Page 97 of Bad Blood

“Week two of chemo is next week.”

“I know.”

He chuckles. “Is he sick yet?”

I straighten my spine, curious if he has Liam’s chart. “Not as far as I know.”

“Yikes. You might get ahead of that.”

“I’m not worried about it.”

“Whatever you think is best. I’m glad we had this little chat.” He leans forward, dismissing me as he looks me square in the eyes. “Partner.”

27

Drag Me Under

Brighton

Friday, June 2 nd

10:03 p.m.

The weight of Kline’s fake concern seeps into the depths of my irritation, and I snort out a dismissive laugh. I can’t show that he has me on edge. I won’t give him that satisfaction. Where does he get the audacity to think he can talk to me like that?

I get a little smile before he rolls his chair to the filing cabinet on the wall behind him. He reaches for a wire basket with tiered levels of beige folders, pulling one free from the top bin. He tosses it on top of the pile of books on his desk.

“Take a look at that,” he says, narrowing his bloodshot eyes.

My shoulders tighten, and the ache in my chest increases. I try to lean forward, but my body locks in place.

A yellow Post-it note covers the letter labels at the top of the chart. I reach for the file, noting the white oncology tab above the yellow B sticker for Blakely before my eyes settle on the red D sticker below it.

I lift the Post-it.

My chest heaves.

Why does Dax have his own file? This information should be in Liam’s chart.

I swallow the bile in my throat and flip to the back of the chart, where a single sheet of paper sticks out at an odd angle.

My eyes skim the findings, landing at the bottom of the page: Dax’s HLA result for the DNA testing is inconclusive because his test is missing. I gaze up as I try to rein in my temper. “You knew about this?”

Kline gives me a cockeyed grin. “And you didn’t.”

“For how long?”

“Couple days.” He leans back in his chair, lacing his hands behind his head.

“Why would you keep this from me? From them?”

“It’s irrelevant.” He stares at me blankly, acting like this is no big deal.

“He needs to do another test.”

“It doesn’t change anything.”

I fall into the seat, my voice barely above a whisper, as I pull the chart to my chest. “How did this happen?”

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