He tilts his head as though I’m asking a trick question. "A doctor."
"I can see that,” I murmur. “Which hospital?"
"Private."
"Private." I let the word sit there. "There was no reason for you to come in today." the words come out as a whisper and leave a trail of goosebumps down my spine.
"There was. It just wasn’t the stitches."
He says it simply. His gray eyes are steady on my face, and his skin is warm under mine. My stomach is doing something that it’s never done before, but I know I don’t like it because it feels dangerously out of my control.
"Why are you here?" I ask. It comes out flat and low, closer to his register than mine. My pulse is beating in my ears.
He doesn't answer right away.
Several reasons run through my mind. Maybe he is still in pain. Perhaps the stitches are tight and he isn’t aware that’s normal for this late in the healing stage. He could be looking for easy access to prescription drugs or—
"I wanted to see you," he finally says.
I freeze.
His mouth does something small. It’s a shape that could become a smile if he permitted it, but he doesn't.
"Sadie," he says, and his voice is the same low, careful voice he used when he said my name in the sedan. "You walked into a pile-up on the day you moved here and you didn't flinch when I put my hand on your throat. I needed to see you."
The door opens behind me.
Dr. Mehta says something I don't hear.
I let go of his arm like it's on fire, and step back. I grab my tablet because I don’t know what to do with my hands, and turn to Dr. Mehta with what I hope is a professional expression.
"Vitals are stable,” I say. “Incision is clean with no redness or weeping. I'll let you take it from here."
I walk out of the exam room, past Priya and Denise and the break room. I push open the door to the alley behind the clinic, close it behind me, and put my back against it.
It's him. I know it is.
It's been him the whole time.
