Page 9 of White Raven
He felt his face paling, and a cold sweat started breaking out on his skin. He couldn’t exactly say that he was healed with…with…
“I guess it’s a Christmas miracle.”
She wasn’t buying it. Her face told him as much. But short of the nurse outright telling her, Brent wasn’t sure if there was anything shewouldbuy. It was almost cruel…keeping it to himself. The corner of her mouth turned up slightly, and her eyes narrowed, but she nodded and glanced up to the muted television. “I’m very sorry. I understand that you must be going through a lot right now. I don’t want to add to your stress. Actually, as your doctor, I shouldn’t even be bothering you with the idea that I’m stumped here, but…it’s just so strange. I, umm…I’ll fix the dietary restriction and have something wholesome brought up for you. And I suppose, in light of yourmiraculousprogress…we should start preparing you to be discharged in the next day or so.”
“Thank you, doc.” Brent held her stare for a moment, and then offered her a slight smile. “Will that be all?”
“Yes,” she nodded, scooting her chair back and replacing her glasses as she stood. “I apologize, I didn’t mean to disturb you. I just wanted to check in.”
“You’re fine. You didn’t disturb anything. I’m…not really sure how to go about all this anyway. My mind is too cluttered to really make sense of it all.”
“I understand. And I did want to offer my condolences regarding the loss of—well, both your parents. Regardless of the circumstances, I know that has to be difficult for you right now. I was going to wait until your discharge, but I guess now would be a good time to tell you that I’m in the process of referring you to a therapist to help you with your trauma, and obviously your loss.”
“I don’t want that.”
She bristled, but leaned forward, placing a gentle hand on the back of his. “You may think that now, Mr. Stratford, but…while your body might be recovering quicker and more remarkable than I expected, your mental state following all this may not be as fast.” She met his eyes, swallowing again. “Or as easily.”
“Just the same, do I have the option of rejecting that offer?”
Another pause, and a slow nod. “You do. But…for what it’s worth? Talking to someone that doesn’t have any close relation to you is more helpful than you realize. Someone on the outside that doesn’t have any personal influence. I, myself, have used it after losing a patient, or succumbing to a load of stress that was heavier than I was able to manage. Something to think about. There’s no shame in it, Mr. Stratford.”
“Thank you…” She eased off and turned to walk out the door. He wasn’t sure why he asked the next question, but it seemed to involuntarily roll out of his mouth. “Is he here? In the hospital somewhere?” Dr. Ambrose paused with her hand on the door jamb. Her sharp chin inched over her shoulder.
“Your father?”
Brent nodded.
She cleared her throat and turned to face him again, clutching the clipboard as if she’d be able to hide behind it. “He—no. No, he isn’t. As I understand it, he and the other victim are both being kept uptown.”
“Victim?” The use of that word was enough to send his blood boiling. He knew she didn’t mean it in any sort of way. But the thought of anyone believing that his bastard father—the man who’d tortured Wren, plotted to ruin and abuse his ex, and nearly cost him his own life—if anyoneactuallybelieved that man to be a victim…Brent could feel the tips of his ears blazing with anger.
“I really think you should consider talking to someone before you attempt to visit, Mr. Stratford.”
“I’m not sure I’ll be visiting. I was gonna tell you to reclaim whatever space he’s taking up if he was here and go throw his worthless remains in the filthiest dumpster you have. It would save me the trouble of looking over all this shit in my lap to figure out what else can be done with his corpse.”
Dr. Ambrose’s throat bobbed several times at his remark, but a flash of understanding flickered in her soft brown eyes. “I wish I were able to make that call for you, Brent. Off the record.”
He liked this woman.
“Thank you, again.”
She gave him a tight smile and finally left, leaving him sitting with way too much on his mind. After a few minutes, Brent slid his phone off the side table and swiped it open. He went through his messages, and part of him felt disappointed to see that Wren hadn’t left anything at all. He wondered then, if maybe she was regretting what had happened in her room last night. Wondered if it should have happened at all. He opened the keyboard, and his thumb hovered over it for a few long moments. He couldn’t think of a single thing to say.
The phone landed with a loud thud back onto the table.
CHAPTER 2
EGYPTIAN COTTON
Almost a full week, and the sensation of warmth on his skin—even in the bitter Boston chill of winter—hadn’t even begun to feel familiar as Tony Lloyd stood on the sixteenth-floor balcony of one of the fanciest hotels in the city. Ashes from his cigarette floated on the wind, scattering about and reminding him of the freedom they all had, now that their leader had flittered away, much in the same manner. That past was gone. Burned away. The beauty of this place in the ambiance of sunlight was breathtaking. He couldn’t wait to take in the staggering beauty of the place they’d soon be going after New Years. To see London again…to see Ireland. To walk the streets of Glasgow, and Edinburgh during the day, while the blue and white of St. Andrew’s cross flapped in winds from the Highlands. Scotland would be a fine place to settle down for a century or two.
He had no words to thank Sarah St. James, and the mate that sired her. He felt just as undeserving of this new life as Decclan and Devin had said they also did. Both of which occupied a room on either side of him. Small flurries of snow began to fall as the milky sunlight hid itself behind a blanket of clouds, and Tony turned back toward the open doorway as a knock sounded on his door. He flicked his cigarette over the rail and went to answer it. Decclan waited on the other side.
“Morning, mate.”
Tony smiled, “Morning. Is it still just as strange for you to say, and actually mean it?”
“Understatement, old friend.” Tony moved aside and let him in. Decclan had been a little quiet following Dahlia’s death,but didn’t seem to be taking it quite as hard as he imagined he would have after all these long years. The large man made himself at home and poured himself some whiskey they had brought with them from the tavern at the small table in the middle of the suite. “I know you’re the barkeep, but would you let me pour you a glass?”
