Page 24 of Wild

"So you really are going to be a pain," Mia murmurs, with a smile that isn't meant to be flirtatious — but it slips out on its own, and it tightens something low in Erin's stomach that she shuts down firmly.

"Afraid so. Drink at least two glasses of water with dinner," she says before heading out.

Mia lets her head fall back against the sofa, and Noah sits up abruptly.

"She's your doctor. She's here to take care of your medical problem, not your underwear."

The singer grabs a throw pillow and smacks him hard.

"Don't worry — she's made it very clear my underwear doesn't interest her," she says with a dramatic pout.

Noah blinks first, then opens his mouth to say something, but a sudden burst of laughter cuts him off, and his friend catches it before she can help it.

Chapter 9

Erin steps into the Scotiabank Arena behind the rest of the team, feeling like they're marching in a military parade. Mia is a few steps ahead with Noah and a couple of the dancers who travel with her on tour.

The doctor swings her arms a few times as she walks, because her muscles still feel a little tight. This morning she worked out in the hotel gym—something she likes to do whenever she can, but that her long, rotating ER shifts have always made harder to fit in. She hit arms, legs, and back, and she feels much better now, though she's pretty sure she'll be sore tomorrow.

Mia and her band head straight for the stage, because the singer likes to walk every inch of it before things get started, and Erin keeps moving, following a security guard who leads her down the backstage hallway after showing her the medical room and the dressing room assigned to her. She runs through her usual supply checks, drops off her things, and makes her way to the stage.

It's quarter to five, and the official rehearsal doesn't start for another fifteen minutes, but Mia is already doing a sound check with the technicians. Erin takes her position at the side of the stage, the walkie-talkie they gave her in hand and an earpiece in one ear so she can hear when the noise gets too loud. She watches Jude pass behind the stage, polished and aloof, as if the concert were already underway. She hasn't crossed paths with him yet, and she doesn't miss it—she doesn't like the man. The way he brushed off the concern about his artist's health bothersher, because it tells her he puts business ahead of Mia Wilder's well-being.

Jude glances up and spots her. He pauses for a moment, then raises a hand in greeting, and Erin can tell the feeling is mutual. She returns the gesture and steps onto the stage to take Mia's vitals. The singer turns toward her and steps away from the group, as if she'd sensed her coming.

"Give me that hand, Wilder."

"So formal, Dooley," Mia says, stretching out her arm.

Erin wraps her fingers around Mia's wrist and focuses on counting, saying nothing, while Mia feels that faint tingling that starts every time the doctor's fingers press against her skin. It happened yesterday, and it happened both times she took her vitals this morning. She glances around and sees several people on the crew watching them, Jude among them. She isn't entirely uncomfortable—everyone knows what's going on with her—but she doesn't love the feeling either. It makes her feel like a freak.

"Would you rather we did this somewhere else?" Erin asks. She's looked up and caught the tension in the singer's face.

"No, it's fine. I guess they'll have to get used to it."

"And you? How are you holding up?" the doctor asks.

Mia presses her arms against her sides and drags the toe of her boot across the floor, trying to project a confidence Erin can see she isn't feeling right now.

"Fine—it's not that serious, right?"

She shrugs, and her blue eyes meet the doctor's for a second before dropping back to the floor.

"No, it's not, but it's a big change in your routine, and early in a diagnosis every symptom is scary because you think you're about to collapse."

The singer shrugs again, a knot forming in her stomach that forces a sharp sigh out of her.

"I'm fine, it doesn't scare me," she insists, but her body says something else entirely.

"You don't have to pretend anything with me, Wilder. I'm not your friend, I'm not your manager, and I'm not part of the team that follows you around at rehearsals. I'm your doctor, and I know exactly what's happening with you—so if you need to talk about it, clear up any question you have, or just say out loud that what you felt after the fainting scared you more than what came before, you can come to me."

Mia's gaze lifts very slowly, and her blue eyes go still on Erin's gray ones. She hasn't told anyone about the fear she felt when she woke up on that stretcher—in a room she didn't recognize, with a background noise she couldn't place and the soft, gentle voice of the woman in front of her trying to calm her down. But Erin noticed, and Mia isn't sure how to feel about the fact that this doctor can see through her mask that easily.

"Thank you, Doctor, but I'm perfectly fine," she replies, waving it off with a vague gesture. "Can I get back to rehearsal?"

Erin studies her for a moment, then nods.

"Yes, but drink some water first," she says, picking up the bottle she'd set on the floor when she found Mia.