Page 25

"Your recovery has been above average. You’ve surprised me," I say, watching her blush.
"Are you saying that to encourage me or because it’s true?"
"I’m not the kind to give out compliments lightly, Brooklyn." Her determination is genuinely impressive, and it fills me with pride.
"In that case, thank you,” she says. “I don’t like pity disguised as flattery."
"I despise flatterers, and pity is a concept I don’t understand."
She looks at me as if waiting for me to say I’m joking. I’m not. "You don’t pity anyone? Not a single person?"
"No. Pitying someone is disrespectful. When you told me what happened the night you were attacked, I felt anger at the people who hurt you. Why would I pity you? You fought to survive. You woke up from a coma. In the end, you won."
"I’ve never thought of it that way."
"Pitying someone diminishes them. It underestimates them."
"It’s showing sympathy."
"No, it’s not. Sympathy is about understanding the situation someone went through. Pity, on the other hand, is directed at the supposed victim. Just considering someone a victim is, in itself, an attempt to make them weak. There’s no generosity in feeling pity for someone. Those who do it are placing the person they pity on a lower level."
"So, what am I, then?"
"A survivor. They tried to break you, but they didn’t succeed."
She gets off the bed and comes over to me. To my surprise, she hugs me. "Thank you," she says.
Just like when her children hugged me, I freeze at first.
Brooklyn is getting more beautiful by the day, and I’ve been holding myself back because it wouldn’t be fair to make a move while she’s still under my care and recovering.
But I’ve never had her in my arms like this before. I’ve never smelled her hair or felt her soft curves against me.
I should stay still, but before I know it, one of my hands is on the back of her neck and the other is on her hip. "You shouldn’t have done that," I warn.
She lifts her face to look at me, her body trembling. "I like hugs," she says. "But I didn’t plan to hug you. It was an impulse."
Her full lips are slightly parted, and all it would take to kiss her is for me to lean down, but I force myself to stop.
I let her go and take a step back before I lose control and cross the line. "You and your family are huggers."
She blushes but then smiles. "Oh, yes. I’d forgotten that my kids hugged you that day. Either way, it won’t happen again on my part, Dr. Athanasios. I was just moved by your words."
I step closer to her and gently hold her chin. "It will happen again, Brooklyn, but not here. Not now."
"I don’t . . .”
"You’re not ready for me yet, but you will be soon."
"You don’t . . . I . . . We . . .”
"No rush, Brooklyn. I’ll give you time until you’re discharged. I don’t want you vulnerable. I want the person you were before all of this happened. But be warned: as soon as you’re no longer my patient, I’ll come after you."
I leave the room because hugging her felt like igniting a flame in a barrel of gunpowder. My body is rigid with desire, and I never allow myself to be led by lust.
Damn it! This wasn’t what I planned, but it never crossed my mind that she would make the first move to touch me.
"What’s got into you?" William asks as he passes me in the hallway.