Page 66 of Bad Blood

His mouth curves into a smile as I approach. “I think he knew it all along.” He reaches a hand toward my cheek.

It’s all I can do to stay out of his reach. My breath stutters. The bitter taste of worry floods my mouth. I can’t let my guard down. Things need to stay professional between us.

I won’t let Kline be right. Not about me. Not about this.

A step out of his reach earns me a scowl. “How are you two doing?” It’s not a good move—getting invested in their lives—but there’s a draw to them I can’t explain. Cancer makes people accept the fear of death and the inevitable. And fear is based on assumption. I don’t want them assuming the worst.

“Liam acts like everything’s fine.”

“He’s going to get pretty sick after this week. Don’t let him give up.” I make my way toward the ice machine, and Dax purses his lips while he watches me fill the cup.

He grins and pushes his shoulder into the door as I offer him the ice chips. “Didn’t plan on it.”

20

Plausible Deniability

Dax

Wednesday, May 31 st

8:17 p.m.

I’ve learned a lot in the past few weeks. Things I didn’t want to learn, but here I am, learning them. And the thing I will never admit to anyone is how desperately I wish I could take this burden from Liam.

I don’t think I could say those words out loud. I would take his place—fill his shoes—in a heartbeat. But I don’t want him to think I see him as weak. Because that’s not what I think. He’s strong. He can do this.

I just don’t want him to have to.

My stomach groans in protest as I place my hand on Yogi’s handle, and the woman on the far side of it swings it open. The bell jingle catches my attention a second too late. She crashes into me, and everything happens in slow motion as she fumbles to hold the bag slipping from her arms.

Cruel, cruel universe.

She rights herself, but not before she drops her drink on the sidewalk, the liquid splashing across my shoes.

“I’m so sorry.” Her eyes stay trained on the mess at our feet. We both bend to grab the cup, and our fingers graze.

She yanks her hand away as our eyes meet and rubs the spot where we touched. Her eyes fall to my mouth, and she takes her sweet time before shifting them back to mine.

“Dr. Fields, I was just thinking about you.” It’s not entirely untrue. Any thoughts of Liam produce thoughts of her. Seeing her brings back our last conversation like a movie scene inside my head. Okay, I should apologize. It’s not like the malpractice was an easy topic to traverse, but how am I supposed to go about explaining I shouldn’t have bombarded her like that?

“Mr. Blakely,” she says, half a grumble.

“It was all good. Promise.” I stand, extending a hand to help her up.

Her eyes bounce from my hand to my face as she stands, not accepting my offer. She mumbles something I can’t make out, and I lean closer, catching the last couple of words.

“Eight point one billion people . . . seriously?”

“I’m sorry, what?”

She continues to brush herself off, ignoring me.

Her disinterest is intriguing.

My eyes stay glued to her.

Yet, she pretends I don’t exist.

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