“Well,” I say with a sigh.“One mystery solved.”
He glances sideways.“It won’t be the last.”
We reach the row of cars, our footsteps slowing and in sync.There’s a moment when I think he’s going to say goodnight and leave it at that, but then he stops just before unlocking his car.A silver Audi Q5.
He turns slightly, the harsh fluorescent light of the hospital car park catching in his eyes.“You’re talented,” he says.“You should know that.”
My fingers tighten around my strap from the unexpected compliment.It’s what I wanted, but now that I’ve got it, I’m unsure how to respond.“Thanks.”
“Even if you’re infuriating.”
A surprised laugh escapes me, and I nudge his arm with my elbow.“Right back at you.”
He grins, an actual, real one that softens his whole face, then he opens the car door.But before sliding in, he pauses again, one hand resting on the frame, the other still on the door.Eyes locked on mine.“And for what it’s worth… I’m glad it’s you.”
The words hit harder than I expect, knocking the breath right out of me.My pulse stumbles, then speeds up.“Mentoring me?”I whisper.
He looks at me, really looks, and something warm flickers in his expression.“Pushing me.”
And just like that, he climbs into the car and drives off, taillights glowing red as he disappears into the night.
I stay frozen in place, the heat rising in my cheeks, my chest fluttering like it’s been set off by something dangerous.
Not for my boss.
Not for him.
But I do.
God, help me, I do.
Chapter 12
Regan
It’smyfirstSaturdaymorning sleeping in at Pulse Point.I stretch under the warm blanket, blinking up at the ceiling while the sun cuts through the blinds.My muscles ache from the week and from hunching over Harrison’s research until one in the morning, including an unpublished paper on patient-centered protocols that I found in his office.The smell of coffee and bacon seeping under the door pulls me out of bed.
I shuffle into the bathroom, yawning as I splash cold water on my face, then change into a pair of relaxed-fit jeans and a soft sweater.With no plans for the day, I walk into the kitchen.
Dad’s already up.I find him setting a plate and a mug of coffee on the table like he’s done it a thousand mornings before.
“Morning,” I mumble, my throat scratchy with sleep as I brush past him.
He grunts something that could be a greeting or just a general acknowledgement of my existence and leaves me to the coffeepot.I pour myself a cup, add a splash of creamer, and watch it swirl.It reminds me ofhim.I push those thoughts away and focus on the food set out on the counter: eggs, bacon, and toast.I make myself a plate, the quiet clatter of utensils sounding loud in the still kitchen.
When I sit down, Dad’s already hunched over his coffee.I don’t bother making small talk.We haven’t exactly been on great terms lately.The last time we had a real conversation, he lectured me.
So when he speaks, I expect another one.
“I was wondering if you’d help me clear out the spare room,” he asks, not looking up from his mug.“Saw you changed the sheets in your room.Swapped out some paintings.Looks better.”
I freeze, my fork halfway to my mouth.Did he just compliment me?
“You want to redecorate one room or the whole house?”I ask slowly, checking his expression to see if he’s serious.
Still not meeting my gaze, he shrugs.“The whole house.It’s bland.Kind of boring in here.”He waves his hand.“Figured maybe it's time to make it feel like someone actually lives here.”
A chuckle escapes him… It’s soft, like it snuck out before he could stop it.
