“I’ve got Friday, Saturday, and Sunday off,” she replies, and I swear even I hear the sound of his relief. I shake my head at the idiot, though pride does shoot through me that he wants to let their relationship out in the open once Cage returns.
My phone vibrates, and I sigh as I look at it, only to swallow hard.
Trick:
Good to go, she’ll do three hours a week. Use the card, buy her some leotards or whatever, just please use it.
I don’t reply, put my phone away, and continue eating my lunch while I listen to Belle and Crash discuss their weekend away, and I smile because, even though I’ll never get my happily ever after, I’m glad my friend has gotten hers.
Chapter 5
Clark – Two Days Before Present Day
“Thank you, Clark,” Betty Ann says softly as I help her back into bed, and I give her a soft smile.
“You're welcome, Betty,” I reply as I cover her up, careful not to knock the IV.
Betty Ann came in with severe abdominal pain last week. She thought maybe she was having a miscarriage, but after some tests, the results showed she had a mass on her liver, and a biopsy confirmed the mass is cancerous.
She’s sixteen weeks pregnant.
Dr. Lavish, a general surgeon, removed the mass four days ago with my husband.
He’s a second-year resident, and she has him in the OR removing masses because she wants in his pants and has made it perfectly clear I won’t stand in her way.
Pathetic right? That a doctor thinks it’s okay to threaten a man's wife to stay out of her way.
She can have him for all I care. Except I do care—pain digs into me every time I admit it, even to myself.
Six years later, a five-year-old little girl, and I’m still hurting. I’m still confused, and he is still keeping the communication low, and it breaks my heart.
I’ll only hear from him if it has to do with Willow, he’s never home, staying in his room at the clubhouse, and every day I feel like I’m slowly dying.
I was hoping whatever I was feeling towards him, the love, that it would die off, especially when I’m fully aware he’s sleeping around.
I give Betty a small smile, and I say, “If you need anything, please press the button, even if it’s because you dropped something.”
The woman gives me a small, tired smile, and I swallow hard as I squeeze her arm gently before I turn and walk out, trying my hardest to keep my emotions at bay.
She’s thirty-two, pregnant with her husband's baby, who died in a car wreck a week before she found out she was pregnant. She will likely not survive the pregnancy, or at the very least the baby won’t make it as she endures treatment.
Dr. Lavish tried to urge her to terminate the pregnancy and begin chemo and radiation as soon as possible, but she refused, saying her sister will take the baby once it’s born, but it may not survive.
Taking a shuddering breath, I walk to the nursing station, grab my paperwork, and check my tasks when I hear, “Buttercup,” shocking me.
Turning, I see Trick approaching in jeans, a white buttoned-down shirt, and a doctor’s coat, looking unfairly attractive while Dr. Lavish follows, scowling.
I give him a polite nod, hoping he doesn’t see my lust. It’s been six years since I last had sex, and I don’t even remember it. I look back at the work I still need to do, knowing he’ll just keep walking past.
We don’t normally bump into each other at work, but when we do, he doesn’t acknowledge me. It was humiliating at first because we are married but I think by now everyone knows it’s a marriage of convenience.
Hence, Dr. Lavish’s threats.
“How’s your day going?” he asks as he stops by me, and I frown at him in confusion because he never stops. He winces as we lock eyes and he rubs the back of his neck, a tick he normally does when he’s nervous and I raise a brow.
What has the man done?
“What did you do?” I ask and he gives me a sheepish smile.
