Claire
A scorchinghot wave of panic washes over me as I come face-to-face with?—
“Claire.” Dr. Elliott rests his hand in the middle of my back. It’s friendly and harmless, but I flinch, nonetheless. With his other hand, he gestures toward his… son?
Thisis his son?
No.
No way.
He said his son’s name is Julio. This is?—
“Leo?” My feet are stuck in quicksand. Scratch that. My body is submerged, my arms trapped at my sides rather than accepting the outstretched hand aimed in my direction.
“Leo?” Dr. Elliott remarks. “Do you two know each other?”
I turn to my boss, swallowing down my nerves. “I’m sorry. I’m confused. I thought you said your son’s name is Julio.”
He shakes his head and silently pulls out my chair, encouraging me to sit.
“I go by Leo, Dad.” The young man gives Dr. Elliott a stern look as he,too, sits.
“Forgive me. God forbid I call you by the name I gave you,” Dr. Elliott replies sardonically.
“But what about?—”
“I took my mother’s last name,” Leo interrupts, assuming my question correctly.
My eyes flicker toward my boss, but at the sight of his furrowed brow and pursed lips, I put a lid on my curiosity.
“How do you two know each other?” he asks.
“Med school,” Leo answers as a server arrives to take our drink orders.
I stick with water. There’s no way I’m drinking around Leo Riviera.
“You weren’t in the same class?” Dr. Elliott’s question is directed at his son.
“No. I was behind Claire.” The way he saysbehind Clairemakes my skin prickle.
Clearing my throat, I force myself to join the conversation. “I did the accelerated program, remember? I graduated a year ahead of my peers.”
“Always the over-achiever.” Leo nudges me with his elbow like we’re old friends.
On instinct, I wrap my arms around my chest and shift away from him.
“Everything all right?” Dr. Elliott asks.
Shit. The last thing I want is to make a scene in public.
“Oh, yes, sir. Just a little cold.” I rub my arm to add to the claim.
“Here, take this.” Leo tugs his jacket from the back of his seat, and I’m hit by the scent of stale cigarettes mixed with cheap body spray. Instantly, a visceral urge to vomit is ignited inside me. It’s remarkable how a scent can trigger a memory.
“Why are you here so late?” Leo says as he enters the classroom.
My problem-based learning group wrapped up our study session an hour ago, but I stuck around, going over my notes and rereading portions of the text. We have a huge exam in the morning and I don’t feel prepared. With all my focus fixed on my task, I barely register the question, and I don’t realize he’s approached and taken the seat next to me until I smell the cigarettes on his breath.
