Total pages in book: 85
Estimated words: 78407 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 392(@200wpm)___ 314(@250wpm)___ 261(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78407 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 392(@200wpm)___ 314(@250wpm)___ 261(@300wpm)
When I didn’t say anything, he set a palm on my bedrail, bringing him closer. A gesture that probably meant nothing to my mom but felt weirdly intimate to me. I peered at his fingers, tracing each one with my gaze.
In less than an hour, that hand was going to hold a scalpel and cut me open.
“I don’t want you to do the surgery,” I said.
His grip tightened in reaction. “I know it’s scary, but your appendix has to come out. There’s no other way to treat—”
“No.” He’d misunderstood me. “I don’t want you to do the surgery.”
He released his hold on the rail and straightened. “What? Why?”
My mother looked just as surprised. “Oh, honey. It might feel strange because he’s Preston’s father, but he’s a doctor. Don’t worry about him seeing your body.”
What the hell? My cheeks warmed with embarrassment. She thought I was freaking out about my ex-boyfriend’s dad seeing me naked. That wasn’t high on my list of concerns. “It’s not that.”
“Okay. Then—?” she asked.
Greg stood with his hands resting on his hips. He appeared casual at first glance, but I saw the tension in his forearms and the way his shoulders were higher than normal.
“Mom, can you give us a minute? I need to talk to Greg alone.”
I realized my slip too late. I’d never called him by his first name, and her gaze narrowed on him. Her tone was cool. “Greg?”
When she held her ground, I said it with force. “Please?”
I couldn’t focus on the fact that she was unhappy right now. We didn’t have time. I was beyond exhausted, uncomfortable, anxious, and I couldn’t find a better way to ask her to leave. I also didn’t want to dance around the conversation I needed to have with him.
My mother examined Greg with new suspicion. “Fine. I’ll be right outside when you’re done.”
The door had just clicked shut when he spoke again. “Tell me why you don’t want me to do the surgery.”
I stared up into his brown eyes, and my voice went shallow. “Because I don’t want it to be the last time you put your hands on my body.”
He sucked in a deep breath, and his expression turned to defeat. He couldn’t argue and tell me it wouldn’t be. Neither of us knew what the future held.
I crossed my arms over my chest, which probably made me look like a pouting teenager, but the pain in my belly was growing, and I needed to hold myself together long enough until he was gone from the room. “I want someone else.”
Beneath the pain I inflicted, his jaw set. “This isn’t a teaching hospital. I’m the trauma surgeon on-call.” He took in a breath. “I could opt out of this, but it might be hours of scrambling before we find someone else available. And also, Cassidy? I’m the best. You think I’m going to let someone else do this? Not a chance.”
I was annoyed that the weak part of me faltered at his bravado. Of course, the cocky surgeon wanted me under his knife. It was the only way to ensure I got the best possible care. But it also felt like control, and this was one time I didn’t want to be under it.
Irritation simmered below my surface, threatening to erupt. “I said no. I don’t want your scars on me for the rest of my life.”
“Jesus Christ.” He ripped his gaze away from me and glared at the wall. “I know you’re unhappy, but this isn’t the time to start acting like a child.” I gasped, wounded by his child comment, but he wasn’t finished. “This is serious. Do you understand that? The recovery for laparoscopy is two weeks. Four incisions, most about half an inch long. If you wait and your appendix ruptures? Everything changes.”
He set his hands wide on my bedrail, leaned over, and hung his head. “I’d have to open your abdomen and remove all the toxic bacteria inside from the rupture. That scar would be eight, maybe nine inches, and your recovery would be measured in months. Months, Cassidy.” He lifted his head and gave me a piercing stare. “You don’t get to pick your doctor then, because at that point, it’s a race to the OR to save your life.”
Tears welled in my eyes, but I blinked them back.
He took a hand off the bed, scooped it behind my neck, and brought our faces together, his warm forehead pressed to mine. “I don’t want your life in my hands. Don’t make me do that kind of surgery.”
He didn’t want my life in his hands, but in that moment, I realized it was already too late for my heart. I closed my eyes and unleashed a tear, which he used his thumb to brush away.
“I understand,” his voice fell to a hush, “I’m not your first choice. I wasn’t for a long time. But today, I’m your only choice.”