“Why?”
“Because if it doesn’t work, our patients will die.”
“Oh…”
“They’re all stage four. Other treatments failed. This is their last chance.”
I’d noticed my dad had been a bit somber lately, and now I understood the burden he carried but never complained about.
“So, I really want this to work.”
“I do too.”
“I’m not used to being this hands on. My other research projects were lab-based. There was no interaction with the subjects, to decrease bias. But Dr. Hamilton does things differently, which has its strengths and drawbacks.”
“He’s very passionate about patient care.”
“Yes, he is. Being side by side with the patient seems to make the journey easier on them. They believe he’s doing the best he possibly can at all times and aren’t left to ask the nurse or other medical staff questions all the time. And that belief seems to affect the outcome of their care.”
“It does.”
“It’s remarkable what the mind can do.”
“Yeah.”
“It’s been a little rough for me because it’s hard to be around patients and their families, clinging to hope, looking at me like I’m their savior when I’m just a man doing the best I can.” His eyes flicked away for a moment, his fingertips brushing against his jawline.
My childhood had been spent watching my dad experience a roller coaster of emotions. Jubilation when he spared a patient from an untimely death, sorrow when he got dressed in his black suit to go to another funeral he’d tried to prevent. The worst was when he didn’t come home at all—because it was too hard for him to leave the office. “I want to tell you it gets easier, but it never does. You will have victories and losses. But in this case, the victories never make up for the losses.”
His eyes turned back to me and watched me for a while. His fingertips continued to rub the scruff of his jawline, the rough shadow that had scratched the inside of my thighs. “That’s a good way to put it.”
“You want to get a beer, or are you going to stick around?”
He looked down at the pile of paperwork and his laptop before he gave a shrug. “I think I’ll take a cognac. But you can have a beer.”
We enjoyed our drinks and split the basket of fries in front of us, talking about our patients, still talking about work even when we were off the clock. I could spend the entire day at the clinic but then get to work when I got home, eating my takeout while working at the dining table, and he was exactly the same way.
You couldn’t just turn it off.
It was nice to be with someone who was the same way.
“Your dad invited me to the cabin with you guys next weekend.”
“Oh, that’s nice.”
“Is that okay?”
“Yeah. Why would I have a problem with it?”
He flashed an arrogant smile before he grabbed a couple more fries.
“What?”
He shook his head as he chewed.
“I asked you a question.”
“And I don’t have an answer.”
My eyes narrowed for a moment longer before I let it pass. My hand reached into the basket, swatted his away, and then took some fries for myself.
Amused, he just wore that handsome smile.
“I’ll be in Vegas this weekend.”
“Stripping?”
I threw a fry at his face. “Shut up.”
He chuckled. “Because if you are, I’ll book my flight right now.”
“You can get that here whenever you want.”
He stilled at my words, wearing the biggest grin I’d ever seen.
Shiiiiiit. “I mean—”
“I want that in writing.” He raised his hand and motioned to the waitress for the tab. “Let’s get out of here.”
“There are still fries in this basket, so I ain’t going anywhere.” I continued to fish my hand around inside and grab more fries before dunking them into the ketchup.
Like always, he seemed amused by my personality.
The waitress came over and dropped the tab.
I grabbed it and set it beside me. “My turn.”
He didn’t put up a fight at all. “Wow, you take me out and then give me a private show afterward? Damn, I’m a lucky man.”
“And don’t you forget it.”
“Oh, I won’t.”
I continued to eat, watching him stare at me, his smile slowly fading and an intensity replacing it. Like he was thinking about what we would do when we got behind closed doors. Like heat from the sun, his look gave off distinct temperature, as if it were an inferno inside the air-conditioned bar.
I reached into my bag and withdrew a folded-up piece of paper before I set it on the table between us. Like nothing happened, I continued to eat.
He glanced at it and knew exactly what it was.
The grin returned—humungous. “Hurry up with those fries.”
“Nope.”
He rolled his head back and released a sigh of torture. “Baby, you’re killing me.”
“I’m not your baby.”
“Uh-huh.”
“I’m not.” I wanted to be his baby, but the faster this moved, the more likely it was that I would slam into a wall and die in the collision.