Page 50 of Bad Blood

False Pretenses

Brighton

Friday, May 12 th

2:10 p.m.

“You explained one week on, one week off?” I pull my gaze from the paperwork I’m signing at the nurses’ station and find Lauren behind the computer as she nibbles on a fingernail. I continue to stare, waiting for an answer. I clear my throat.

Her eyes leave the computer screen and stop when they meet mine. Her brow scrunches in question.

“Blakely.” Pity replaces my mild annoyance when I get a good look at her face. Her puffy eyes and blotchy cheeks are a telltale sign of her general disposition. I’m not the only one still trying to keep it together after the murder.

Realization spreads across her face, and she holds up a finger. She sniffles, gazing back at the computer as she removes her glasses and leans toward the screen before reading the plan to me. “He’s coming in on Monday for the CT read, and we’ll schedule the port placement. The first cycle of chemo starts the next Monday at nine. No radiation therapy at this time.”

“You discussed starting with VDC?” My voice cracks, and I pinch my eyes together. Hold it together, B.

“Yes, he’s aware of the protocol.” Her breaths stutter.

The chair rolling across the linoleum as Lauren pushes to the far end of the counter briefly stymies the sound of my pulse coursing through my ears. I tear my gaze from the spot again and force them to the papers in front of me, my eyes landing on my sketches from earlier—the words Carrie said haunting me, rolling around in my head like a loose marble. A zig-zag line of stairs, the letter N, and a bunch of question marks border the margins of the form, just like the pad on my desk.

Lauren slips a paper in front of my face, bringing me out of my daze. I glance up, and she gives me a hesitant smile. I need to get my shit together.

“Thank you.” I flip to Liam’s starting markers, ignoring the knot in my stomach. White blood cells, hemoglobin, and platelets are within normal range—considering. “Where’s the CT?”

Creases line Lauren’s forehead as her eyes bounce across the computer screen. “The read’s not in his chart yet.”

“Can you call radiology and see what the holdup is?”

“Of course. Do you want a copy?”

“That would be great.” I straighten my charts and make sure I bury my doodles before pulling them to my chest.

“Patient is aware of the signs and symptoms to look for.” She starts her normal speech. “His brother made notes on his phone.” Her lip twists in consideration, and she wipes her nose with a tissue. “Or so I believe. He’s aware of the two-month treatment cycle and surgery afterward. We got starting weight, symptoms, pain levels, etcetera. We have him on the schedule for the follow-up CT on week four. And he’ll be in every other week for vitamin infusions.”

I glance at my watch as I walk backward toward the elevators. “I’ll make note of the info. Thanks. I gotta go. I have a meeting with HR—”

“Ten minutes ago,” Luca chimes in, finishing my sentence as the elevator doors glide closed behind him. “You ready?”

I go rigid as Lauren gives me a sympathizing smile, and I turn to face him. “Sorry, it’s been a crazy day.”

He tucks his arms behind his back. “I’d offer to reschedule, but”—his gaze flicks to the spot, and grief fills his voice—“you understand.”

There’s a lot to unpack in that sentence. I trail after Luca onto the elevator in silence. I turn away when my eyes burn with tears and try to blink them back instead of losing them down my cheeks. A quick pinching of my eyes together does the trick as I clear my throat and bite my bottom lip. I don’t want to show how much of a struggle it is for me to be here.

My stomach churns. I should have gotten to the stairwell faster. If I had gotten to Carrie sooner, maybe she’d still be here. There’s squeezing in my chest like a tourniquet tightening on my ribcage. My temperature rises as it gets harder to pull in a breath past the knot in my throat.

Luca reaches for the button as I pull at my collar, and the walls close in as the doors glide together.

Don’t do this, B. Please. Not now.

Luca’s mouth starts moving, but the whirring in my ears quickly masks all other sounds, and the low ceilings intensify the claustrophobic feel.

I’ve held it together this long. What’s an elevator ride worth of minutes to add to the last thirty-something hours?

Deep breath in. Hold it. Slowly release.

The ding of our arrival breaks me from my mental pleas as I battle the sob of relief threatening to spill from my mouth. The blast of cool air coils around me as I stumble from the elevator.

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