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But as much as I want to pass that guilt onto someone else, I know who it really falls on.
Me.
Yes, her presence might have been the biggest trigger, but she had no idea. Still doesn’t.
JD can cover his issues like no one I’ve ever met before.
If he doesn’t want you to know about his illness, then you never will.
My eyes dart toward the diary entry again.
Did she know?
Was she the one to encourage that? Or did she silently inspire him to try and get his thoughts into some kind of order?
I scrub my hand down my face as even more questions pile on top of the others already spinning around in my head.
“I’ve already put them into his IV,” Doc continues reaching up to change the bag of blood that is now empty. “But when I take that out, he’s going to need to—”
“He will,” I confirm.
Doc raises a brow.
“This shouldn’t have happened,” I state. “And there is no fucking chance that it’s ever happening again. I’ve nearly lost him twice now. I’m fucking done taking risks.”
He still doesn’t look convinced, but he drops the subject. After all, he’s only got to write the script; I’m the one with the battle on my hands to ensure J takes them.
I blow out a pained breath as Doc starts working on replacing the dressing on J’s arm.
I wince the second he pulls the wadding away and get my first look at the mess he’s made of his forearm.
The tattoos he got after his cuts healed last time are wrecked, not that that’s the biggest issue right now, but given what they represent when he wakes and sees, he’s going to hate himself possibly even more than he did before taking that knife to his wrist.
Doc works meticulously, ensuring JD is patched up the best he can.
“This transfusion will run out in the middle of the night. He needs ano—”
“I’ve got it, Doc,” I assure him.
“Reid.” He sighs, looking as exhausted as I feel.
Those dark shadows lingering under his eyes only pile on a whole new load of guilt that I don’t really need.
I’ve been putting Doc at risk for years. With every visit, he learns more about our lives and the things I’m planning.
Yet he still comes.
He still puts us back together as if he cares.
“It’s okay, Doc. You’ve done enough already. You deserve to get a decent night’s sleep.”
He doesn’t smile, but I see it in his eyes nonetheless.
“You’ll call me if anything goes wrong?”
“Of course. But it won’t,” I assure him.
“I’ll give him enough sedative to keep him out until at least tomorrow. Then once he has enough blood back inside him, we’ll see how he is.”
