Page 38 of Doctor Enemy

I don’t want it to happen again.

When he gets back to the bedside, he reaches out to peel the tape from my forehead. I glance up at him, it’s like seeing a totally different person, like suddenly realizing that Cara was right.

“Are you seeing someone?” I ask him.

“Depends. Are you talking about hallucinations or girlfriends?” Kurt asks.

A laugh escapes. “Well now I’m curious, and I’m going to say either.”

Kurt hums, pretending to think on it while he checks the stitches. “I’m going to give a firm no on both of them.” He bunches the gauze pad up and pitches it in the trash. “You can start leaving this off, so long as it stays clean. Fresh air is going to help, especially once you’re out of here and back in your own home.”

Right. I know how to take care of an injury. There’s that pompous, smarter-than-you attitude of his flying back in.

But this time, before I can come off with a smart-ass comment, I bite my tongue and try to rationalize it. Kurt’s been a doctor for years, and he doesn’t normally have other medical professionals in his care. It’s obviously just a habit to overexplain.

I ignore that comment and focus on the other half of the statement instead. “You aren’t seeing anyone?”

Kurt questions, “Am I supposed to be?”

“I don’t know. That just seems unusual for you,” I say, trying to push the subject a little bit more without totally giving myself away.

I’m not successful. Kurt looks at me, and there’s a smoldering heat in his gray eyes that’s impossible to ignore. Is that hungry glint new, or have I just been too caught up in hating the man to realize that it was there?

“I might have my eye on someone,” Kurt tells me, already turning and stepping away. He throws my own earlier accusation back at me. “But I’ve got my time devoted to drinking in the evenings, so I doubt that it’s going to head anywhere.”

And then, his job for the time being done, he leaves. I’ve got nothing left to do but stew in my own thoughts. Not just today, either, but all night and the next morning.

Julia comes and helps me check out, and I leave the main hospital lobby feeling nervous for about eight different reasons at once. One of the big ones? I’m concerned Kurt will flake out on me.

He doesn’t.

“Hang on.” Kurt gives my shoulder a squeeze as he passes me and heads for the parking lot. “I’ll bring the car up.”

“I can walk,” I insist, hurrying after him. He leads the way to his cherry red Mustang, pulling open the passenger door and bidding me to get in.

Kurt has changed out of his scrubs. It's my first time seeing the man in jeans and fuck if he doesn't wear the shit out of them.

Kurt says, “Let people make it easier on you once in a while.”

“I don’t need things to be easy,” I tell him, sliding into the passenger seat. A glance in the mirror proves that the swelling has almost completely faded, and the only bruises left on my face are the wispy, mottled shadows around the incision itself.

The rest of my body? A totally different story. Underneath the baggy green sweatshirt and soft pajama pants that I changed into before leaving my room is a mess of bruising from the accident, still dark and ugly.

“We all need breaks, Lori. And you already made it to residency. You don’t have to keep trying to impress people.” Kurt gets in behind the wheel.

My cheeks color. “Just drive me home.”

“Say please?” Kurt requests.

Grudgingly, I do. As soon as the word is out of my mouth, we’re on the road and heading home. It’s a long drive. Or at least, it feels like a long drive. Maybe just because the moment that the car pulls out onto the road, it feels like my heart is about to start beating out of my chest.

My palms get sweaty. My mouth goes dry.

I must have turned three shades paler because, at some point, Kurt reaches across the center console and offers me his hand. I grab onto it like it’s the only thing keeping me anchored into the seat. My eyes slam shut.

I’m so busy being fucking terrified about being back in the car, I don’t even realize that we’re pulled into my apartment building until Kurt gives my hand a squeeze.

“We’re here,” he says. “You okay, Lori?”

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