Page 158 of Darling Venom
Walter flicked on the light switch, eyeing me with suspicion. “I heard a rumor I hope isn’t true.”
That one of my patients came on my exam table, and I’d like her to do it again?
I arched a brow. “Do tell. You know I love gossip.”
He disregarded my sarcasm, though this felt a little sharper than our usual heavy banter. “You arrived late to Isabella Romero’s appointment.”
“I’ve arrived late to several appointments in the past, such is the nature of our profession, but they’ve never warranted an in-person visit from the great Dr. Walter Bernard.”
He shrugged. “You’ve never arrived late for an ultrasound with the daughter of a doctor who happens to sit on the New York State Medical Board before.”
“I don’t do preferential treatment.”
“You also don’t clear your schedule with no notice and pass routine check-ups on to me while you sit in the dark in your office doing God knows what, but here we are.”
“Is this an intervention?”
“Do you need an intervention?”
“No, but I need this conversation to end.”
“I’m not just worried about you. I’m worried about your patients. You know what happens if you take your eye off the ball.”
“It hits you in the face,” I finished, letting that familiar ice expand in my lungs. Until I transformed into cold, clinical Tate again. My only defense against the world. “Concern noted. You may continue with your day.”
After he left, I returned to my staring contest with the ceiling, notepad flipped open on my lap. A position I maintained until it was reasonably late enough to leave the office and I was sure Charlie had left my house.
She’d stolen a key from my key chain. For the past week, she entered and exited at her will, turning it into a minefield I was determined to avoid.
Which meant late nights in my office. Alone with my thoughts. Not doing actual work.
It confused the hell out of my staff, who didn’t like to leave until I did.
Terry was gone when I arrived home, thank fuck. He’d returned a few days ago. Apparently, from a gambling trip in Atlantic City, which I had no clue how he funded. (Note to self: make sure all the furniture is in place.)
Now his daily routine consisted of leaving for several hours at a time and returning sober, so I couldn’t kick him out on the grounds of a rule break.
Then he’d beg me to cough up Darling Venom until I was damn near close to booting him on the street.
A box sat on my front porch. The meal-prep delivery. I’d meant to take it in a few days ago, but I’d forgotten. I set it on the kitchen island and opened it, turning my nose away at the rotten stench.
There were a lot of things I should be doing, one of which included tossing it in the garbage outside, but I couldn’t conjure the motivation.
I shoved a granola bar down my throat, barely taking the time to chew. Then I trudged my way up the stairs and collapsed on my bed with my shoes still on.
Did I need to get my shit together?
Yes. Lives were on the line.
But it could wait one more day.
It was the same dream.
Kellan falling from that roof, arms dangling, feet fluttering.
Regret filled his wide, surprised eyes. Only this time, I was there to catch him. I held the letter in my hand. A full-page manifesto on all the things Kel hated about me. All the reasons I made him want to die.
I positioned myself in his trajectory.
