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Chapter Eight

Nathan

I made one of my life’s biggest goofs. I fucked the wrong woman, even though it felt incredible doing it.

That impending sense of doom clings tightly to me as I walk into my once-a-month remissions clinic.

Jackson Ames, a specialist oncology nurse and head of the remissions unit, is in the large assessment room, bent over a patient and copying her vitals signs into an iPad while deep in conversation with her.

Jackson runs a weekly clinic to see the regulars, those who have beaten the disease and have remained in remission for years while I do a monthly clinic, also on a Monday, for those newly cured of cancer.

Jackson straightens the moment I enter.

“Morning, Dr. King!” he calls.

“Jackson. Ms. Sileby,” I respond, twisting my mouth into a semblance of a smile. “Feeling good?”

“Top of the world,” Pat Sileby, a sixty-six-year-old survivor of melanoma, beams. “Only, Jackson here is tormenting me for losing a couple of pounds, but I’ve told him that it’s intentional, so I’m good. Tell him, Doc.”

I know better than to get involved in Jackson’s business, so I just smile. “Sure, I will.”

“It’s not a few, Pat, it’s twelve whole pounds,” Jackson gripes. “I’m not having your BMI fall, just so you can pour yourself into a bridesmaid dress.”

“It’s a mother-of-the-groom dress, so that shows how much you know,” Pat returns.

He crosses his arms across his chest, narrowing his eyes at her playfully. “I know this much: lose one more pound, and I’m scheduling you an appointment with our dietician for further review.”

Pat’s mouth snaps shut, and she huffs, sufficiently chastised, while Jackson smirks in triumph.

All my patients have a healthy revulsion for the Fount dietician. Her results are pure magic, but she manages to come up with the vilest tasting smoothies and concoctions.

I don’t have to start my own clinic for another fifteen minutes, but I head across the corridor and into my consulting room.

Usually, I would stay and chat with a few more of Jackson’s patients, many of whom I haven’t seen for years, but today, I’m as tense as a cat on a hot tin roof.

I collapse into the plush leather seat, then blow out a calming breath.

I’ve been out of town all week, and all the while I kept telling myself that it was the distance affecting me, that I would settle once I got in today, but I can already see that won’t be the case. I hold a hand out in front of me and see the faint tremors in my fingers.

I’m the furthest thing from settled. I’m fucked, is what I am.

Where the hell is Tess? My mind screams at me. Get her!

It’s been a week since John Blackwell’s engagement party. Since the limo. Since Tess blew the top of my head to smithereens.

After Tess stopped trembling, she simply whispered a shy “thank you” before kissing the spot on my neck that she’d been worrying with her teeth while coming on my cock. She disentangled her limbs from mine, then sat next to me, putting her head on my shoulder.

And then, she promptly dozed off.

I couldn’t have made up a more perfect solution for avoiding the awkward aftermath of sex in a car if I tried. I should have been jumping for joy.

Instead, it galled me because it was obvious that Tess didn’t see what happened as more than an outlet for the night’s difficult emotions.

She even fucking thanked me.

But I can’t complain about it since we’d both used each other to feel better.

Hearing John’s comments about Mary had triggered my deeply conflicted feelings toward the woman. I resent her almost as much as I feel sorry for her.

Because that woman took my brother from me.

Still, I couldn’t help jumping to her defense because that’s what Ciaran would have done. Walking into a conversation where Mary was being shredded to pieces, a reminder that John never loved her yet was too cruel and selfish to let someone else love her, it triggered an unbearable ache inside me. It left me wanting to hit someone.

Or fuck someone.

And Tess was there. A woman who’d been driving me crazy with lust, and one I know for a fact also uses sex as therapy when she’s hurting badly. She just also happens to be John Blackwell’s daughter.

There couldn’t be a more perfect cure and retribution all rolled into one if fate itself had conjured up the scenario.

The only problem is this damn withdrawal syndrome I have from her. I took one hit, and now I’m hooked. One week and I’m literally shaking like an addict craving his next high.

I’d left LA the morning after the party for a week-long working trip, delivering lectures and honoring speaking engagements in various teaching hospitals across the country.

I hate traveling, so I prefer to schedule my trips around the same time, so I can complete them in a few large chunks. For a whole week, it seemed like every other thought I had was about Tessa.

With difficulty, I drag my focus from my raging hormones and power through my clinic. Thankfully, there’s no bad news to deliver, as all my patients have stayed in remission.

By noon, I’m as cranky as a bear with a sore head. I really thought my longing for her was because I’d been so far away.

Apparently, I’m clueless about how these things work because little did I know that being in the same building as Tess and not seeing her would be a far worse torture.

“Dr. King?” Jackson is surprised to see me leaving as I walk out of the consulting room.

“What?” I almost feel bad for snapping at him. I usually pride myself on being a personable boss, but today, I can’t muster up the self-control to keep my temper in check.

“Nothing, we still have a few walk-ins this afternoon.”

Closing my eyes and cursing myself for my one-track mind, I race to find a solution that works for everyone. It only takes me a second to find one. “Give them my apologies and see them yourself, will you? I have somewhere to be right now.”

The Guardian Angels’ office.

Jackson is delighted at the opportunity I’ve just given him. And I know he’s more than capable, too.

Because I know that it’s still ultimately my responsibility and that I’m scheduled to run the clinics until three o’clock, I turn back to him just as I’m stepping out of the glass double doors. “If anything needs my attention, page me.”

“Sure thing! Thanks.” Then, as if just remembering something, he calls out, “Dr. King, the remissions team is having a bit of a get-together next week, and this time, we’d really like you to attend.”

Geez, this is what, the fourth party this year? “Check with Doug. If I’m not otherwise engaged, I’ll have to think about it.”

That is, if I’m not attending another patient’s funeral or playing mediator for another internal disagreement or doing a million other tasks. All these take precedence over letting myself indulge in something like a party, however enjoyable it might be.

As CMD and lead oncologist, I’m the captain of a ship with three crews of sailors who don’t always see eye-to-eye.

The dying, palliative, or “pals,” crew are those with terminal cancers who I have to issue weeks, sometimes days to live.

The living, remission, or “rems,” crew are those who are lucky to have beaten the deadly disease. And boy, do they live the heck of life.

The last chunk of patients I work with are those for whom the dial could turn either way, otherwise known as the treatment crew. Usually admitted for surgery, chemo, or radiation, these patients are either hope or angst-filled.

Sometimes, tempers run a bit high when one crew thinks that another is getting special treatment for their patients, like the parties that the rems crew likes to throw.

I take the elevator to the floor that houses the Guardian Angels Network offices, but when I see the mocking, red OUT beside Tess’s name on the digital status board, a ball of irritation settles in my gut.

“Hi, Dr. King.” Tess’s assistant, Diane, comes over to me when she sees me. “Did you want Tessa?”

Funny way to put it. I incline my head and smile wryly despite my frustration. “I see she’s not in today.”

“She’s moved things around so she can have Monday afternoons off. Most clinics are on Mondays, but the bulk of surgeries and chemo appointments happen later in the week.”

When I furrow my brows in confusion, Diane explains further, “Patients tend to attend clinics alone but will have friends and relatives with them when coming for surgeries or chemo. Tessa wants us to focus on getting as many patients and relatives to sign up for KidsStation beta testing as possible.”

“I see. That makes sense. Thanks, Diane.”

I’m about to leave when Diane adds, “She should be with the kids now.”

“What kids?”

“The ones in Unit F.”

The isolation ward. A wave of panic hits me. Tess should not be going there, least of all by herself. There are stringent rules and regulations everyone must follow if they want access to the ward, and by going by herself, she wouldn’t know any of the dos and don’ts.

“Thanks, Diane.” I return to the ground floor, then step outside the building.

It’s starting to rain, but I don't bother to change course and take the overhead walkway connecting the Fount buildings because that would take too much time.

I don’t bother to look for an umbrella, either. I simply stride across the stone paths of the Fount complex until I reach the opposite building where the other wards are.

I’m drenched by the time I get to the isolation floor, but it doesn’t matter since I’ll have to change into scrubs, anyway.

The children here have compromised immune systems, so staff have to be very careful about spreading any germs to them.

“Hello, Dr. King,” the nurse in charge greets me. “Dr. Alvarez didn't mention you were dropping by this week.”

I grunt. “It’s fine, Marta, I’m not doing a round. Is Tess—I mean, Ms. Blackwell—here?”

Seeming to comprehend the issue after taking a second to think about it, she looks guilty and has the grace to blush. “Dr. King—”

“How long have you been letting her do this?”

Her mouth tries to form words, but it takes a minute for her to compose herself enough to explain. “I’m sorry, it’s because infection control approved her two weeks ago after she completed her training.”

“I see.”

Of course, one swish of her ponytail and these guys would give her anything she wants. At least they had the presence of mind to put her through training first, so that knowledge alleviates some of my worries.

“Do you want me to get her for you?” the nurse asks.

I wave a hand to dismiss the question. “Never mind, I’ll find her.”

I turn on my heels, leaving a surprised, somewhat pleased looking Marta behind, and stalk to the changing room, peeling off my damp clothes so I can change into dark blue scrubs, then I push through the double doors leading into the isolation ward.

Two of the four walls of the wards are made of glass, transparent so that the nurses can easily observe patients. The blinds are open, so I can see inside the rooms. I know which one Tess is in, because there’s only been one child in admission here this week.

Skylar, an eleven-year-old kid with lymphoma, sits in a lotus fashion on her bed, chattering away, her face lit up with excitement. Tessa sits at the foot of her bed listening raptly.

I should go in and get her out. She shouldn’t be here. To be fair, however, she’s following protocol because she’s in scrubs, gloved, and masked, and her hair is up in a neat bun.

I push the glass door, and it opens silently.

“… don’t think I’m pretty.”

I stop at the sound of Skylar’s voice. Skylar started her treatment a year ago, but she’s now nearing the end of her chemo cycles.

She’s winning the battle, although her immune system has taken a big hit and her hair has yet to to grow back.

“Why would you say that?” Tessa asks. Her back is turned to me. I can’t see her face, but I drink in as much of her as I can from this angle.

Much of her skin is covered, but the parts I can see make my palms itch to touch her. Her blonde hair, now in a prim bun, just reminds me of how it spilled down her back that night in the limo.

Would she like her hair pulled while I fucked her from behind? Something tells me that she’d like almost anything as long as I was deep inside of her.

Aren’t you being a bit cocky there, caveman?

Except that I can’t help it.

My thrill of excitement makes it almost impossible to focus on Skylar’s next words.

“It’s taking forever to grow back,” she mutters. Tessa’s frame blocks a chunk of the girl’s face, but I can see her sunken eyes go hollow with sadness. “And Nurse Marta says that it might not even look like it did before when it does come back in.”

Tess points her hand to the girl’s chest. “Well, you know, as long as you’re pretty in there where it really counts, it doesn’t matter what color or texture your hair is. Or even that you have hair at all.”

“But how would you know?” Skylar’s eyes are filled with awe as she looks up at Tessa. “You’ve got a ton of hair.”

“Well, when I was eleven,” Tessa says, her voice low, conspiratorial, “someone at the orphanage shaved off my hair while I was sleeping.”

Skylar’s eyes widen, and she gasps. “No way!”

Tess nods solemnly.

“But why would they do that?”

Tess shrugs, releasing a small laugh as she seems to remember that time in her life. “To be mean. I didn’t want to go to school, and I tried to wear a hat, but it wasn’t allowed.”

“So what happened?” Skylar leans forward in anticipation, and I find myself just as eager to hear the rest of it.

“It took a little bit for me to adjust because people needed time to get used to the new me, but at the end of the school term, guess what?”

“What?”

“I ended up being more popular. They thought I was super brave. I even got a secret admirer.”

“Really?”

“Yes, I had freshly picked flowers put on my desk every week for a whole year.”

Skylar gasps.

“Plus, I had my Christmas wish granted. I got adopted.” The reluctant smile that had stretched my lips dies.

Fuck. Her parents never deserved her.

“Oh, Tess, that’s great.” The girl bounces on her tucked haunches, and she gifts Tess with a beautiful, genuine smile.

“Yes, so you see, you don’t need hair to be loved. And I think you’re the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen, with or without hair.”

Skylar’s grin lights up her face.

I squint at Tessa, more impressed than surprised. I’ve never even seen her interact with a child before. I know she’s always had an interest in children, but seeing her passion, kindness, and maturity does something to me.

I step into view, and Skylar looks up and greets me with a small wave. Tess turns to look at me, and I notice how her shoulders stiffen the moment she sees me. I’m not sure whether to be gratified or pissed off by that.

“How’s Supergirl Skylar today?” I move closer to the pair.

“I’m good. Look, Dr. King, Tessa came to see me.” She gestures, holding her arm out to Tessa.

“I see that. It was very nice of her, wasn’t it?” I smile, even though Skylar can’t see it behind my face mask.

“Oh, she’s the best,” Skylar heartily agrees, bouncing on her haunches again.

“Tess?” I call when an awkward silence overtakes the room.

“I was just leaving, Dr. King.” Tessa stands and straightens the edge of the bedsheet.

“Promise you’ll come back soon,” Skylar says, the moment she notices Tessa starting to leave. The young girl’s eyes are anxious and desperate, like she’s afraid that she’ll never see Tess again and she’s mourning the woman’s absence already.

It’s obvious that Skylar is already attached to her.

Great.

“Of course,” Tess promises, following me out the door after I say my own goodbyes.

I lead her out of the ward, pulling off my face mask as I lead her further down the corridor, to a spot where we’re partially obstructed from the view of the nursing station by a wall.

I turn and simply look at her—what parts of her face I can see, anyway. I’ve been dying to see her again, but now that I’m in front of her, I’m not sure what to say.

Tessa beats me to it. “She’s lonely. Marta says that no one has been in to see her for two days.”

“Nor will there be for the next couple of weeks.”

Tessa’s eyes go wide with surprise. “What? Why?”

“Her mom lives two hours away and has four other children, all under age seven. You know how kids that age are with germs. Skylar is pulling through, but the chemo knocks out her immune system. She’s going to be fine, though. It’s her final cycle.”

“Oh, I see.” A frown appears between her brows, and I yearn to erase it.

“But,” I continue in a softer tone, “I’ve arranged to have two girls her age and similar clinical state transferred from Glendale, so they can hang out, do pillow fights, shave off each others’ hair, and whatever else you girls do at that age.”

She laughs. “You’re kidding!”

“No, they arrive in a couple of days. It’s meant to be a surprise for Skylar, so I haven’t told her yet,” I warn.

“Oh, my God, my lips are sealed. But how on Earth did you pull that off? I didn’t know you could do that.”

“Yes, it’s possible with a lot of logistics and by calling in some favors. Getting the parents involved can be tricky, too. So, you see why your project would really help my kids, and my soon-to-become arthritic knees, if I no longer have to continue to grovel every time we get a patient with long admission into F,” I finish with a wry smile.

“Nathan…” Her eyes go soft. I’ve never given her a gift before, but something tells me I just did. “You’re…that’s wonderful. I didn’t think you’d…” she trails off.

“Didn’t think I’d what?” I need to see the whole of her face, so I reach out and take her mask off. Ah, yes, those soft pink lips I’d like nothing more than to sink my teeth into.

Because I want to keep touching her face, I tuck a loose tendril of hair behind her ear. When that isn’t still enough, I linger, running my finger along the shell of her ear. Then, I get even greedier and wrap my hand around her jaw.

I know it’s only a matter of seconds before I take her mouth.

She probably knows it too because she steps back, looking around. “Nathan, someone might see us and talk.”

I move closer. “No, they won’t.”

She looks at me like I’ve lost my marbles. “Workplace gossip? Could anything be more sensational than that?”

“Why, the dreaded Valencia grapevine, of course.” I chuckle when she moves away again. This time, the wall stops her. “I’d think having been bred on that you’d have thicker skin by now, Tess.”

I take another step toward her, closing the distance she’s put between us.

“Besides,” I whisper, bending to kiss a spot on her exposed clavicle, then trailing soft kisses up her neck, slowly making my way to her sexy mouth while a low moan escapes her. “There's so much bad news around here, we're too busy trying to cling to whatever slice of happiness we can find.”

Finally reaching my goal, I press a chaste kiss on the corner of her mouth before fitting my lips over hers, gratified when her mouth immediately opens and her tongue darts out to meet mine.