Page 114 of The Prodigal

Vance doesn’t bother looking up from his phone. “This isn’t a bonding moment. Don’t try to get on my good side by pointing out the qualities we share.”

The doctor appears in the doorway.

“Dr. Potter, can we see you out here for a moment?”

I don’t bother arguing that I’m an adult because, frankly, I’d ratherDr. Potterget the fuck out of my face.

“Please,” I beg. “Maybe go to the office, too, and see your own fucking patients. I’m sure someone has money to waste on your services.”

It’s not the sweetest thing I’ve ever said, but I’ve been in this fucking hospital for two weeks with everyone up my ass, asking how I feel every minute of the fucking day. I’ll tell you how I feel. I feel like stabbing somebody in the eye—especially Vance.

As soon as Vance leaves, Eden comes in to take his place. Even though I strictly forbade her from being tested, she did it anyway becausemy bad kidney, smoker’s lungs, and open-back gown weren’t going to be able chase her anytime soon.

She’s a bold little psycho. I’ll give her that.

“I thought you could use a little privacy.” She flashes me a grin and pulls the curtains closed, blocking our view of the doctor talking with my family.

“Now, this is the kind of transplant convincing I’m talking about, Eden,” I chirp, pushing up on my elbows. “You should have led with this weeks ago.”

“Oh, really?”

“Yeah.” I scoot over and make room for her on the bed. “I thought you knew a blow job is always the way to a man’s heart.”

“I’ll keep that in mind for the next time I need to convince you.”

The determination on her face scares me. “Are you going to sit?”

She shakes her head. “I think I’ll stand for now.”

“For fuck’s sake. Don’t you think I’ve suffered enough?” I whine.

“You have suffered.” She agrees. “But not enough.”

“Come again?” I arch a brow. “Are you saying I should suffer more?”

She nods. “For many more years.”

Ah, now I see her game.

“As fun as that sounds, how long I suffer is not up to me. It’s up to my failing kidney.”

She pushes in closer, grabbing my face between her hands. “Do you love me, Remington Potter?”

“You know the answer to that.”I’m not in the mood to give her sweet nothings.

“I do, but I want to hear you say it anyway.”

I blow out a breath and throw my hands up. “Fuck, fine. I love you, but I would love you more if you blew me while we had this conversation.”

She nods like that’s all that she needed to know. “I love you, too, and when you’re asleep and not acting like someone shit in your car, I love you more.”

“Great,” I say, like the asshole I am. “I’m glad we got that out of the way before I cried. That whole five seconds of not knowing how you felt were brutal.”

Unlike my mother, she doesn’t cry when I act like an asshole. Instead, she responds with a taunting smile that makes me nervous. I sometimes forget that my girl is just as twisted as I am.

Pulling her phone from her pocket, Eden swipes the screen until she gets to what she wants to show me, which, hopefully, isn’t another picture of some poor soul slowly dying from kidney disease. The Potters have been quite creative with their transplant-convincing attempts lately.

But then I hear a moan.

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