Page 8 of Crash

Lies. The truth was, nausea had infected my life. It appeared with no rhyme or reason, and while I was lucky enough to not actually worship the porcelain goddess on a daily basis, the persistent queasiness had definitely done a number on my appetite. Hence the weight loss that apparently only Dr. Observant here had picked up on without so much as glancing at my chart.

Wait a minute … my medical records … would he have the authority to pull up all of my medical records? From all the doctors I had seen?

“Those circles under your eyes. How long have they been there?” His gaze narrowed, clinical assessment battling with something far more personal, more intense.

I shrugged. “Bad night’s sleep. That’s all.”

“Insomnia?” He arched a skeptical brow.

“Try running a start-up.”Please, stop looking at me like that, like you can see right through me.

Blake turned to the computer, his frown deepening as he scrolled through my chart.

“These tests aren’t telling me why you fainted. I want to see the results of the CT scan.”

Panic clawed at my throat. “Am I showing signs of a concussion?”

“No.”

“Then I’d like to be released.” I tried to keep the desperation out of my voice, but it clung to every word.

His head tilted to that dangerous angle I remembered all too well, the one that meant Blake was gearing up for a fight he had no intention of losing.

“Tessa, you could have cracked your skull open. We’re finding out why this happened, end of story.”

“Blake, I don’t need more tests. I need Gatorade and a nap.”

“You hit your head.” His voice dropped to a low growl that made my skin prickle with awareness. “This isn’t up for debate. We need to run tests to find out why this happened.”

Tests. More freaking tests. Something snapped inside me, frustration boiling over.

“I’ve already had a CBC, comprehensive metabolic panel, thyroid function tests, iron studies, and cortisol levels checked. Everything’s normal. I’m fine.” The words tumbled out before I could stop them.

Blake went utterly still, realization dawning in his eyes like a slow-motion car crash. The brilliant doctor in him was connecting dots I’d worked damn hard to leave scattered.

“Why would a doctor order extensive endocrine workups and stress hormone panels on an otherwise healthy thirty-three-year-old woman?”

Crap.“She’s just … very thorough. Likes to cover all her bases.”

His expression softened, concern etching into the lines around his mouth. “Tessa, you can trust me. If something’s wrong, if you’re sick or in trouble?—”

“Nothing’s wrong,” I bit out through clenched teeth. I straightened my spine, channeling my best take-no-prisoners boardroom voice. “With all due respect, Dr. Morrison, I appreciate your concern, but right now, you’re my physician, I’m your patient, and I’m formally requesting to be released. Immediately.”

The transformation was subtle but instantaneous. Shoulders squaring, jaw tightening, eyes hardening. Clearly, the formidable Blake Morrison wasn’t accustomed to having control wrestled away from him. Several tense heartbeats passed before he spoke.

“Fine.” The single word carried the weight of a thousand reluctant concessions. “One final test. Stand up and walk a fewsteps. Show me your balance isn’t compromised. Then, and only then, will I release you. Provided your CT doesn’t come back concerning.”

Relief flooded my strained muscles, sweet as honey, but guilt followed close behind. I hadn’t meant to be so harsh with him, to push him away when all he wanted was to help. Maybe I could make it up to him sometime. Grab a beer, shoot the breeze, do something normal people did. Not people with complicated histories and unspoken secrets.

I swung my legs over the bed’s edge, feet finding linoleum.

“I’m sorry,” I offered quietly, taking my first tentative step toward him. “I didn’t mean to be such a ru?—”

Oh crap. Houston, we have a problem.Namely that my head had suddenly transformed into a helium balloon, the room was tilting sideways at a decidedly alarming angle, and the edges of my vision were bleeding to inky-black-like watercolors in the rain.

I tried to turn around and make a desperate reach for the safety of the bed, but my rising panic only made the dizziness worse.

I’m going down. I’m going to face-plant on this unforgiving floor and shatter my nose, and Blake is going to have to stitch me back together like human Humpty freakin’ Dumpty.