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He shrugs and gives me a sort of half nod. “I got a lot done.”
“Ready for the quiz?” I waggle my brows.
His eyes burn with heat. “Bring it.”
I laugh and take a few more bites.
“Premed is a fuck-ton of work, huh?” I ask.
He chews thoughtfully. “I guess. But then again, if you ever need a doctor, I figure you probably want one who’s made an effort and isn’t all, ‘Yeah, I got through school by screwing all the professors.’”
I push back my plate, lean my elbow on the counter, rest my head in my hand, and grin at him. “Why medicine?” I ask. “You’ve never said.”
He takes a long time to answer. He finishes eating and toys with his water glass, and I’m starting to think he’s not going to answer. But then he does.
“I saved a life once,” he says.
I wait.
He looks down and laughs. “Sounds very grand when you say it like that. I was out one night with Bowie on his evening walk, and there was an old man at the bus stop. He was slumped over, but nobody was helping. Everyone just walked right past him. I guess they all decided he was drunk or homeless or whatever. Like it’s a valid reason to think somebody’s life isn’t worth saving.” He frowns, a faraway look on his face like he’s being transported back in time. He shakes his head eventually and snaps back into the present. “We’d just had that CPR class at school. You remember that?”
I nod. I do remember. Not the technicalities of CPR itself—mainly just kids being little shitheads, giggling and doing stupid shit with a CPR dummy. Myself included.
“I called 911,” Lake continues, “and they kind of talked me through what to do while I waited for the ambulance to arrive. It was a heart attack. In the end, he made it. I went to see him in the hospital later and met his family. They were all so happy and grateful. Thing is, it happened right after the divorce, and back then, I was just… My da—John was pissed at me for, you know, being the wrong man’s son. Mom was pissed at me for…” He makes a thoughtful face. “Well, essentially the same thing.” He snorts and shakes his head. “Anyway, I did something good, and I wasn’t such a failure after all. It gave me a sense of purpose. And it turns out so far I really like it.”
“A good side benefit in the long run,” I say.
He laughs, gets up, and starts cleaning up. I get up, too. He does the dishes, and I dry. When we’re done, we turn around and stand side by side. I nudge him with my hip, and he looks at me and quirks a brow.
“It’s your birthday on Sunday.”
He makes a face.
“Yup.”
“Do you—” I start to say.
“No.” He cuts me off with a firm shake of his head. “I have that same conversation with Rach and Sawyer every damn year. No, I don’t want to celebrate. No, I’m not going to celebrate. And if you try to trick me into attending a surprise birthday party, I will turn right the fuck around and leave. I’ve done it before and I will do it again.” He sighs and rubs his hand through his hair. “It’s a pointless thing to celebrate anyway,” he mutters.
“Okay,” I say. “Can I speak now?”
His shoulders slump like he’s resigned himself to listening, and he motions with his hand.
“What I was about to say was, you can help me with something on your birthday, since you’re free anyway.”
“And you just assume I don’t have plans?”
“Well, you don’t. It’s your birthday, so you’ll be sulking at home. Might as well come and help me out,” I say patiently.
“Help you out with what?”
I grin at him. “You’ll see.”
LAKE
I am not impressed.
“No,” I say, turning to face Ryker. “Nuh-uh. No. Are you joking?”
