Page 87 of Sweet Heart

“Do you think that just because I retired, I no longer have connections at the hospital? Now speak, girl.”

“Papá—”

“Don’t ‘Papá’ me. Tell me who this woman you are willing to throw away your career for is, but who you have not deemed important enough to bring home to your family.”

I had blinked at that. My father had never once shown interest in my personal relationships. Even after Alex, he had trusted me not to let it interfere with my work. And it didn’t. So the sudden accusation…

“You told Mom?”

“You think I can keep these things from su madre? Estás loca, hija?”

He had a point, and there had been no use fighting him. I told him everything. From the moment Mary had stumbled into me and drawn my attention, to how I had drunk-texted her. How that made her pursue me and how she assured me it was something she wanted, and how I had caved and given in. Because… Mary. He had yelled at me, called me stupid, and cursed at me in two languages. And then… then he told me he’d see what he could do.

The call had left me rattled, and I burst into tears before I could even put the phone down. Mary, who was researching in the other room, had come running. Her face white, her eyes wide with shock. She hadn’t asked a single thing but just pulled me against her chest, cupped the back of my head, and held me. I never felt safer in my life.

I squeeze her hand a little and swallow, trying to push down the waves of anxiety that try to flare up from my stomach. Each new one stronger than the one before. I take a few slow breaths, but the unease still simmers beneath the surface. This is one of those occasions when I can’t calm myself until I know the outcome.

“It already helps that you are here,” I say softly, honestly.

We push through the double doors that lead to the conference room where this meeting will take place. That is the only positive sign of this day. They didn’t go for the auditorium, so the meeting will be small and preliminary.

Right as we walk into the hallway, Wilder rounds the corner. She wears pilled black slacks and a cheap white blouse, her hair pulled tightly up in a bun, not a single strand out of place. There is no doubt in my mind where she has been or what she has done. I lift my chin, ignoring her completely, but our eyes meet as we pass, and a foul grin spreads across her face. Fucking puta.

I clench my jaw and push away the thought. That’s not me, and I refuse to let her trick me into becoming that person. No. Katherina Durand takes responsibility, and if it had been any other doctor, I would have said Wilder was right to call it out. Just because it’s me—

“Cat?”

Mary’s voice pulls me back to her again, and I realize we are standing right in front of the conference room. I shake off the thoughts and lead her to the chairs against the opposite wall. She insisted on coming with me, and, in this moment, I am glad that she did.

Bile tries to push its way up my throat, leaving behind a burning sensation. My hands are shaking, and I can’t get them to stop. And my breathing…

Mary’s hand lands on my knee, her thumb softly stroking it through the fabric. I feel her gaze on me, feel how she is studying me. She is reading me to figure out what I need, how she can help carry this load with me. That alone is enough for me to love her even more.

“I wish you could come in with me,” I admit, my voice a little shaky. “I’m scared, Mary.”

She doesn’t flinch. She only nods. I guess it isn’t much of a surprise or an extraordinary reaction.

“Me too,” she sighs, and I feel the heaviness behind it.

“I messed up pretty badly, didn’t I?”

“We, Cat. Remember, you tried to keep me at a distance.”

I smirk. We both know that even though I tried, I never stood a single chance. I was the one who pulled the number from her record and texted her in private instead of making a follow-up call. But we both agreed that since nobody knew about that, nobody would find out. I pulled up her record to see if she had requested the additional testing for the Somogyi effect. At least that will be my explanation.

“Doctor Durand?”

I look up to see Sylvia DeLuca standing in the doorway. The older woman drags her gaze over Mary once, her eyes resting on our entangled hands, before she meets my gaze and nods once, her expression blank.

I feel the same surge of bile, and I swallow hard to prevent myself from heaving, before I rise and follow her inside. Right before I step through the door, I glance back at Mary, who is chewing at her bottom lip. Her eyes are on mine, worried but warm. Worth it.

The room is cold. It always is, just as the chairs are a little too hard. They are designed to make people a little uncomfortable. Not meant to keep them sharp, like most people would think, but to split their focus just enough so that they let their guard down. A natural truth serum, if you will.

I grit my teeth while my eyes glide over the members present. DeLuca from HR, Nurse Whitman to replace Carmen due to our personal ties, Doctor Honda to replace… well… me, Doctor Glaston from oncology, Doctor Perry as the senior physician, and… Daniel Abbott. Why the hell is he here?

It isn’t unheard of for a chair member to sit in on these meetings, especially not if they are high-profile, but Daniel has never once joined us before. My eyes narrow as I take it all in, trying to determine what this means for me. I thought the conference room was a small sign in my favor, but his presence—

“Doctor Durand, thank you for joining us today,” Perry drones as he pulls my attention toward him.