Page 90 of Crash

“Trust me.” His voice roughened, his grip gentling, but not releasing. “Nothing about how I’m looking at you right now is professional.”

My pulse jumped, and I wasn’t sure if it was from the dizziness or his words.

“Let me go, Blake.”

“No.” The word was short, but its meaning stretched between us like a lifeline I wasn’t sure I wanted to grab. “You want to prove you’re healthy enough to leave? Fine. But first, you’re going to be honest with me.”

“I am being honest,” I said, pushing away from him, needing distance to think clearly. “Obviously, you heard what I said to Maria. If my place had mold that was making me sick, I’d be feeling better here, not worse today.”

“You were feeling better when you arrived.”

I lifted my chin, trying to sound stronger than I felt. “Point is, the only reason I was staying here was to avoid potential triggers.” And this place? Was a land mine of triggers. All of them Blake-shaped. “Why are you really home early?” I asked, narrowing my eyes.

He rolled his sleeves up to his elbows. To distract me with those lean forearms, I bet.

“Your heart rate was elevated today. Irregular.”

I blinked, processing the fact that even during his busy workday, he’d been monitoring me.

“I’m fine,” I claimed, though the room’s subtle spinning suggested otherwise. “And I need to go.”

“Tess, you don’t look good.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“Let me at least examine you before you leave. If you leave and something happens …” He grabbed the back of his neck. “I’ll never be able to live with myself. Do this for me. Let me examine you.”

Surely, he knew this was a waste of time; one exam wouldn’t uncover what had evaded medical science for a year.

“And if you do find something concerning?”

My home was calling my name, but if I left like this, he’d never stop calling and texting and maybe even showing up. I needed to be able to focus, and the only way to do that was to convince him I wasn’t about to die. Imminently.

“Then you trust me enough to help you. Not as your doctor, but as your …” The word hung between us, unspoken. “As your friend.”

Okay. I’d just pretend that the wordfrienddidn’t just slice my gut in half and try to remind my bitchy heart that this was his idea of a peace offering.

Part of me wanted to push him away. Specifically my bruised ego and heart, but I had made the decision to reclaim control of my life, and part of that was getting to the bottom of the symptoms so I could be in control all the time.

If I kicked Blake off my medical case now, how long would it take to find another doctor as determined as him to get to the bottom of this? Was it wrong of me to accept his help though when I was upset with him? Was that selfish? Or was it stupid to blow this opportunity to have him see my case all the way through?

“Fine,” I conceded, ignoring how his relief made my stomach flip. “You can examine me, but only if you do it here.” I wasn’t letting him drag me to the hospital right now.

Blake nodded, his expression unreadable.

“Sit,” he said, guiding me to the bed. “I’ll get my medical bag.”

As he left the room, I pressed a hand to my racing heart, wondering which would end me first: whatever mysterious illness was plaguing me or the way Blake made me feel when he looked at me like that.

The moment he stepped back through the doorway, medical bag in hand and stethoscope around his neck, I knew I was about to find out.

47

TESSA

I perched on the edge of the bed, hyperaware of his presence as he settled beside me, the mattress dipping under his weight. He reached for his stethoscope, the movement bringing a whisper of his body wash to me—clean and masculine, achingly familiar.

“I need to listen to your heart.” His eyes met mine, dark and intent. “Try to breathe normally.”