position of medical director of the traumatic brain injury unit.”
“I was here first.” Even to her own ears her words sounded whiny and childish.
“I’m sorry that my being at Children’s is problematic for you.”
Two apologies in less than a minute. Wow.
“I’m not trying to force something on you, Emily. I just want the opportunity to make peace to where there isn’t tension on the unit.”
“I’m professional enough that I can hide my tension.”
He sighed. “Then do it for me, please, because apparently I’m not.”
“I owe you nothing,” she stated.
“Then do it for our patients. I’m good at what I do. This position gives me the opportunity to do more. Let me.”
As if she could stop him.
No hospital would give up a talented pediatric neurosurgeon just because a nurse, no matter how good she was, used to be married to him.
“Please.”
Her gaze lifted to his and his sincerity surprised her. He didn’t need her approval. They both knew it. So why did it matter? Why was he saying please? She didn’t want to think he’d changed. She needed to keep him categorized in the “bad guy” box.
“None of this matters. What I think, what I want, doesn’t matter,” she reminded him. “You want this position, it’s already yours. Just because I was here, loving my job and my life without you in it, doesn’t matter to you. Nothing does except you getting what you want.”
“This isn’t just about me getting what I want. It’s about doing the right thing, about what’s best for all involved.”
“Me coexisting with you is what’s best for all involved?”
“You know it is.”
She knew no such thing. Just being in his arms was driving her crazy, the feel of him, the smell of him, the sound of his voice. Okay, so her mind and body had gone a little mushy, but that was nostalgia, right? He’d been her first lover, her husband, her fantasy. Once upon a time, he’d been the center of her world and she’d have done anything to make him happy.
Her body had had a momentary lapse in memory, had responded to his spicy male scent, the feel of him against her, and, yes, she’d melted a little. A lot. But that was just old chemistry rising to the surface.
All she felt for him now was loathing.
Liar.
She squeezed her eyes shut and took another deep breath before meeting his gaze again with steely resolve. “This is ridiculous. You are ridiculous.”
“Your heart is racing against mine, Emily.”
He was right. Her heart was racing and was next to his, but what that had to do with anything, she wasn’t sure. When had they moved so close that her body fully pressed against his as they swayed to the sultry beat? But she wasn’t alone in being affected by the other one’s presence. His heart was racing, too.
“Hearts race for a lot of reasons. Fear being one of them.” Was that why his raced? She couldn’t imagine Lucas ever being afraid of anything.
“Fear?” He looked taken aback. “I never gave you a reason to be afraid of me. Never.”
He meant he’d never hit her or physically abused her in any way. He hadn’t. The ways Lucas had hurt hadn’t left visible scars, just jagged ones on the inside.
“Not any reason that could be physically seen.” Emotionally, he’d beaten her to a pulp. She needed to remember that, to focus on how getting involved with him had devastated her whole world. She couldn’t coexist with him. Not without severe consequences.
“You weren’t the only one hurt by our marriage falling apart.”
His words stung. He’d been hurt, too? Somehow she couldn’t bring herself to believe him. He’d lost interest in her, in their marriage, long before the night he’d told her to leave.
How could he have hurt by losing something he’d no longer wanted? By losing something he’d not even known about because he hadn’t wanted to know?
Hadn’t wanted, period. Had accused her of depression when in reality she’d been... No. She wasn’t going there. She wasn’t.
She glanced around the dance floor. No one was paying much attention to them. No one except Meghan, who gave her a thumbs-up when their gazes met.
Oh, Meghan, if you only knew.
She resumed scanning the crowd. Her gaze connected to Richard’s again. She was going to have to do some explaining when she returned to the table.
Resentment built up in her and threatened to spill free.
“If you hurt, too, then why are you here opening up old wounds, Lucas? I’ve healed, am happy and could do without the twisted walk down memory lane.”
She felt more than heard him swallow.
“I told you why I’m here.”
“You and I will never be friends, Lucas. Leave me alone.”
With that she stepped out of his arms and made her way back to where Richard waited. Richard, who clearly had a hundred questions waiting to spring from his mouth.
She didn’t want to explain why she was upset about a shared dance with a man she worked with.
She bypassed the table and headed to the little girls’ room.
Oh, yeah, she was happy.
“HI, CASSIE. I’M DR. CAIN,” Lucas introduced himself to the little girl he’d be doing surgery on soon if all went as expected. He’d spent a lot of time reviewing her medical records. She’d been diagnosed with a noncancerous brain tumor that had been increasing in size despite treatments to shrink the mass.
His true love within his field was traumatic brain injury, but he dealt with a lot of brain tumors and other brain maladies, too.
“Hi,” the six-year-old answered, staring at him with big brown eyes that filled with uncertainty and a lack of trust.
No doubt over the past few months she’d been poked and prodded, tested and treated repeatedly to where she felt on constant guard long before his being asked to consult on her case by Dr. Edwards.
“What’re you doing there?” He gestured to the puzzle she worked on.
She resumed scanning the puzzle pieces. “My mom says I need to do more puzzles. That it will keep my brain sharp.”
“Your mom is a smart lady.” He sat down at the table next to her. “Can I help?”
She shrugged. “If you want to. I’m not sure all the pieces are here. It’s just a puzzle I found here, but it wasn’t put together when I started.”
Here being in the hospital playroom. A large room equipped with kid-sized tables, video game stations, toy centers and table activity centers.
He sat at the table, seeming to search for a place to fit the puzzle piece he’d picked up. In reality, he studied Cassie, watching her movements, her facial expressions, how she moved her hands, her body. How she grimaced repeatedly when she tried to focus on what she was doing, how she squinted her eyes and had a slight tremor to her movements.
“Does your head hurt, Cassie?” The answer seemed obvious, but sometimes asking a child an obvious question, even one he already knew the answer to, could help break the ice. He wanted Cassie to trust him.
“Yes, but sometimes not too bad.”
Her