“No. He said he would send you my way. That the robbery would still happen, but that I’d have the upper hand in it all.” He sips his drink, staring ahead.
“So, you didn’t know who I was before that?”
“I never said that.” He still doesn’t meet my eyes. “I took your number from his phone before letting him know he’d been caught, and then later that night I looked you up myself. When I figured out who you were, I started thinking of ways to use him to get closer to you, and when he came up with the idea he had, I knew it was the perfect opportunity.”
“What do you mean you figured out who I was?” Why did he say that like he knew me?
“You’d been on my table before. Not the one here, but the one in my old surgical room.”
“Two years ago I had surgery,” I say, the revelation dawning on me of what he’s telling me.
“Your gallbladder removal,” he says, finally looking right at me.
“Holy shit,” I say, completely flabbergasted.
“You and that word,” he says, his tone lightening, and I’m the one looking elsewhere this time.
“You were my surgeon. I was so out of it I didn’t remember you from when you came to talk to me after.”
“It wasn’t the time for you to know me yet. Not like you do now.” He grabs my hand, bringing it to his lap.
“But I don’t know you now.”
“Yes, you do, remember? Go on, tell me what you know.”
“I know . . .” I press my lips together, breathing deeply through my nose before continuing. “I know you really wanted me here and never forgot who I was.”
“And.” He nudges my shoulder with his, and that sexy smile is practically contagious. It takes everything in me not to fold.
“You can help me with more than medical care. You can help me help my friend.”
“I can. Anything else?” His body knocks against mine playfully, and this really is just like another day of him asking his questions and acting like a normal person between his procedures. Another day of him keeping me here, and me agreeing I want to be after going back and forth. After thinking I hate him before he reminds me that I really hate the people who let me down, something he’d never do.
“I know you still buy the newspaper because you prefer reading about events and what’s happening around the worldthe old-fashioned way. You also clip out the comics and place them in a notebook of things that are guaranteed to make you smile.” I was looking for scissors in his office yesterday and came across a green book with random clippings glued to the front. He did things like other people, and also things I only thought took place in movies.
“You’re in there too now. Want to see?”
“Will you show me other pages?” I say, remembering how he closed in on me when I got to page two.
“I’ll show you whatever you want.”
He does too, and I don’t know whether to feel important when he allows me more into his world or horrified when I reach the middle of the book. In several of the rules pictures, it’s me in the guest bed hooked up to IVs. I have a mask on my face and my eyes are closed, and when I read what it says at the top of the page, I drop the book to the ground and scramble forward. I fall and Sam picks me up, tugging me to the basement as I shake my head.
“You need to rest. You’ve had a long day. Rest and we can see more pages tomorrow.”
“Will it really be tomorrow?” My words are stiff. “Or will you just tell me it is and it’ll really be weeks from now?”
He was putting me under for days at a time, and sometimes way longer. I’ve already done double my time here. I should have been far away from here by now, and I’m starting to want to be until he tucks me into my bed, whispering soft words no one has ever said to me before. “I love you, Riley. My little patient. My everything.”
I make room for him in the bed and he smiles, lifting the blanket to squeeze in next to me, and he strokes my cheek, turning into me. “If you really want to go, you can, but at least let’s make sure you’re better first.”
“Okay,” I say, knowing now that neither thing could ever be true.
He holds me tightly, humming his favorite song and kissing my cheek while pressing something sharp into my neck. I nuzzle against him as my muscles loosen and a loopy feeling comes over me. The thing is, in order for me to be better, he has to actually want me to be, and he wouldn’t have anyone to treat if I was. I also wouldn’t have my doctor or my steak dinners and someone who can give me another thing no one else can. Love.
Thirteen
Sam
