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Gemma stumbled with her high heels buckling under her. “Who the fuck do you think you are?”

I closed the short distance between the elevator and the office door, and reaching out a hand, I helped Gemma to stand. “That’s Rook, and he’s an asshole.”

Gemma swiped dirt from her ass and smoothed her ruffled, white button-down as she gave Dr. Rook another pointed scowl. “Yeah, I can see that.” She flipped him off. “Have a great fucking life, loser.”

Knox looked like he was sending up a silent prayer for patience. “Reed, I was just going to warn you that your mother shared Kiss-Met’s services with her friends, and she made it sound like they could go to yourgirlfriendfor matches.” His eyes flitted from me to Gemma, and then back to me. “Thought you should know.”

That was… terrible news. Horrible, in fact. My parents had really liked Ruth, and then I’d gone and ran her off.Brilliant move, Reed.“Thanks,” I gritted out.

“Girlfriend,” Gemma said, as if the word had jarred her memory. “Yes, Ruth.” She reached out and grabbed my wrist in a tight grip that did not match her small stature. Her bright blue eyes captured mine with fervent intensity. “I ran down here to catch you before you left. Ruth needs you.”

My brows drew together a fraction. “What do you mean?”

“Something is wrong with her knee, and she won’t go seea doctor,” Gemma rushed to explain. “I think it’s infected? I don’t know. She won’t let me in to see.” Rook clicked his tongue in censure, and Gemma hinged an angry glower his way. “Don’t you have a lair to return to?”

“It’s more of a dungeon,” Rook replied seriously.

Gemma’s heart-shaped face twisted in derision. “Ugh.”

But my mind wasn’t on their squabbling. It was on Ruth and what might be wrong with her knee—and most importantly, what I could do about it. I backed away, my mind already making a list of supplies I might need. “If I go there, will she let me in?”

“No.” Gemma gave me a conspiratorial eyebrow quirk. “But her spare is in the bush to the left of her back door.”

“That doesn’t sound legal,” I replied, hitting the elevator button and then bringing up Annie’s number in my phone. I put it to my ear, waiting for my receptionist to pick up.

Gemma folded her arms under her generous breasts. “Are you going to save her or not?”

“Highly unethical,” Rook muttered.

I dithered. It was unethical to show up to a girl’s house after she’d firmly set a boundary in place. But then again, it was unethical to know she was sick or suffering and do nothing about it. Ruth had said she didn’t like hospitals or doctors. Maybe that fear went deeper than I’d known, and perhaps she was just like some of my other patients—the ones who had what we often called “white coat syndrome” that made them unaccountably anxious about entering medical institutions. That was one ofthe many reasons I’d chosen to give at-home care in the first place.

The elevator doors opened, and Annie answered. “Hello, Goldbrook Urgent Care. This is Annie, how can I help you?”

I met Gemma’s worried gaze, and then I stepped into the elevator. “Hey, Annie, clear my schedule for the afternoon. Put Ruth Coldwell on instead.”

Chapter fourteen

Ruth

Ruth

My blood had become the molten core of the earth. It raged through my veins, scalding the tissue and burning away my organs from the inside out. I vaguely remembered calling in sick to work, and I’d managed to grab a glass of water from the kitchen, but after that, I’d found myself welded to the couch. And then the inferno had cooled with an icy blast, like the lava in my veins had turned into a glacial fjord, and I started shivering uncontrollably. I wanted to find a blanket, but I couldn’t put weight on my knee after I’d slammed it into the door.

And really, the only thing worse than the fever racking my body in torturous waves was the pulsing pain along my leg. I needed to find a hospital. I knew that. But between the fever and the pain, I couldn’t find the will to overcome myfears. With bleary eyes, I risked a look down to my knee. It had swollen more overnight, and my failed attempt to dig out the wooden sliver the night before had only inflamed it and caused the agony to double. I rolled my face into the small throw pillow on my couch. Not good. It had to subside eventually, right?

Could I die from a splinter? That didn’t seem possible. I hadn’t ever heard of such a thing—death by splinter. Nothing could be more ridiculous than that, and I reasoned that I was simply being dramatic because I had a fever, and the pain wasn’t abating. Unless there was something I was missing.Not the right kind of doctor, I thought despairingly. I tried not to think about the fact that Iwasthe kind of doctor Vaughn needed. I tried to push away the anger and hurt from his threats, but they knotted around inside of me, festering just as badly as the wood in my knee.

I let myself fall back into a fitful sleep, but it wasn’t very restful between the sweating, burning fever that faded away into teeth-chattering chills. I thought distantly that a bath would be nice, but I wasn’t sure I could make it to the bathroom. So, instead, I spiraled into dreams with locked doors and silverpoint pens that scratched aching patterns all over my leg until it bled. I dreamed of liquid silver mixing with my blood in a contrasting swirl, draining out of me and onto a medieval stone floor until it reached the feet of laughing giants.

One of the giants made a grumbling sound, muffled even in my dreams, and he reached down to grab my arm in a vice grip.Vaughn? No! Get off me!

I struggled, and the giant pressed his hand to my face. Then, he dipped his massive fingers into his gold goblet to pull out an ice cube. He pressed it to my arm, and I gasped so loudly, it wrenched me from the dream.

I opened my eyes. My blurry living room took shape slowly, and the swinging, faded image of my ceiling fan converged in dizzying sweeps before settling into a solid picture. A soft, hydraulic kind of sound puffed in the quiet room, taking on a rapid rhythm, and it was only then that I realized each clenching sound was followed by an increasing tightness around my arm.

I looked down and saw Callum. I almost passed out. “What?” I croaked.

He was kneeling on one knee next to me, one elbow resting on the brown couch cushion and his hands on my right arm that lay out flat at my side. Somehow, I’d gotten turned from my side to my back, and he had a blood pressure cuff around my arm. His stethoscope had been pressed to the inside of my elbow, and as his shadowed, green eyes found mine, his lips counted soundlessly. He dropped his gaze back to my arm, still counting as he took my blood pressure.