“Can’t do that. Took an oath.”
Oh, screw his oath. “Your oath is to do no harm. This is harm. I’m dying of embarrassment.”
He exhales. “If I leave you like this,” he says, his voice dropping to that dangerous register, “I’ll stress. And when I stress, I run, and run, and run, and—”
“Okay,” I give in. “Jesus. I get it.”
He walks beside me, close enough that I can feel the heat radiating off him. I hate how much I want to lean on him. When we reach my door, I fumble with mykeys, my fingers clumsy and shaking. Before I can get frustrated, he reaches past me, takes the keys, and unlocks the door.
He steers me toward the couch. “Sit.”
I feel like a well-trained dog.
He adjusts the cushions, sliding one under my knees until the tension in my spine finally hits a dull roar. He looks satisfied with his handiwork.
“You’re very bossy.”
“You’re very injured,” he counters.
He slips my jacket off and eases my shoes away. The care in his movements hits me harder than the panic attack did. I stare at the ceiling, waiting for the lump in my throat to dissolve.
“Where are the painkillers?”
“Kitchen. Top drawer.”
I sink into the sofa, listening to the sounds of him moving through my apartment. Water running. Drawers clicking. It’s too domestic. I don’t like it.
He returns with a glass of water and the bottle. I’m mortified. “This is… a lot.”
“It’s basic care, Madison.”
“It’s humiliating.”
His expression shifts, the teasing gone. “Listen to me. That wasn’t humiliating. That was your body hitting a limit. You didn’t do anything wrong.”
I swallow hard. “Thanks.”
“Before you take these—when was the last time you ate?”
I open my mouth, then close it.
“Madison.”
“Breakfast,” I admit.
He gives me the look. TheI am a doctor and you are a disasterlook. “You’re kidding.”
I shake my head.
“Well, you’re in luck.”
“How’s that?”
“You’re having dinner with me.”
“Excuse me?”
“You heard me. You need to eat.”
