn’t want—or need—another one to add to his trainwreck of a life. Why couldn’t she just back the hell off?
“Tanner, please! I just—do it for me? I hate seeing you in pain. If she can help you be just a little more comfortable, it would be worth going, right?”
He took another deep breath, relieved that his chest wasn’t so tight this time. Maybe if he could just stop feeling so stressed about it, he could manage this one damned appointment and close the book on this issue once and for all. A boy could dream, couldn’t he?
