Page 30 of Bad Blood

He leans back against the doorway, and I stay frozen. “We need you.”

My heart aches for him as his body shudders with deep, controlled breaths, and his silent grief finally erupts. He’s desperate. And desperate people stop at nothing until they get what they want.

The cynic in me has doubts, but his motives seem pure. He thinks I can save his brother.

This is why he’s here.

He balls his hands into fists and directs his gaze to mine, maintaining a narrowed, unblinking scowl. We’re at the point of no return. And I have nothing left to offer.

There’s a deep ache to reach out and pull him to me, an illogical need to comfort him. Sympathy fills my eyes, and an overwhelming sorrow vibrates in my bones.

But I’m not allowed to touch.

My voice is steady as I set my hand on the counter to stop the trembling. “We have an excellent team—radiologists, cardiologists, pathologists, the other specialists—”

“We want the best,” he interrupts, pressing his lips into a thin line.

My faux smile falters. “And I’ll be part of the team.” All the hairs on the back of my arm rise, and I ignore his attitude as I continue with my standard spiel, trying to lessen my need to put him in his place. “We need you to do the HLA test to get ready for a marrow transplant for after Liam’s surgery. It’s a test for DNA compatibility.”

“A what?”

“It’s noninvasive. A quick nose swab. It’s Liam’s best bet for a full recovery. He’ll use your hemoglobin to help heal after surgery.”

“I’ll help with anything I can.” He wipes a hand down his face.

“I’m going to do everything I can to help Liam. We’re all going to work together for the best outcomes.”

“This isn’t summer camp. Teamwork and friendship don’t kill cancer!” His jaw ticks as he balls his hands into fists.

“I’m here for you.” The knot in my throat grows, and I can’t swallow. The declaration comes out as only a whisper.

“Are you?” His brows flicker up, and his expression morphs. He sinks a hand into his pocket, adopting an easy posture. The side of his mouth quirks up, sending butterflies flip-flopping in my stomach. He stares at me, unmoving. And I have to tell my body and brain to calm the hell down. “You’re the number one doctor in New York. Why can’t you treat him yourself?”

“I am treating him,” I say as his arm brushes against mine. The muscles of my stomach jump from the contact. I realize the moment he registers he’s touching me. His eyes go a little wide, and he slides his hand away from mine. “I don’t do scans and labs. I read them, but that’s all.”

“Right, I get that.” He hangs his head and pinches his eyes closed. “I don’t know what I was thinking.”

The sound of footsteps approaching interrupts our awkward exchange. My brain cycles through a dozen different escape plans, my pulse still thundering in my ears.

“I have a patient ready for a room. You almost done?” a nurse asks, his eyes pivoting between the two of us. I have no idea what my face is doing. My panicky laugh cuts through the tension like a shard of glass through flesh.

“It’s all yours,” Dax says, pulling my thoughts in another direction. I don’t know what just happened between us, but I don’t have time to ruminate on it. I take a step away from the room and Dax, clearing my head.

He follows me, continuing our awkward dance of push and pull. We stop near the counter, and I resume where I left off, “I assure you—”

“Choose us,” he pleads. There’s something in his eyes, some tension that I’m too shocked to translate.

I already have.

A familiar swell of uncertainty fills my chest. If I fail, there’s a good chance I won’t be able to forgive myself, and I’ll never be able to explain my decision to Kline. I don’t need him adding fuel to the fire. I’m damn good at my job—one of the best. And I always want to be the hero.

But now I’m second-guessing my decision to keep Liam. And what it means for Dax.

Dax’s eyes lock with mine before he drops his gaze to his hands, flexing his fingers. He shakes his head and glances at me through dark, thick lashes.

I readjust my stethoscope and drop my eyes to the floor. My tone is flat as I return to our conversation. “Every one of my patients is important, as I’m sure you’re aware. I understand—”

“Please.” The word comes out with a heavy breath. He’s begging me with no shame, a plea out of necessity. His fear is palpable. “How are we going to get through this?”

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