"What is it?" he asked. "What's wrong?"
She shook her head, her eyes brimming with tears. "I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to scare you. It's nothing. I'm fine. It's nothing."
He'd imagined this moment—pictured her telling him she was fine, that everything was going to be okay. But her whole demeanor made a lie out of the words.
"Tell me more." His voice shook as he asked. "What are you hiding? You don't need to hide anything from me, remember?"
She shook her head. "Honestly, Reaves, it's nothing. It's… I'm not even ill."
"Alara, we both know that's not true," he said gently.
"I know. But not like that. It's…" Tears rolled down her cheeks and she buried her face in his chest again.
He had to struggle to hear the muffled words. All he could make out was something about iron deficiency, anemia, B12 deficiency, depletion. He started to feel a little more hopeful—until she looked up and said, "He said all I need is infusions and intramuscular injections and…"
She dropped her head again and he hugged her to his chest.
He couldn't make sense of it. Was it nothing, or did she need infusions? He just didn't understand.
He rested his chin on top of her head and let her have the moment she obviously needed. He stared at the building andtightened his grip on her when he noticed Henry looking out the window at them.
When Henry raised his hand and motioned that he'd come outside, Reaves held her even tighter, fighting the instinct to bundle her into his Land Cruiser and drive away before Henry could come and tell him something he didn't want to hear.
~ ~ ~
Alara wished she could stay here like this, with her face buried in Reaves's jacket, his arms around her, while the cold hard truth crashed down on her. She was such a freaking failure.
She looked up at him when he tensed. "What is it?"
"I thought I should give you fair warning. Henry spotted us through the window and he's on his way out."
"Oh." She sniffed and stepped back from him, brushing her thumbs under her eyes. "He's going to think I'm so stupid. There's really nothing wrong with me, Reaves."
He just stared at her, looking confused. "I want to ask why you need infusions if there's nothing wrong with you. But I figure Henry's about to explain that." He curled an arm around her waist again. "I'll leave you to talk to him by yourself if you want. But… since he's coming out here, and since I'm struggling to understand, would you mind if I listen in?"
She closed her eyes against the tears, before opening them again and nodding. He deserved to know what was going on—even though it meant he'd get to hear what a failure she was, right from Dr. Ambrose's own mouth.
"There you are."
They both turned as Dr. Ambrose approached, still wearing a kind smile even now.
"I'm sorry, my dear. I thought you were upset when you left the office. And then when I saw the two of you out here, I wanted another word, if I may." He glanced at Reaves.
She nodded. "It's okay. I don't mind him hearing."
"Then why don't we go back inside my office for a few minutes?"
She tensed at that. He'd already gone out of his way to squeeze her into his busy schedule. "I don't need to take up more of your time. You have your real patients to see. And I know you're busy this afternoon—Clara said."
"You, my dear, are a very real patient. The others in the waiting room are here for a clinic, not to see me. I have all the time we need. So what do you say? Want to come back in and talk this through? I'd like to be sure you both understand before you leave."
She glanced at Reaves, and he nodded.
Once they were back inside Dr. Ambrose's office, she took a seat across the desk from him. Reaves sat down beside her and reached for her hand, clasping it on top of his thigh.
"I feel as though you stopped hearing me earlier, and I want to make sure that we're clear."
"Okay."
