Page 10 of Love What's Left
“If you can’t handle your job, I can always have Dad fire you and replace you with someone who can,” the one who never leaves says.
“I canhandle it. But you’re expecting us to wait around indefinitely and pretend she didn’t cause—”
“That doesn’t sound like an apology.”
Rob huffs. “I apologize.”
“Not to me. To her.”
“To . . . her? She’s a vegeta—”
“She can hear you,”minesays coldly.
“I apologize, Sydney. I was . . . startled by your condition.”
Rufus jumps off my lap and hisses.
“Her cat doesn’t like me,” Amelia says with a nervous laugh and steps backward.
“He’s possessive.” The man picks up the cat and holds him against his chest.
“I can sit with her for a while,” the woman offers, “if you have other things you need to do. I’m happy to stay with her. I feel so awful for both of you.”
“No thank you. I have to cut this short. Her physical therapist will be here any minute. You can put the flowers on the table.”
“I’m so sorry, Syd. They looked better when we brought them, but that guard, Dave, practically tore them apart before he gave them back. I’ll get you more, though,” the woman says. “Please, call me if you need anything, Gabriel. Anything at all.”
The woman hugs me. “You’ll be back in the lab in no time,” she says in a watery voice.
Terror spikes and my pulse pounds in a visceral reaction that yanks my mind out of the ether and into my body, just like the night I woke to my caretaker bathing me. A shudder tries to work its way through me. Out of sheer instinct, I keep my gaze unfocused and hide my reaction.
“How does physical therapy work when she’s catatonic like that?” Rob’s voice sounds from somewhere across the room.
“Google is your friend,” my caretaker says in a hard voice.
When the door closes behind the intruders, I blink and take in my surroundings, the soft cotton clothing on my body, the carved marble fireplace, and large windows with deep-set stained wood ledges. Clean, but not safe. Just a trick.
Lifting my legs, I prop my heels on the chair so I can wrap my arms around my knees. Then, I turn my head to look at the paneled wooden door. The handsome one standing next to me frowns, then his eyes widen.
“Sydney? Are you . . . ?”
I look at him. Really look. Expensive black suit pants and a white button-down shirt, open at the collar. Jade-green eyes and an expression I can’t read. A doctor, maybe? Am I in an experimental treatment? Or is he some sick kidnapper playing games?
I have to get out of here.
6
Gabriel
Sydney stares at me with eyes open far too wide. Knees exposed by her rucked-up black cotton dress, she perches on the navy armchair, her weight resting on her heels and her muscles coiled like a barn cat on a rafter.
I’ve been praying for her to come out of her stupor, but I thought—hoped—it would be like something out of a movie. She’d blink, then reach for me. Instead, she watches me like I’m a predator.
Desperate to reassure her, I lift my hands in a placating gesture. “You’re safe at home.”
Her face twists in confusion, then she goes still and silent before lowering her legs, one at a time, with movements so measured, they look like slow motion. I reach to stabilize her but pull back without making contact when she shies away.
This isn’t what I expected. Depressed or confused? Maybe. But not this. “Sydney, what do you need? How can I help you?”
