Page 6 of If Cain Were Able

He arches a brow at me. Is that so?

“You’re still a dick, I see.”

“What’s that? You’d like to see my dick? That’s hardly appropriate, Mr. Miller,” he taunts.

“Can you leave? Please? I really don’t need this right now. I just want to recover, go the hell home, return to my life, and forget you exist,” I plead, exhausted by his presence already.

“Your life? What life would that be? Not your dating life. And I’m sorry to hear about your late wife.”

My head whips toward him.

“How do you know about…” The light bulb goes off. “My medical chart.”

He nods.

“Well, feel free to gloat over my loss, but would you consider doing it elsewhere? I was ordered to rest.”

“I wasn’t going to⁠—”

This time, I hold my hand up in his face, and to my utter shock, he stops speaking.

“Just leave, Dr. Rosemont. You’ve done what I needed you to do, and for that, I’m grateful, but this interaction is over. We have been over for a long time.”

I’m about to think that for once in his life, Cain is going to let me have the last word, until he turns around at the door and says, “We aren’t the kind of story that ends, Kitten.”

Ten minutes later, I’m being pumped full of morphine because I’m experiencing the agony caused by fighting tears determined to break free, even though my chest has already been cracked open.

Chapter 5

Cain

Iknow better than to break my own rules. I punished myself with a fourteen-mile run the day after I visited Patrick in the hospital, but I couldn’t stay away.

Seeing him again and finding out he’s unattached has brought a lot of old feelings to the surface…as well as a few new ones.

I’ve always been a man singularly focused on my career. This career demands it. All of my patients are sick, and for most of them, I’m their last hope.

I couldn’t afford to be distracted back then, and I certainly can’t afford it now, which is why I’ve always kept my physical pleasure emotionless.

Patrick was by far my longest relationship, although I use the term very loosely. I never took him on a date, bought him a birthday present, called him just to ask how he was doing, or held his hand. We simply had undeniable passion as soon as we were in the same room, and that’s the way I wanted it.

And all he wanted was me.

It was perfect… until it wasn’t. Our time together was driven by excitement, lust, need, power, and greed. The ultimate pursuit of pleasure, using each other to get what we needed. But I wasn’t careful, and eventually Patrick broke…which only fed my ego more.

And then it became a game. Albeit, one that had no winner.

I’ve kept an eye on his progress in our rehab unit, but he’s leaving tomorrow, and my jaw clenches when I think about it.

I can’t give in.

Who’s to say he would even let me? As soon as the thought enters my mind, I know it’s bullshit. I saw the way he looked at me the day after his surgery. Oh, there was plenty of hatred and a little sadness, but underneath it all, I saw the same fire burning in his eyes that I’d ignited twenty-five years ago.

Time has done nothing to dull the sensations he creates in me, either. As a man in his forties, Patrick looks better now than he did when we were twenty; the salt and pepper in his hair, a look of distinguished honor; the muscles in his arms and chest, a testament to his discipline.

When he was lying on my table, naked except for a pair of surgical shorts, there was a brief moment where I thought I wasn’t going to be able to drag my scalpel through his skin.

For the first time in my career, my hand shook as I made an incision down the center of his chest. When it was time to crack his ribs to gain access to the organ I needed, I almost threw up, but I forced myself through it. I’d already hurt Patrick Miller in every other way; physically making him bleed and breaking his bones was the last stone we’d left unturned.