Page 87 of The Doctor's Truth

“I can’t,” I repeat. “I’m seeing someone.”

Someones, technically.

My father’s frown deepens. “Who?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“Jason—”

“I can’t do it. Okay? I’m a surgeon. Not an actor.” I stand. “Can I go now?”

His lips tighten. I don’t wait for him to respond. I turn and put my hand on the door handle.

“You’re being selfish,” he says. “You have been since you were a child. You always think of yourself first.”

“I’m not. I’m just doing the right thing.”

“Think about it,” my father says.

“Sure.”

I open the door and exit, closing it hard behind me.

I don’t get too far down the hall, though. Donovan is standing there, arms crossed, shoulders hunched around his ears.

“Hey…you okay?” I ask.

He shakes his head. He’s got that on-pins-and-needles look.

My old bedroom is right here, so I open the door for him. “Here…let’s chat.” I touch his arm, but he leans away from it. He ducks into the room instead, and I follow him inside.

They’ve changed it up. It’s a guest room now. Sheets are made, the whole thing smells like Febreze. There are still traces of me, though. My shelf of first-place trophies—everything from third grade science fair to the college track team. A couple of old family photos. There’s a picture of me and Nadine on our wedding day, which Mom must’ve framed and put in here while I was gone. Wishful thinking?

Donovan paces the short length of my room like a lion and slips his hands over the back of his head. “It was about me, wasn’t it?”

“What?”

“Your father wanted to talk to you. Was it about me?”

“No—why would it be about you?”

“I don’t know,” Donovan snaps, “maybe because I showed up to family night high as a kite!”

“You do sound a little paranoid right now…”

A noise leaves his throat, almost like a growl. “He might just be daddy to you, but in case you’ve forgotten, he’s also my boss. If I lose my job—”

I hold up my hand. “You’re not going to lose your job.”

“That’s easy for you to say!” His lips press together. “You do this. All the time.”

“What?”

“You make me feel like an asshole. You put me in these situations that turn me into the villain.”

“You ate the brownies. All on your own. Believe it or not, I wasn’t trying to sabotage you.”

“Sabotage! That’s the word. You’re a saboteur.” Donovan flops back in bed suddenly. His eyes flick over the ceiling. “Is this your room?”

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