Page 87 of The Love Operation

“A few days, depending on how he does.”

“I want to go home as soon as you’ll let me,” Wilton says, shifting in his chair. “I’m needed there. Gotta give this one a break.” He throws a thumb at Benedict.

I smile, resisting the urge to ask, Break from what?

“Okay,” I say. “I’ll keep that in mind.” I straighten. “If that’s all, I’ll let you get out of here.”

Benedict stands. “Actually, Dr. Wren, could I speak with you in private?”

He looks to Wilton, who waves him off. “I ain’t got no place to be. Take your time, son.”

I glance at Elizabeth. Her eyes widen slightly, the beginnings of a smirk on her lips that makes me want to strangle her.

We step into the short hallway. The doors of the other three patient rooms are dark.

Elizabeth immediately makes herself scarce.

“Is this about your dad?” I ask.

“No.” Benedict shoves his hands into his pockets. “This isn’t about my dad or the surgery.”

My chest takes that cue and starts auditioning for the dark arts. “No?”

“No.” He shakes his head. “I wanted to apologize.”

That throws me.

“For yesterday,” he clarifies. “I was out of line.”

I exhale slowly. “I don’t know what to say except . . . thank you.”

“To be clear—I meant what I said,” he continues. “But I shouldn’t have put you on the spot like that. I just . . . saw you and lost my head.”

That makes two of us.

I study him. He left me. He told me he didn’t feel the same way I did. So why is he saying all this now?

I don’t push. Not now. Not when I’m about to operate on his father.

Instead, I shift subjects. “You’re really attentive to your dad. It’s refreshing.”

“He’s always been there for me. And he’s been through a lot.”

I tread lightly. “Is your mom okay?”

He winces. “She was in a car accident. With my sister. Both were badly injured.” His throat bobs as he swallows. “Mom needs constant nursing care and can’t get around on her own.”

A pang hits deep in my chest. “Benedict . . . I’m so sorry.”

He lifts a shoulder like it’s nothing. “It is what it is.”

“And your sister?”

“She’s great, actually,” he says. “At least now. She did suffer brain damage. She can’t live on her own, can’t drive, needs help with some of the day-to-day stuff. So, her life looks different than it might have. But honestly? She amazes me. She’s got this wild zest for life that most people never figure out. She’s taught me more than anyone about what it really means to live fully, to pay attention to the little moments. I don’t know that I’d be the person I am now if not for her.”

I stare at him, sadness mixing with awe in my chest. “So, it’s on you?”

“Me and my dad,” he says. “Well . . . me, since he hurt himself.” He laughs. “The man’s always thought he was invincible.”