Page 30 of Sweet Heart

I can’t bear to look up when the silence presses down on us. Blood still lapping over my fingers. Her body no longer responsive.

“Call it,” Roberts says quietly from the other side of the table.

I nod, swallow, and raise my face. The staff looks pale and wrung out.

“Time of death, seventeen twenty-two.”

I step back, my cold fingers still coated in the warmth of her blood. No one speaks. No one moves. Not until I slowly remove my gloves and nod at the team.

“Good work today.”

The hallway feels longer than usual, each step heavier than the previous one. By the time I reach the office, I am drained. My hands shake as I close the door behind me, and a single gasp leaves my lips. I won’t cry. Not here, never here. But that doesn’t stop my heart from shattering into a dozen pieces. She was so small, so little. Still innocent.

I reach for my phone without thinking—my nervous system searching for relief—but there are no new notifications. Their absence is cutting, and I throw the phone onto the floor. Tú estás sola, Cat. All alone. I have managed to push her away before we even had a chance.

The heavy weight in my chest drops to the pit of my stomach, and I slide down the wall. Don’t cry. The tears come anyway, thick and hot.

A few minutes later, Carmen finds me with my head in my hands, cheeks wet. It is as if she has a sixth sense for when I need her. She locks the door behind her, sinks to the floor next to me, and gathers me into her arms. My fingers curl into her scrubs as I shake against her shoulder. Mi hermana. She is the only one allowed to see me like this. Even if I am still angry with her. Or perhaps I am angry with myself. Right now, I don’t know.

“Let’s go wash your face and get you freshened up. I already called Rosa after the kid came in. She is making ropa vieja.”

My stomach clenches even harder, and I let out an actual sob. Carmen tenses but then pulls me tighter against her, cupping the back of my head with her hand.

“Está bien, amor. Está bien,” she whispers into my hair.

But nothing about today feels right.

Chapter 11

Mary

By the time I put my key in the lock, it’s almost dark again. After I left the hospital, I couldn’t do anything other than walk as far away from it as possible. A white-hot rage coursed through my veins, forcing my legs to move, or I’d implode. It had taken me a good hour to stop shaking, and that’s when the cold seeped in. She dismissed me like I was nothing. Like I was too much. If I hadn’t stopped walking at that point…

The empty hole in my chest presses heavily on me. I should’ve known better, really. It is not that I can blame Cat—Doctor Durand—for her response. She literally told me that she had crossed some ethical boundary, and here I am waltzing into the hospital as if I belong there. But then again, if she wanted me in her life, that would include the hospital. And I am so done with being chosen compartmentally, with being shoved aside when it’s inconvenient.

My bag falls to the floor with a thud, followed by the sneakers I kick off. I peel off my socks and pad toward the kitchen in my bare feet, the tile cold against my soles. It grounds me, but it doesn’t dull that empty feeling. It isn’t sadness or grief. There are no sharp edges. Just a blunt awareness. As I spoon some yogurt into my mouth, I realize that I am not feeling much of anything at all, and suddenly I need to feel something. I need to be here in this moment, no matter the cost.

I change into a green summer dress and slip on my favorite heels. The walk to the club is on autopilot, and by the time I step through the doors, I can’t even remember getting here. The floor is sticky, and the air is hot. Bodies are already packed close together, sliding against each other to the rhythm of the music. I feel the bass vibrate through my body as I move to the bar and order a double shot of Fireball and a Baileys. The bartender, a hot masc with cropped black hair, flashes me a smile. Their fingers linger on my wrist as they hand me a third shot.

“On the house.”

I grin as they wink seductively before returning to tend to the other guests. The attention fills my body with adrenaline. At least the bartender sees you. I down the shots and drink the Baileys faster than I should, but tonight I couldn’t care less. Nor do I care that the world is spinning a little around me by the time I make it to the dance floor.

The music is thumping, and my body instantly follows its pace. At least I feel in touch with my body here, moving it, steering it, the way I want. This is where I am in control. And I won’t be chased away here.

I run my hands through my hair and let my gaze glide over the people around me. A guy grabs my hips from behind, and I let him. My gaze keeps wandering as I move with him pressed against my back, until I lock eyes with a dark-haired woman, pressed between two bodies. She glances at me over the shoulder of the woman in front of her, and her lips curl up in a knowing smile. So do mine.

We move at the same time. She steps out from between the bodies, and I walk away from the gripping hands, until we meet halfway. Her eyes drop to my lips before her fingers slide behind my neck and curl at the nape of it. She doesn’t ask, doesn’t wait. We both know what this is, and it is exactly what I need right now.

She kisses me with fire, her teeth scraping at my bottom lip. The sting makes me hiss and press myself against her. It’s the first real thing I’ve felt since… since Cat—no, Doctor Durand—looked at you as if you were too much. My fingers hook into the hem of her shirt, and I feel her grin hungrily against my lips. She breaks away, her eyes dark with desire.

“Is this what you want?”

I just kiss her again, and when we part for a second time, she is no longer asking.

“Come.”

Her fingers curl around my wrist, and I let her guide me away from the dance floor and into the small hallway to the side. She presses me against the wall, and my hands are already in her hair before her mouth finds my neck. My breath hitches as I tense for a beat. Don’t do this. Her lips trail hot over my skin, making me moan close to her ear. Her hands glide over my bare thighs, gripping and taking. There is nothing tender about this, nothing gentle. I couldn’t care less. Mary…