Page 177 of Bad Blood

And she’s trying to shift the blame to him.

I shake my head, feeling the weight of these thoughts and their possible outcome. There’s no way she could be the one behind all of this. I have questions that need answered because I can’t make all the pieces come together, no matter how many times I rearrange them.

Something’s not right.

And that something has Brighton written all over it.

50

The Vow

Brighton

Monday, June 12 th

9:39 a.m.

Who we choose to be in challenging situations speaks volumes about our character. The problem is not that we bare our souls to be judged, but that these things don’t come with a warning.

I stand in stunned silence. I watch. I wish I could hear.

Dax is stiff, his face in a scowl. Kline explains something, points at Liam’s monitor, and Dax drops his head. He nods with reluctance and pinches his eyes closed as his shoulders shudder and his hands ball into fists.

“Are you okay?” Someone stops beside me at the counter, and I swivel around, finding a petite, curly-haired blonde in green scrubs with a look of pity on her face.

“I’m good,” I say, my eyes scanning her nametag, “Bridgette. Keep an eye on him, okay?”

She drops her hand, a V etching between her brows. “Mr. Blakely is in excellent hands.”

“I meant Dr. Matthews.”

Her mouth drops open, and she quickly composes herself, attempting to conceal her initial reaction, while stumbling to find the right words.

“Have a good day,” I say as I plaster on a fake smile and shift my focus to the paperwork in front of me. Without waiting for her response, I gather the papers, my eyes darting to Liam’s room and the secretive exchange occurring behind the skewed curtain.

I need more information, and there’s no way I’m going to get details from Kline. I glance at the faces behind the nurses’ station, and a sinking feeling washes over me. Lauren, Phillip, Monique. I am completely out of my depth. I prefer to keep my intentions hidden, but it’s inevitable one of them will question what I’m doing.

I make my way to a computer at the far end of the counter and double-check to see if anyone is paying attention to me.

I smile when I make eye contact with Phillip.

He smiles back.

And I wave.

This will never work.

I drop my gaze to the computer, tapping across the keyboard, and hear footsteps draw closer.

“Hey,” Phillip whispers, stopping beside me.

I smile, turning to set my elbow on the counter as I lean on my hand to block the computer screen. “You guys busy today?” I ask, trying to deflect.

Phillip shakes his head, dropping his pile of charts on the countertop beside me. “This is from this morning.”

“The world falls apart over the weekend,” I joke.

“Yay for Mondays.” He throws up jazz hands in faux excitement. “You have a second?”

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