NYC Angels: Flirting with Danger (12 page)

“Yes.”

“He was fishing. He doesn’t know anything.”

He paused, his hands dropping to his sides before he continued. “That man damaged something very precious, and I’ll never forgive him for that.”

Chloe swallowed back a wave of emotion. This coming from Brad—a man who, as a boy, had been dealt a hand just as bad as hers. Worse really, because she’d made a conscious decision to marry Travis, whereas Brad hadn’t had a say in who had raised him. “I feel the same way about your parents. I hate what they did to you.”

He stiffened, his face clearing of all emotion. Before he could respond, though, Ginny came round the corner and sat at the desk. Brad nodded at the other nurse and
then asked for updates on a couple of patients, casually thumbing through the files in question.

How could he flip the switch on his emotions like that?

A few seconds later he said he had a meeting to attend and walked away. As he waited for an elevator, Chloe got this weird sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach that grew as he stepped into one, the doors sliding shut and hiding him from view.

Someday they would be doing this for the very last time. Either Brad would move on or she would, and this part of their relationship would be over for ever. And as much as she hoped otherwise, she didn’t think they’d ever be able to go back to being just friends.

Because she loved him. And she had for a very long time.

“I
JUST GOT
word that your twin-to-twin transfusion patient is in labor.” Layla’s concerned voice met her as she came into the lobby.

“What?” Chloe’s heart sank. Two weeks had gone by since the woman’s surgery and things had looked so promising.

“They’re trying to stop it, but it looks like they may be too late. They’re giving her steroids, just in case.”

To help the babies’ lungs develop. At thirty weeks, the twins could survive, but not without some major intervention. And one or both babies could have deficits to overcome, especially the donor twin.

“Where is she?”

Layla put her arm around her shoulders. “She’s up in Labor and Delivery.”

That meant they didn’t really expect to stop labor altogether, just delay the inevitable.

“Is Cade there with her?”

“I’m sure he must have been called in, as he did the surgery.”

“Thanks. I think I’ll go up and see how she’s doing.”

Layla gave her shoulders one more squeeze then let her go. “There’s a team standing by to take over if she delivers.”

“Where’s Brad?”

“I haven’t seen him in a while.”

Neither had she. They’d gone their separate ways that morning after arriving. He said he’d see her back at the apartment, hinting that she’d need to take the subway home.

They’d made love last night, but had there been something a little more reserved about him than usual?

Probably her imagination. Not in her imagination was the horrifying realization that her teenage infatuation hadn’t dried up after all. It had lain dormant in her subconscious—like a seed—waiting for a drop of water to make it spring back to life.

Well, it had gotten not just a drop, not just a trickle, but a whole waterfall over the last couple of weeks and, like the beanstalk from the fairy tale, had grown to terrifying proportions.

Only it wasn’t infatuation. It was love. And although she couldn’t exactly pinpoint when it had started, she remembered the deep fear she’d felt when Brad had walked through the door to her family home after his motorcycle accident. Limping. Bleeding. Hopelessness in his eyes that had shocked and frightened her.

Jason’s words about the locks in Brad’s house had sprung to mind. About how cruel someone would have to be to do that to a young, vulnerable child. And she’d hated his parents with a fury that had never completely died.

And neither had her feelings for him, evidently. She’d felt the warning signs when she’d danced with him at the wedding … and when he’d asked her to go for a ride on his bike after he’d graduated from medical school, but she’d refused.

What if he’d suddenly realized how she felt and was
upset about it? She’d been careful to keep her emotions in check last night as he’d brought her to fulfillment, biting her lips to avoid saying or doing anything that might tip him off.

But maybe he’d seen through her act and was trying to figure out a way to let her down easily.

Well, that was impossible. If she’d thought her heart had been broken over Travis, she had no idea how it was going to survive the tidal wave of hurt now bearing down on it.

And Brad didn’t have to do anything to make it happen. This time, it was all her.

Brad had cured her of one problem, only to be the cause of another. Much in the way that radiation could cure one type of cancer while causing another type to develop further down the road.

She sighed. And how was that for an insensitive comparison? Her problems were mild compared to what her twin-to-twin patient was going through right now. Better to focus her energies on praying for those babies’ survival rather than rail at the fates over something inconsequential. Because, ultimately, she would survive this.

The maternity wing was a beehive of activity with groups of doctors and nurses discussing cases, while behind one of those doors lay Clara Serrano, fighting for her children’s lives.

Surprisingly, she spied Brad in one of the clusters—the same one that Cade was in. She didn’t think he’d be here, and the fact that he’d not even tried to find her to tell her about Clara made her insides cramp.

She’d come up to see what was going on, but hesitated, feeling very much like an outsider all of a sudden. Brad glanced up from his discussion and saw her, and
motioned her over. Again she hesitated. If he’d wanted her here, he would have called her like he had the day Clara had had her surgery. Instead, her cellphone had remained silent as she’d drunk her coffee alone in the park.

Alone. Maybe that’s what she was meant to be.

When she started to back toward the elevators, Brad broke away from his group and came towards her. “Were you looking for me?”

She shook her head. “I heard Clara had been admitted and came to see how she was doing.” Another flare of hurt erupted. “Why didn’t you call me?”

“I didn’t realize you’d want me to.” There was a cool edge to his voice she didn’t like.

“She was one of my patients.”

He glanced away for a second before looking at her again. “There was nothing you could do. I didn’t want to worry you.”

There was more to it than that but, other than call him a liar, what could she do?

The urge to spin away and get back into the elevator was almost overwhelming, but she forced her feet to remain where they were. Her chin went up. “I thought we’d already established that I’m a big girl. I can take care of myself.”

He studied her face before nodding. “Come back over with me, then. You can get caught up on what’s happening.”

Chloe stood in the group and listened as various updates came from Clara’s room.

“Contractions are still progressing, unfortunately. There’s no going back now.” The latest doctor to exit the room broke the news everyone had been dreading. “Let’s get ready.”

Clusters of people broke apart hurrying in various directions to do their parts in making sure mother and newborns had the best possible shot at a good outcome.

“Did the ablation procedure benefit the smaller twin at all?” she asked Brad.

“It’s only been a couple of weeks so theoretically it had an effect, but it’s hard to tell just how much of one at this point.”

She nodded. “I have to get back to work. Will you let me know how it goes?”

“Sure.”

He tweaked her ponytail as she turned to go, and when she glanced back over her shoulder, he was smiling. She sucked down a lungful of air, feeling the tension drain from her body. Maybe those weird vibes she’d been feeling had been the result of an overactive imagination. It wouldn’t be the first time she’d driven herself crazy coming up with the worst possible scenario and then worrying it to death. Except in the case of her ex it had been all that and more.

She could only hope that this time she was wrong.

The next few hours passed in a whirlwind of activity for Brad. Word had gotten around the hospital about Clara Serrano’s condition, and he’d been fielding all kinds of questions. He could only imagine what the phones were like in other parts of the hospital. The administrators must be buried under an avalanche. Laws prevented them giving out specifics on the patient, but because the syndrome was relatively rare, other facilities would soon be asking questions to help them deal with their own cases.

Clara still hadn’t given birth, but they were expecting the babies to make an appearance at any time.

He hadn’t seen Chloe again since their encounter on the floor of Labor and Delivery, but he hadn’t gone out of his way to see her either. She’d acted differently last night, and although he couldn’t put his finger on what it was, there’d been a sense of detachment that hadn’t been there on previous nights.

Oh, she’d been just as sensual as always, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that she’d been holding something back. That had bothered him. But what had stunned him even more had been his reaction to it. In his previous relationships, when one or both parties had begun to cool, he’d been fine with it. Had had no qualms about walking away. Anything was better than being locked into something with no way out.

This was different. He’d held onto Chloe just a little bit tighter, almost as if trying to pull her closer, even as he felt her emotional withdrawal. Why did he care so much? This was supposed to be a temporary arrangement. It
would
be a temporary arrangement.

He just had to convince his heart of that.

That was the tricky part. He’d been programmed from childhood that withdrawal was normal. That the more you cared about someone, the further away they would pull. And if you fought against it, tried to do something that got you noticed … the locks began clicking shut.

That was just the way it was. He’d learned his childhood lessons well and had the routine down to a science. Either he pulled back or the woman did. Either way, the result was the same. A relatively painless separation. And he remained free to move on.

Just because that wasn’t how things worked in the Jenkins family it didn’t mean that he should start smothering
those around him or trying to hang onto something that was obviously not meant to be.

Like him and Chloe?

Exactly like that.

So why had she acted so wounded when he hadn’t called her about Clara Serrano? He was just saving them both some heartache. If she wanted to fling open that door and walk away, he was going to let her—it wasn’t locked. His gut churned at the thought.

Maybe it was harder for her to pull back because she’d been wired differently. Her childhood had been spent in the bosom of her family, protected and cared for. Was that why she’d been so quick to believe the rubbish Travis had dished out about a love that lasted for ever?

In his experience, it didn’t. And if it did, he sure hadn’t experienced it.

His gut twinged again, and he reached for a nearby bottle of antacids with a frown. All he needed right now was an ulcer.

No, all you need is Chloe
.

Popping the pill into his mouth, he crunched down on it, focusing on the sounds of his jaw pulverizing the pill, hoping it would obliterate that last thought as well.

He didn’t need anyone.

The phone rang again. He swallowed and glanced at his watch as he picked up. Four-thirty. He’d be officially off duty in another hour. “Davis here.”

“Bradley? This is your mother.”

His eyes closed. Not today.

He couldn’t remember her ever calling him at work before. Personal lives and professional lives had to be kept strictly apart.

Shock roiled through him as he realized he’d used
almost those exact same words with Chloe the other day, explaining why she shouldn’t tease him at work. The hurt on her face could have mirrored his own hurt each time his mother had aimed a well-manicured finger at the closet in his room.

Oh, hell, no!

“Bradley.” His mother’s voice was a little sharper this time.

“Yeah, I’m here.”

“Aren’t you going to ask me how I am?”

Was he? He should. It was social convention, and if nothing else, she followed that to a T. She expected him to follow suit. That’s why he had a useless set of fancy dishes in his kitchen cabinets.

But it was easier to comply than to argue. “Of course. How are you, Mother?”

“I’m fine.” Even though she’d been the one to demand he ask the question, she brushed it away just like she always did. He felt the muscles of his jaw stiffening, and he glowered at the bottle of antacids.

Before he could reach for them, she went on in her proper little voice, “Your father has received some distressing news.”

His father. A nice enough man but one who’d never stood up for his son, who’d let his wife discipline him however she saw fit.

“I’m sorry to hear that. Anything serious?”

“He has pancreatic cancer.”

The words slipped by him almost without him noticing … until he pulled them back and paid attention. “Dad has cancer?”

“Yes. He found out a month ago.” There was a slight pause. “He wants to see you.”

A month ago. His father had cancer and no one had
seen fit to call him until now. The acid levels in his stomach grew deeper, the antacid he’d just taken swept away in the onslaught. “Why?”

He was almost proud of the cool, indifferent tone of his voice, but inside a little boy cried out for a response. Wanted to know why his father hadn’t loved him enough to intervene.

“He wants another opinion.”

Ah, so that was it. This was no call for a sentimental reunion. His mother had a need for him, and she wasn’t afraid to let her request be known. “I’m a prenatal doctor, Mom, not an oncologist.”

“He still wants to see you. He has copies of all his tests and blood work.”

He fought back a sigh. “I know an excellent doctor who specializes in—”

“Bradley!” His name cracked over the line. “If we had wanted another specialist we would have called one. He wants you.”

Did she honestly expect him to drop everything and run to be by his father’s side? He’d thought about trying to reconcile with his parents over the years, but hadn’t been sure he wanted to make the effort. And as they’d drifted further and further apart, the desire to settle things between them had drifted with it.

But if his father was already a month post-diagnosis, who knew how much time he had left? If he didn’t at least make the effort, could he forgive himself?

Probably not. It wasn’t like they were on the other side of the world—just the other side of the state. He could be at their house in less than an hour. “I’m at work until Saturday. Will that be soon enough?”

“I’ll tell him.” There was no direct response to his question, so he assumed his father wasn’t on his deathbed.
A click on the other end confirmed that she’d hung up without saying goodbye.

Not that he’d expected it.

As he set the phone down, he stared at it, half expecting it to start jingling again. But it remained silent for once. And in the quiet of his office he tried to absorb the reality of his mother’s words. His father had cancer and was asking for him.