Page 45 of Decoding Morse

More importantly, why the fuck hadn’t she pushed me away?

“Come in,” Amelia called out, the husky tone of her voice screwing with my resolve.

A middle-aged man dressed in scrubs entered the room and introduced himself as PA Mark Pratt. Amelia’s lips were red and swollen, her cheeks flushed, and there was enough electricity zinging between us to start a fire. Pratt looked from her to me like he knew exactly what we’d been up to. I couldn’t care less what the judgmental son-of-a-bitch thought, so I returned his assessing stare. Then the motherfucker said the worst possible thing he could.

“You must be the husband.” His gaze didn’t even meet mine before he glanced down at his clipboard. “Ted?”

Amelia’s face went white. “No. Oh, no. He’s, uh… just an old friend. Ted’s friend. Who I haven’t seen in years. Morse.”

“Morse? That’s an unusual name.” He extended his hand.

I shook it, even as her dismissal sliced through my gut, maiming me. “Yep.”

He waited for me to elaborate, but I didn’t know this man from Adam. My road name was the only information he was getting. The bastard was lucky I didn’t hack into the system right then and email anime tentacle porn to everyone in his contact list. Extreme? Possibly, but he’d basically summoned Ted into the room.

Right after I’d made out with his wife.

In a goddamn examination room.

Which she fucking blew off.

Suppressing the urge to squeeze the shit out of his hand, I released it. Guilt. Shame. Anger. My emotions couldn’t seem to figure their shit out. All I knew was that kissing her like that was wrong. Worse, the depraved shit I wanted to do to Amelia would make what we’d just done look downright chaste.

She called me Ted’s old friend.

Not hers, but Ted’s.

Message received.

PA Pratt asked his own questions before examining Amelia’s back. Then he had her lie back and raise her legs one at a time. Pain flared in her eyes, and her left leg shook with the effort. He helped her sit up and instructed her to stand and bend forward to touch her toes, which she struggled with.

“Sciatica is a common issue for a woman of your age and condition,” he said, typing into the computer on the desk.

I didn’t miss how her shoulders drooped at his dismissive tone or the self-deprecating chuckle she released.

Pushing his wire-framed glasses up his nose, PA Pratt studied the screen. “The best course of action is physical therapy. I’ll write you a recommendation.”

“What about tests?” she asked. “I don’t need any x-rays or anything?”

PA Pratt shook his head. “Sciatica is a nerve issue, so an x-ray won’t tell me anything. I can reach out to your insurance company and request an MRI, but they’ll likely require you to try PT before they’ll authorize the expense.”

Just an old friend.

The truth of her declaration echoed in my chest, pinging off all the hollow places inside me in an endless cycle. She was right. Of course, she was. Who the fuck was I to think I ranked high enough to kiss someone like Amelia? I sure as shit would never measure up to Ted.

“That’s okay,” Amelia said to the physician’s assistant. “I’ll start with PT, but can you give me something to help with the pain?”

“I can request an appointment with pain management.” He clicked a few more keys. “There. Someone will be in touch to set up an appointment.”

“Great. Thanks.” She hesitated, her gaze almost drifting to me before she focused on her hands. “But I have a road trip coming up, and sitting for more than an hour at a time kills me. I was hoping to get a handful of pain pills to help me get through the drive.”

Since when? I wanted to know what the hell kind of trip she thought she was going on, but I held my tongue. I was nobody, and it was none of my damn business.

PA Pratt sized her up like she was a drug addict, begging for her next fix. “Will you be the one driving?” he asked.

“Yes, but I would only take them at night. And only if the pain gets so intense, I can’t sleep.”

He clicked more keys. “What kind of trip? How far will you be driving?”

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