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She scrolled through her email, opening ones marked urgent, including one with test results for one of her elderly patients, George Darville. With a frown, she read the entire email twice before slumping back into her chair and tossing the now-empty bag of chips into the bin.George had come in a few weeks earlier complaining of pain in his abdomen. The results of the tests she’d ordered were in. Tumors on his liver and several more on his pancreas. It didn’t look good.
“Shit,” she muttered, twirling her seat around so she could look out the window. The view was pretty. Your typical Michigan winter wonderland. But she saw none of it because she was so pissed off. She hated cancer. She hated it with every fiber of her being.
A knock on the door had her turning around in her chair, and she spied Lynn standing there with an odd look on her face.
“My next patient in?” she asked, getting to her feet and clearing her mind.
“No. Actually, Diana Evans canceled. Turns out her daughter wasn’t feeling so hot because she’d contracted chicken pox.”
“Okay. Did you give her the proper procedure?”
Lynn nodded. “Sure did.” It was a stupid question, because Lynn was awesome. “There’s someone here to see you, and because you had the cancellation I didn’t think you’d mind if he came back.”
The thought of Wyatt immediately got her blood pumping, and she glanced away, picking at an invisible piece of lint on her dark navy suit, hoping her blush wasn’t too obvious. “Oh sure, send Wyatt in.”
“It’s not Wyatt.”
Regan jerked up her head, surprised.
“It’s his brother Hudson.”
Okay. That was a little strange. So was the way her stomach rolled. She felt queasy and moved back to her desk, taking her chair just as Hudson walked into her office.
“Hey, Regan. Sorry to bother you at work, but I took a chance you’d have a few minutes for me.”
“No worries. Have a seat.”
She waited until he took the chair across from her. “Is this about John?” Their father wasn’t due for a visit until next week. His condition, while not improving, had been stable over the last few months.
“No. Actually.” Hudson leaned forward, his expression grave. “It’s about Wyatt.”
“Wyatt?” Suddenly on edge, Regan grabbed a pen and her notebook. It was a reflex action, something she did when chatting with patients, but she held the pen as if it were a weapon and watched Hudson closely. “Is he okay? Did something happen?”
Where the hell was her phone? Had he tried to call and she hadn’t heard? Had he messaged her?
“Don’t panic. Nothing’s happened.” His gaze shifted, and a muscle worked in his jaw. She got it then. Hudson Blackwell was angry about something, and whatever that something was had to do with Wyatt.
“You say that, but I can tell something’s bothering you. Or you’re concerned, so why don’t you tell me what it is?”
“All right. I’m going to be frank with you, Regan, because I think you and Wyatt might have a chance at something, and I don’t want him to screw it up.” He offered a weak smile. “I just had a long talk with him, about a lot of things. And he’s not going to like that I’m here, but I think he might listen to you.”
Hudson was starting to scare her. She didn’t reply, she just waited for him to continue. He sat back in his chair as if contemplating the right way to say whatever it was he needed to say.
“It’s easier if you just say it, Hudson. I promise.”
He got up out of the chair and began to pace, his hands shoved into the pockets of his jeans. “Did Wyatt tell you why he’s not racing?”
Thud. There went her stomach again, and she swallowed hard, trying to quell the nausea. She’d known all along things weren’t what they seemed, but she’d been afraid to ask. Afraid to rock the boat and knock them overboard.
“No. But I know what’s been reported in the press isn’t true. He wasn’t suffering from a concussion. At least not the kind that was alluded to. The kind that would keep him from racing. I know he was a little banged up after his last crash, but there were certainly no brain deficits to deal with.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure.” Hudson muttered the words under his breath, but she caught them and sat a little straighter in her chair, more unnerved than ever.
“You know about the crash that took Diego’s life.”
She nodded. “Yes.”
Hudson opened his mouth, but then closed it. She could see his fists through his pockets and knew the man was on edge. He wasn’t just angry. He was up
