Page 27 of Bad Blood

Liam has to know why he needs to come here. I don’t get patients who show up out of the blue without an inkling of what to expect. Something tells me Liam hasn’t been upfront with Dax about what’s going on, but it’s not my place to give him information since it seems like Liam is keeping him in the dark.

Dax takes the lead once we make our way into the waiting room. Lauren stands from behind the counter, her expression questioning why I’m out here.

“Have you seen Liam?” I ask.

“He’s not back?” Confusion fills her eyes.

Dax detects the edge of her tone as his eyes bounce around the oncology floor. “Where are the restrooms?”

Lauren points as the door opens, and Liam steps out, wringing his hand around a paper towel, his phone pressed between his ear and shoulder. “We’re still good. Need a ride?” He sees Dax and nods at him with a smirk.

I guide the brothers back into the room, trying to avoid eavesdropping on their conversation.

“Crissy wants to know if we can give her a ride on Friday.” Liam cups his hand over the mouthpiece of his phone.

“Sure. Let’s focus on this first, okay?”

Liam hops up on the exam table and ends his call as Dax takes the seat near the wall. I consider standing, but when I glance in Dax’s direction, I decide to take a different approach. I drop onto the rolling chair and open Liam’s folder. The sooner I can get this over with, the better.

The air is heavy, and the silence awkward. I wipe my sweaty palms on my pants and clear my throat, glancing up when I sense eyes on me. Liam is scowling and redirects his attention to the chart in my hands. I try not to appear cold but need to get this over with.

I pull out a couple of stapled papers. “Here are the CT findings.”

“And?” Liam leans forward, resting both elbows on his knees.

“How are you feeling?”

He throws his hands in the air with a grin. “I don’t want to wait. Get it over with and tell me I’m dying already.”

“Mr. Blakely.” I snort a derisive laugh.

“That’s him,” he points to Dax. “I’m just Liam.” He gives me a humorless smile, and embarrassment colors his cheeks.

I slide his chart toward him and point at the diagnosis. His eyes scan the page.

“Okay, Liam. Ewing Sarcoma. It’s a rare and highly metastatic bone cancer. Have you heard of it before?”

He nods.

Dax receives the bad news with stoic composure. The color drains from his face as his eyes meet Liam’s, and there’s a silent exchange between them.

Something about their interaction makes me feel like Liam didn’t want to fill Dax in on the worst parts. Dr. Gibbons would have told Liam what to expect. Maybe he didn’t want to have to deal with the fallout of handling his brother’s emotions alone.

“Usually, someone between ten and sixteen gets this diagnosis. It’s not unheard of to find it in someone your age or older, but less common. Your doctor’s note mentions you’ve had more frequent soccer practices?”

“Yeah, we went to two-a-days a couple of weeks ago.”

I point at the calendar on the wall. “The middle of April?”

Liam confirms my question by leaning over the edge of the exam table and tapping on the calendar on the wall: the third Monday of the month.

There’s a tug in my chest, and I have a strong urge to peek at Dax.

I give in to the impulse.

I wish I hadn’t.

His eyes are closed, his face an unreadable mask as he absorbs everything I say without a word. Liam follows my gaze and places a hand on Dax’s forearm.

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