Page 9 of Merry Little Heartbreak

“Holy smokes,” Hannah said.

“It gets worse,” Conner said.

“Is that even possible?” she asked.

“A few years ago, Drake heard she was spending time with his brother Ian,” Conner said.

“No way.” She gasped. “That doesn’t sound like something Margo would do,” Hannah said.

“Thank you for letting me relive that highlight reel, Conner,” Drake said.

“No problem, man.”

“The point is, we were just encouraging Drake to move back and work in the emergency department at Mercy, since he’s bored with plastics,” Finn said.

“But wouldn’t he have to work with Margo?” Hannah asked.

“Yes. It would be like fire and ice, oil and water, Cain and Abel.” Connor clapped his hands together. “Magic.”

A smile spread across Finn’s face before he and Connor both started belly laughing while Hannah studied Drake.

“You know what they say: there’s a thin line between love and hate,” she said.

“Well, in their case, it’s razor thin, and one of them is bound to get cut and bleed out,” Connor said.

“There must still be something there if she can get under his skin after all this time,” Finn added.

Drake stood and turned away from them, shaking his head. He didn’t want to listen anymore.

Moving back was not in the plans. And yet the idea of getting out of the fake world of plastic surgery in LA was appealing. Maybe there was more unfinished business between Margo and him than he realized, because that kiss had not been one-sided. His brain almost couldn’t comprehend how responsive she’d been. Didn’t he owe it to himself to find out why?

The next day, on Thanksgiving, Drake realized he had stayed away from home too long. When he arrived at his parents’ home in the same gated community he’d grown up in, he found his father in his office working. There were no traditional smells of the holiday, no gravy, or pies cooking, and the house was quiet.

Sitting in one of the familiar leather chairs in front of his dad’s desk a knot settled in his stomach.

“Where’s Mom and Ian? Aren’t we having a family dinner in a few hours?”

His father sighed as he sat back in his high-backed chair. Removing his glasses, he squeezed his eyes shut before the deep blue depths looked up. Something was wrong.

“Happy Thanksgiving, son. Your mother had a procedure last week and has been feeling sick so we decided to just order in this year. Your brother had some excuse not to join us, and to be honest, we weren’t sure you’d show.”

“The only thing open will be Chinese food. Are you sure you don’t want to try to make something?”

“No, it’s too late to start now.”

“What do you mean a procedure? What did Mom have done? She does know I’m a plastic surgeon, right? After trying to talk her out of whatever work she convinced herself she needed, I could have recommended a great doctor.”

His dad cleared his throat but didn’t speak. A man that always had the answers was quiet, and he looked worried.

“Dad?”

“It wasn’t that kind of a procedure.” His dad pounded his fist on the desk. “I told her we should tell you, but she didn’t want to worry you boys. You know once that woman makes up her mind, it’s impossible to argue with her.”

“What kind of procedure was it, Dad?” A sense of forbidding mixed with panic.

“They found a lump a few months ago. She had it removed right away, and they said she’d only need one round of chemo. Which turned into two rounds. She just finished with the second, and it’s taking a toll. Now we’ll have to wait and see if it worked.”

He would have been furious if his dad didn’t look so devastated.

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