Page 90 of The Doctor's Truth

She tries the handle—and I locked the door, Jesus-God-fuck I know I locked the door—but the panic fries every nerve in my body for that split second before the lock catches and keeps her out.

“It’s fine!” I call out quickly. “Everything’s fine. Just…had a little…uh…”

“Accident?” Donovan teases.

I slap my hand across Donovan’s mouth. His whole body trembles with silent laughter.

“Do you need a hand?” my mom offers, and I want to die.

“Nope. I’m good. I’ll be right down. Thank you.”

Her kitten heels click away. When my mom leaves, I finally release him from my grip.

“You’re right,” he says once he’s freed. “My life did turn out way better than yours, honeybear.”

“Shut up and help me clean up.”

43

Kenzi

“Kenzi.”

Nadine’s tongue catches my name, the way a magician pulls is this your card? out of thin air.

I blink. I’ve been zoning out—a bad side effect of the pot brownie I ate earlier. It makes me spacey, and it takes me a minute to reorient—that same feeling you get when you wake up in a bedroom you don’t recognize and slowly have to put the puzzle pieces back together.

Jason, Mr. King, and Donovan all went upstairs. Mrs. King is in the kitchen doing dishes. After a couple of attempts to help with the dishes (and subsequently being thwarted), I returned to my chair, sipping my wine and spacing out.

Except now Nadine’s is hovering beside me, honey-brown eyes on mine expectantly.

“Join me on the patio?”

Her fingertips brush my shoulder, and it sends goose bumps up and down my arm.

Stop being weird, Kenzi.

“Um. Yeah. Totally.”

Nadine helps herself to the sliding glass doors—it occurs to me then how comfortable she is in this house. She was, after all, in-lawed into it at one point.

Could I ever be that comfortable here? Or will I always feel like Cinderella, feeding foie gras to my mice friends under the table?

There’s a wide pool here, outlined with stones, but it’s covered up for the winter. There’s a second, smaller pool—a Jacuzzi, I bet—that is also covered up, but looks active, a thin blue light peeking underneath the cover.

They have an array of outdoor furniture here, including comfortable lounge chairs. It’s cold as hell, but the Kings have their own outdoor heaters, these long metal things that look like tiki torches, with yellow-blue flames flickering inside. Nadine and I converge around a heater, and she adjusts the knob, turning it up. It’s surprisingly cozy, and my hands begin to thaw.

“Can we speak candidly?” Nadine asks.

“Sure,” I say. My brain is empty. I’m feeling candid.

“You and Jason. Are you an item?”

Should I feel weird admitting this to his ex? I don’t. If anything, it feels like we have something in common now. “We’re a something,” I say.

She seems to accept that answer with a nod. She glances off, across the way. “That’s good. I’m glad he’s happy.”

I stare at her. She means it. Everything about her is so composed, so pristine. She fits into this house—and Jason’s family—effortlessly.

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