Page 147 of Just One Look

Spear Tackle

He said, “You’re pregnant.”And waited for the clap of doom.

It didn’t come. Huh. He’d been careful forever, because he’d grown up without a dad, and he hadn’t wanted to put that on a kid. He wasn’t marriage material, it was clear, and he was even less dad material. So why wasn’t he panicking now?

“What?” she said. “No.” And laughed. “Settle your heart rate down. I have an IUD, remember? Highly effective. That’s why I have one.”

“Yeh,” he said, and relaxed his hands on the wheel. “I remember. That wasn’t—” He stopped.

“What?” she asked.

He’d almost said, “That wasn’t what was happening. My heart rate did jump, yeh, but it was because I think I wanted it.” Which may have had to do with seeing the end of the road coming in rugby, and wanting something else to hang onto. Which was the wrong reason, clearly. At any rate, she didn’t feel the same way, so he said, “Never mind. What did you want to tell me?” If it wasn’t pregnancy, it was something else. Something she’d known and kept to herself. Something bad.

Wait.

“If you’re ill,” he said, “I’m here for that.”

“Luka.” She was turned toward him in the seat, and when he glanced at her, he saw something in her eyes. Sadness. Now, the clap of doom was real. “No,” she said. “And I love you. You’re just … you’re sogood.And I don’t think you believe it.”

“No,” he said, wanting nothing but to push this away. “I’m not. I’m a selfish bastard, walking my own road. I always have been. Whatever you have to say, say it.”

“My chief of surgery called me last week,” she said. All in a rush, but what did that mean?

Nothing good.

“Here?” he asked. “Or …”

“At Emory. Darrell Godwin. They filled my position after I left, but it didn’t work out. They’ve got a spot, and they want me back.”

“You’re already going back,” he said. “Next year.” There it was, the thing he’d definitelynotbeen thinking about. He’d thought, instead,This is good between us, and it’s getting better. Still ten months left,and then,Still nine months left,and finally,More than eight months left. Heaps of time to see how good it gets.To convince her, or to convince himself, he didn’t know which.

Yes, he did. He knew which. He just didn’t want to admit it.

“No,” she said. “They want me back now. They’ve offered me so much. More money. The opportunity to focus more on neurosurgical oncology, which is what I want to do. Support for research, too, if I want to go that route. Eventually, I could help patients that maybe somebody else couldn’t, and I might even be able to advance the science. For them—eminent surgeons draw patients, and patients bring money. And they want that. They wantmefor that. They think I canbethat.”

“In the States,” he said. “Where everything’s for sale, including having your life saved. If you can afford it.” If that was bitter, he was bitter. He was still focusing on the road, and not just because he had to, in this rain, on this road. Because he needed to focus on something.

“Yes,” she said. “I hate that. Of course, if I had this much leverage, I could also negotiate how many pro bono patients I could help.”

“Pro bono being …”

“I donate my time. Which is fine, but the hospital also has to donate the OR. The other staff. It’s a lot.”

“And you’re planning on doing it,” he said.

“I’m thinking I should. I know it’s the right thing. It’s an amazing offer. It’s serious money, but that’s not the main reason. I’m not really eminent now, whatever Nils said. I’m very good, though, and I have what it takes to be great. To hear that Darrell and the rest of administration believe in me that much, thattheythink I have what it takes, that they’re willing to offer this … it’s huge. You can see that, right? It’s like … the All Blacks. All the sacrifices you’ve made to be the best, because you can measure that. You can measure it exactly, and that’s what you have to want, right?”

“Right,” he said. He was slowing for the turn, then making it, his body knowing this road so well, he felt like he could have driven it blindfolded. Which was fortunate, right now. “And we’re here.”

“Maybe we should talk more before we go in,” she said. “I should have told you about this sooner, and I’ve been putting it off instead. But we’re visiting your family, and I can’tnottell you anymore. It was too hard to say, though, and I …”

He could have said, “This is the kind of decision people normally make with their partner,” but that wasn’t their agreement, was it? He’d asked her to move in and see how they went. She’d done it, and they’d had a good time. Nobody’d misled anybody. Nobody’d made any promises. Exactly the way he’d always liked it.

I’ve been told I have stunted emotional reactions,she’d said. He’d never believed it was true. No, he’dknownit wasn’t true. And yet here they were. He wasn’t twenty anymore, and he was, because the door was slamming in his face again.

Because he still didn’t know how to get somebody to love him back.

At least he hadn’t told her the worst thing, that Nils had been noncommittal after his scans last week. He hadn’t made her feel sorry for him, and that should matter. Thatwouldmatter. Eventually.