Forever, page 18
Lydia sniffled and wiped her eyes. Then wrapped her arms around herself. “How… did it speak to you?”
“Look, I realize that you don’t know me, so there’s no frame of reference. But when I tell you I’m not into the whole divine-message thing, you’ve got to believe me.” Xhex rubbed her short hair, running her palm back and forth over her skull. “I came here one night, not knowing what to expect. I walked up the trail and this… I don’t know what the hell it was… appeared in front of me. I didn’t understand it then, but the only way this moment here, between you and me, makes any fucking sense, is that I’m supposed to tell you to come up and find it, too.”
Jesus, she sounded nuts. Flat-out insane.
“You have to believe me,” she said with some urgency.
“Oh, I already know what the mountain has to offer.” The female glanced out toward where they had come from, where the summit was. “I know where my home is. That’s not the problem. It’s imagining being up here, being anywhere, without Daniel… that’s what is killing me.”
Xhex thought back to the night before, all those hours when she’d been sure that she was going to lose John, that maybe he’d already left her in all the ways that counted.
She was not a hugger, not by a long shot—and certainly not with people she didn’t know. But there was no way she wasn’t going to reach out.
With a heavy soul, she embraced the stranger in front of her.
“I’m so sorry,” Xhex said as she closed her eyes.
“Thank you,” the female—Lydia—said.
They were standing together, in commiseration, when something moved in the shadows once again. But Xhex just ignored it as the scent of a deer came over on the breeze.
Funny how helping someone else made you feel like things were going to be okay in your own life. Not that there was anything wrong in her own, at the moment. She really was fine—her mate had survived his injuries, and at the end of the night, what mattered outside of that?
Nothing. Nothing else fucking counted.
And maybe she had given this female and her tragedy a little direction.
It still didn’t feel like enough to justify all the carrying on, but as a mortal, who the hell was she to judge.
TWENTY-ONE
BACK AT THE Phalen estate, Gus walked into his boss’s bedroom—and was not surprised. Well, he was surprised he was in her private, sleepy-time space, sure. But the decor? He might as well have been in her cavernous front lobby or that dining room or any of the other halls or staircases in the place: Everything was black and white as a chessboard, and the furniture arranged with a decorator’s eye, no mistakes in scale or arrangement.
Nothing personal to any of it, either.
His eyes went to the bed. It was a king, with draping on the wall framing a huge headboard so that it looked like the ceiling was melting and pooling onto the floor.
Did she bring that blond guard here, he thought idly. Did she—
“So here’s where the magic happens,” C.P. said dryly.
As she went over to the bedside table and triggered something, he wondered if she realized she still had his fleece on. Probably. She’d zipped it up.
And since when did he go back to being a fifteen-year-old and liking the look of a piece of his clothing on a girl?
He needed to get a grip—
“What the fuck,” he breathed.
The entire headboard dropped down to reveal a critical care setup, all of the monitoring equipment on swivel arms that could be extended out.
“And the supplies are here.” She went over to what he’d assumed was a bathroom door and opened things. “There’s room for more, too.”
Gus walked toward her and—“Fucking hell, Phalen. Why don’t you just move the whole lab up here?”
Squeezing by her, he entered a room that was big as the row house he’d been raised in. Not only were there portable X-rays and ultrasound machines, there was—
“Even an autoclave?” he muttered as he went deeper through the ER-worthy equipment.
“Anything you want. Anything I need. And there’s a surgical light that drops down from the ceiling out there.”
All of the machines and computers were first-rate and ready to go, and the nursing supplies were worthy of a teaching hospital’s larder, from the bandages to the IV bags.
“Who set all this up?” he asked as he put his hand on an EKG machine.
“I did.”
He pivoted and looked at her. She was half Phalen-ized, the bottom of her professional with those heels and slacks, but the top part was work-from-home casual in his baggy-ass fleece. But hey, the hair was back in order.
So maybe the look was three-fifths a Phalen.
And hey, she’d be perfect for a waist-down Zoom call.
“This is not going to work,” he said. As she opened her mouth to argue, he put his palm up. “It’s not that there isn’t a lot here, it’s the staffing. If something goes down, I’m going to need help. Unless you think I have an extra set of hands hidden on me? What if you go into cardiac arrest, for example?”
“We’ll get private nurses. There’s a suite right next door that sleeps three in a very comfortable arrangement.”
“With critical care training?” He noped the shit out of that. “I want my people and they’re downstairs. It’s in your best interest, and if you can’t recognize that, it’s my job as your doctor to insist on your standard of care.”
“So bring them up here.”
“That’s not feasible and you know it. I’ve got doctors I want on this, too.”
He could tell by the way she crossed her arms over her chest she was spoiling to give him a fight. So he went back out into her bowling alley of a bedroom. While she formulated some kind of defense against being reasonable, he wandered around. No pictures. No paintings. Another modern sculpture that looked like a high schooler with a power drill had hit a block of marble with everything they were worth.
The bathroom was across the way and he leaned into it. Nothing on the counter. No makeup. No brushes. No hair spray. Not even a towel. And the pair of sinks with their black metal faucets gleamed.
He couldn’t resist. He went over to the shower and opened the smoky glass door. One bar of soap, and a twinsie set of shampoo and conditioner with some fancy French name on it.
“So you actually do live here,” he muttered as he turned around.
“Fine,” she said over at the bathroom’s door. “I’ll do this down in the lab for as long as it’s medically necessary. After that? I come here—but there has to be some way to manage the talk. I don’t want any distractions in the lab or talk outside of it. The work has to continue and there can be no leaks.”
“Those people have been working on a secret drug for how long?” he said dryly. “You think they’re going to break their confidentiality agreements now?”
As she looked away with annoyance, he shook his head. She’d known all along that she was going to get to this critical juncture, when her disease tipped the scales and started to get away from her. She had planned everything, that bedroom out there a magnum opus of medical support no doubt set up as soon as she’d landed with all her one-note tables and chairs and her stupid-looking, pretentious sculptures.
Gus went over to her and put out his palm. “My rules. I’m just trying to make sure you survive this.”
In a sick way, he enjoyed how hard it was for her to submit. But that was the asshole in him who liked to fuck with people—and also maybe the romantic who felt like she was cheating on him with that guard. Which was nuts.
Somehow, though, if she’d been banging a guy from outside of the operation, it wouldn’t have bothered him so much.
Or maybe it would have.
Just before she shook what he was putting to her, he retracted his forearm. “One more thing.”
“What.”
“When it’s just you and me? I’m calling you Cathy.”
* * *
Well, wasn’t Gus St. Claire full of demands tonight, C.P. thought.
And she was beyond done with it.
“That hasn’t been my name for a decade. Maybe two. So I’m not answering to it.”
“Okay, Cathy.”
His dark stare seemed to bore through her, and although she was the last person to drop out of a game of eye chicken, she did look away first.
“And of course you’re going to do what you want,” she muttered.
“You got that right.” In her peripheral vision, that hand of his extended forward again. “Always.”
“Really?” She cocked a brow at him. “Like this is a deal?”
“Don’t kid yourself. We were in a partnership before, but this is all new territory for you and me.” He tilted in over his lean hips. “Unless you need a reminder, we rushed Vita’s development and the testing we did on those wolves was limited in scope. This is the Wild fucking West and your body is the battleground.”
Her gaze lowered to his chest. The t-shirt of the day was Schoolhouse Rock!, the bill who was going to Capitol Hill chugging up the steps, looking over his shoulder.
“Try not to let me die, Gus,” she said in a weak voice.
“That’s the plan.”
As they shook, she was aware that she didn’t want to let go of the man’s hand. And then he didn’t drop the hold, either.
“You going to tell your fuckboy about all this,” he said in a low voice.
“Who?” she blurted. When she realized who he was talking about, she broke the connection and stepped back. “No, I’m not telling anyone.”
“Not even your parents?”
“They’re dead, so they’re not answering their phones.” She crossed her arms again. “And no, I have no brothers or sisters. It’s just me.”
Gus mirrored her pose and shook his head. “Not anymore. You’re not alone as long as I’m around.”
C.P.’s breath caught. Funny how someone could say something and rip your defenses clean away. Then again, did she have any left when it came to her new oncologist? After the last however many hours when he did everything but give her a Pap smear?
“Thank you,” she said roughly.
“No problem, Cathy. I got you.”
“Please don’t call me that.”
“Why? Too close to home?” He took a step toward her. “You need to get ready for what’s ahead, and wasting time with me putting on some bullshit act is energy you and I are not going to have to spare.”
Glancing down, she focused on her stilettos. “My feet are killing me.”
“So take off those fucking shoes, woman.”
She kicked one and then the other across the marble floor, and when she was flat on her soles, she looked back up at Gus. He was taller than she remembered—no, that wasn’t right. He’d always been that height. She was the one who was different.
As they stared into each other’s eyes, she was struck by a need she was unfamiliar with. Yes, it was about sex, but there was a lot under the lust. Her mind was in a tortured twist and her emotions were right along with it… but Gus had always gotten her attention, ever since the moment she had first seen him presenting a paper on immunotherapy at a Stanford symposium almost a decade ago.
Back then, he had been a youngster new on the scene with all kinds of iconoclastic ideas. This had made him a target for some… a goal for others. She’d been the latter.
“Can I ask you something,” he said in a deep voice.
“Yes.” And wasn’t that an answer to more than just the question he’d asked.
Gus glanced around, which gave her a good chance to look at his profile again. He was handsome in the conventional sense, but with his hair and his clothes, he was also attractive in an unconventional way. Add to that all his intelligence? He was epic, and she had ignored that fact for so long.
“What are you going to ask me?” she breathed.
“Where do you really live?” When she blinked in confusion, he motioned around. “You haven’t moved into this house.”
“What are you talking about? Or have you somehow failed to notice all the furniture?”
“Furniture doesn’t count. I could have only a folding chair and a futon at my place, and it would still be clear who lives there. This shit?” He pointed out into the bedroom. “It’s a stage set.”
That she had braced herself for a sex question she’d really wanted to answer, only to have him throw something else out there, something that didn’t matter, made her a little pissy. But he kept going before she could cold lab some reply to his residential-address probe.
“I just want you to tell me the truth,” he said. “You created Vita for yourself, didn’t you. You went through your last round of chemo three years ago—right about the time you hired me and this all started at the smaller lab. When we relocated here after the first of this year, I’m guessing that you didn’t bother getting personal about this house because you didn’t know how much time you had. Had you started to feel symptomatic with the AML then?”
C.P. wasn’t about to go into her frailties, not when he was imminently going to see so many of them. “Are you really going to get judgmental about my trying to engineer my last chance? Fine, the next time you’re drowning, by all means, tell that lifeguard to fuck off when they jump in to save you—”
“I don’t blame you.” He put his palms up. “Not at all. I just wish you had a home to go to, not a hotel. And maybe… maybe I’m trying to make sense of everything up front so if things don’t go the way we plan, I can find some peace in the failure.”
As C.P.’s brows popped, she reached out and squeezed his forearm. “If I die… if I don’t make it, Gus, it’s not your fault. Do you understand—”
“Oh, yeah.” He shook his head. “I mean, I know that. Come on, I’ve been in this research and development racket for—”
“Gus. Listen to me.” She waited until his eyes swung back to her. “If I die because of our Vita, it is not on you. You just keep going with the research. I’ll be a stepping stone, and you put your foot right on my grave and get to the next level up. Do you hear me? And I promise, you will know where Vita ends up—and I will make sure it’s the right place. As good an oncologist as you are? I’m just as good at the negotiating table. You can trust me to take care of your work on the business side—and your career. I’m not going to fuck you like that.”
He glanced away again. “I’m not worried about that.”
Bullshit, she thought. But she let him lie out loud.
“And the next thing I don’t want you to worry about is me.” She stepped closer to him. “I’m a big girl and I’ve had a lot of experience with cancer treatments. This is going to go where it does—and look at it this way. I’m not just putting my money where my mouth is—I’m putting my life on it. At least if I die on my own protocol, I’ve got some integrity, right?”
Gus exhaled as if he were letting a burden go. Or trying to.
Then he looked at her… and brushed the fall of blond hair back from her face.
When they stayed where they were, she knew he was going to kiss her. And she wasn’t going to stop him.
Leaning into his body, she curled her hands around the backs of his upper arms and parted her mouth. As her lungs got tight, an anticipation that was about so much more than mouth-to-mouth contact took hold in her gut.
Gus stroked her hair again and searched her face as if he were measuring her features, memorizing them.
Then he tilted forward. And placed a chaste kiss on her forehead.
Stepping back, he said in a sharp voice, “I’m going to repeat two scans tomorrow morning before I’m prepared to administer. MD Anderson did them, but I want them on my equipment. We’ll do the infusion tomorrow night after the majority of people sign out.”
As he went to leave, and not just the bathroom, she spoke up. “Gus—”
Without turning around, he held his hand up and said over his shoulder, “You have men for fucking. I’m not going to be one of them.”
But then he paused in the doorway and glanced at her. “But what I will do for you is be the best goddamn doctor on the planet. That you can count on.”
He left in a hurry, striding out and not looking back. The close of her bedroom door was loud, even though it was just a click of the fixture.
When the tears came, they were hot and burned her cheeks. She didn’t bother wiping them off. Who was going to see, anyway?
And the fact that there was no one around her in this house filled with people was the one commentary on her life that she worked so hard to avoid dwelling on. But at the end of the day, everyone died alone, didn’t they. Even if there was a crowd surrounding your bedside, no one ultimately could reach you as you took your last breath.
At least… that was what she told herself as she put her stilettos back on.
TWENTY-TWO
BACK UP ON Deer Mountain, Blade knew he had to get the fuck away from his sister and that shifter. The former was going to sense his grid at some point—she was just too distracted at the moment—and the latter was so observant that even a subtle tilt in his balance had tipped her off to his new location by the SUV.
He should move very far away. He should resume his search for the steel-capped tunnels that led to the underground lab, the one that should have been destroyed back in April.
He should set his charges and leave to watch the light show from a peak across the valley.
And then he should rest his weary head.
Instead, he dematerialized farther away from Xhex and the wolven, to a point back by the rear of the blocky vehicle, and as he resumed his corporeal form, he narrowed his eyes to improve their focus—even though he could see just fine. The issue was that he was having a problem understanding what he was seeing: Daniel Joseph, Blade’s former soldier, was supposedly dead.
And from the looks of the guy, he might as well be.
The previously fit pain in the ass was sitting on the back of the SUV, looking like he was still recovering from some serious wounds, six months after the skirmishes on this very mountain. Except that wasn’t it, was it. As the wind shifted, the scent of the human man drifted over to him, and Blade flared his nostrils. When he caught what was on the air, he refused the conclusion outright. Except there was no denying it.
“Look, I realize that you don’t know me, so there’s no frame of reference. But when I tell you I’m not into the whole divine-message thing, you’ve got to believe me.” Xhex rubbed her short hair, running her palm back and forth over her skull. “I came here one night, not knowing what to expect. I walked up the trail and this… I don’t know what the hell it was… appeared in front of me. I didn’t understand it then, but the only way this moment here, between you and me, makes any fucking sense, is that I’m supposed to tell you to come up and find it, too.”
Jesus, she sounded nuts. Flat-out insane.
“You have to believe me,” she said with some urgency.
“Oh, I already know what the mountain has to offer.” The female glanced out toward where they had come from, where the summit was. “I know where my home is. That’s not the problem. It’s imagining being up here, being anywhere, without Daniel… that’s what is killing me.”
Xhex thought back to the night before, all those hours when she’d been sure that she was going to lose John, that maybe he’d already left her in all the ways that counted.
She was not a hugger, not by a long shot—and certainly not with people she didn’t know. But there was no way she wasn’t going to reach out.
With a heavy soul, she embraced the stranger in front of her.
“I’m so sorry,” Xhex said as she closed her eyes.
“Thank you,” the female—Lydia—said.
They were standing together, in commiseration, when something moved in the shadows once again. But Xhex just ignored it as the scent of a deer came over on the breeze.
Funny how helping someone else made you feel like things were going to be okay in your own life. Not that there was anything wrong in her own, at the moment. She really was fine—her mate had survived his injuries, and at the end of the night, what mattered outside of that?
Nothing. Nothing else fucking counted.
And maybe she had given this female and her tragedy a little direction.
It still didn’t feel like enough to justify all the carrying on, but as a mortal, who the hell was she to judge.
TWENTY-ONE
BACK AT THE Phalen estate, Gus walked into his boss’s bedroom—and was not surprised. Well, he was surprised he was in her private, sleepy-time space, sure. But the decor? He might as well have been in her cavernous front lobby or that dining room or any of the other halls or staircases in the place: Everything was black and white as a chessboard, and the furniture arranged with a decorator’s eye, no mistakes in scale or arrangement.
Nothing personal to any of it, either.
His eyes went to the bed. It was a king, with draping on the wall framing a huge headboard so that it looked like the ceiling was melting and pooling onto the floor.
Did she bring that blond guard here, he thought idly. Did she—
“So here’s where the magic happens,” C.P. said dryly.
As she went over to the bedside table and triggered something, he wondered if she realized she still had his fleece on. Probably. She’d zipped it up.
And since when did he go back to being a fifteen-year-old and liking the look of a piece of his clothing on a girl?
He needed to get a grip—
“What the fuck,” he breathed.
The entire headboard dropped down to reveal a critical care setup, all of the monitoring equipment on swivel arms that could be extended out.
“And the supplies are here.” She went over to what he’d assumed was a bathroom door and opened things. “There’s room for more, too.”
Gus walked toward her and—“Fucking hell, Phalen. Why don’t you just move the whole lab up here?”
Squeezing by her, he entered a room that was big as the row house he’d been raised in. Not only were there portable X-rays and ultrasound machines, there was—
“Even an autoclave?” he muttered as he went deeper through the ER-worthy equipment.
“Anything you want. Anything I need. And there’s a surgical light that drops down from the ceiling out there.”
All of the machines and computers were first-rate and ready to go, and the nursing supplies were worthy of a teaching hospital’s larder, from the bandages to the IV bags.
“Who set all this up?” he asked as he put his hand on an EKG machine.
“I did.”
He pivoted and looked at her. She was half Phalen-ized, the bottom of her professional with those heels and slacks, but the top part was work-from-home casual in his baggy-ass fleece. But hey, the hair was back in order.
So maybe the look was three-fifths a Phalen.
And hey, she’d be perfect for a waist-down Zoom call.
“This is not going to work,” he said. As she opened her mouth to argue, he put his palm up. “It’s not that there isn’t a lot here, it’s the staffing. If something goes down, I’m going to need help. Unless you think I have an extra set of hands hidden on me? What if you go into cardiac arrest, for example?”
“We’ll get private nurses. There’s a suite right next door that sleeps three in a very comfortable arrangement.”
“With critical care training?” He noped the shit out of that. “I want my people and they’re downstairs. It’s in your best interest, and if you can’t recognize that, it’s my job as your doctor to insist on your standard of care.”
“So bring them up here.”
“That’s not feasible and you know it. I’ve got doctors I want on this, too.”
He could tell by the way she crossed her arms over her chest she was spoiling to give him a fight. So he went back out into her bowling alley of a bedroom. While she formulated some kind of defense against being reasonable, he wandered around. No pictures. No paintings. Another modern sculpture that looked like a high schooler with a power drill had hit a block of marble with everything they were worth.
The bathroom was across the way and he leaned into it. Nothing on the counter. No makeup. No brushes. No hair spray. Not even a towel. And the pair of sinks with their black metal faucets gleamed.
He couldn’t resist. He went over to the shower and opened the smoky glass door. One bar of soap, and a twinsie set of shampoo and conditioner with some fancy French name on it.
“So you actually do live here,” he muttered as he turned around.
“Fine,” she said over at the bathroom’s door. “I’ll do this down in the lab for as long as it’s medically necessary. After that? I come here—but there has to be some way to manage the talk. I don’t want any distractions in the lab or talk outside of it. The work has to continue and there can be no leaks.”
“Those people have been working on a secret drug for how long?” he said dryly. “You think they’re going to break their confidentiality agreements now?”
As she looked away with annoyance, he shook his head. She’d known all along that she was going to get to this critical juncture, when her disease tipped the scales and started to get away from her. She had planned everything, that bedroom out there a magnum opus of medical support no doubt set up as soon as she’d landed with all her one-note tables and chairs and her stupid-looking, pretentious sculptures.
Gus went over to her and put out his palm. “My rules. I’m just trying to make sure you survive this.”
In a sick way, he enjoyed how hard it was for her to submit. But that was the asshole in him who liked to fuck with people—and also maybe the romantic who felt like she was cheating on him with that guard. Which was nuts.
Somehow, though, if she’d been banging a guy from outside of the operation, it wouldn’t have bothered him so much.
Or maybe it would have.
Just before she shook what he was putting to her, he retracted his forearm. “One more thing.”
“What.”
“When it’s just you and me? I’m calling you Cathy.”
* * *
Well, wasn’t Gus St. Claire full of demands tonight, C.P. thought.
And she was beyond done with it.
“That hasn’t been my name for a decade. Maybe two. So I’m not answering to it.”
“Okay, Cathy.”
His dark stare seemed to bore through her, and although she was the last person to drop out of a game of eye chicken, she did look away first.
“And of course you’re going to do what you want,” she muttered.
“You got that right.” In her peripheral vision, that hand of his extended forward again. “Always.”
“Really?” She cocked a brow at him. “Like this is a deal?”
“Don’t kid yourself. We were in a partnership before, but this is all new territory for you and me.” He tilted in over his lean hips. “Unless you need a reminder, we rushed Vita’s development and the testing we did on those wolves was limited in scope. This is the Wild fucking West and your body is the battleground.”
Her gaze lowered to his chest. The t-shirt of the day was Schoolhouse Rock!, the bill who was going to Capitol Hill chugging up the steps, looking over his shoulder.
“Try not to let me die, Gus,” she said in a weak voice.
“That’s the plan.”
As they shook, she was aware that she didn’t want to let go of the man’s hand. And then he didn’t drop the hold, either.
“You going to tell your fuckboy about all this,” he said in a low voice.
“Who?” she blurted. When she realized who he was talking about, she broke the connection and stepped back. “No, I’m not telling anyone.”
“Not even your parents?”
“They’re dead, so they’re not answering their phones.” She crossed her arms again. “And no, I have no brothers or sisters. It’s just me.”
Gus mirrored her pose and shook his head. “Not anymore. You’re not alone as long as I’m around.”
C.P.’s breath caught. Funny how someone could say something and rip your defenses clean away. Then again, did she have any left when it came to her new oncologist? After the last however many hours when he did everything but give her a Pap smear?
“Thank you,” she said roughly.
“No problem, Cathy. I got you.”
“Please don’t call me that.”
“Why? Too close to home?” He took a step toward her. “You need to get ready for what’s ahead, and wasting time with me putting on some bullshit act is energy you and I are not going to have to spare.”
Glancing down, she focused on her stilettos. “My feet are killing me.”
“So take off those fucking shoes, woman.”
She kicked one and then the other across the marble floor, and when she was flat on her soles, she looked back up at Gus. He was taller than she remembered—no, that wasn’t right. He’d always been that height. She was the one who was different.
As they stared into each other’s eyes, she was struck by a need she was unfamiliar with. Yes, it was about sex, but there was a lot under the lust. Her mind was in a tortured twist and her emotions were right along with it… but Gus had always gotten her attention, ever since the moment she had first seen him presenting a paper on immunotherapy at a Stanford symposium almost a decade ago.
Back then, he had been a youngster new on the scene with all kinds of iconoclastic ideas. This had made him a target for some… a goal for others. She’d been the latter.
“Can I ask you something,” he said in a deep voice.
“Yes.” And wasn’t that an answer to more than just the question he’d asked.
Gus glanced around, which gave her a good chance to look at his profile again. He was handsome in the conventional sense, but with his hair and his clothes, he was also attractive in an unconventional way. Add to that all his intelligence? He was epic, and she had ignored that fact for so long.
“What are you going to ask me?” she breathed.
“Where do you really live?” When she blinked in confusion, he motioned around. “You haven’t moved into this house.”
“What are you talking about? Or have you somehow failed to notice all the furniture?”
“Furniture doesn’t count. I could have only a folding chair and a futon at my place, and it would still be clear who lives there. This shit?” He pointed out into the bedroom. “It’s a stage set.”
That she had braced herself for a sex question she’d really wanted to answer, only to have him throw something else out there, something that didn’t matter, made her a little pissy. But he kept going before she could cold lab some reply to his residential-address probe.
“I just want you to tell me the truth,” he said. “You created Vita for yourself, didn’t you. You went through your last round of chemo three years ago—right about the time you hired me and this all started at the smaller lab. When we relocated here after the first of this year, I’m guessing that you didn’t bother getting personal about this house because you didn’t know how much time you had. Had you started to feel symptomatic with the AML then?”
C.P. wasn’t about to go into her frailties, not when he was imminently going to see so many of them. “Are you really going to get judgmental about my trying to engineer my last chance? Fine, the next time you’re drowning, by all means, tell that lifeguard to fuck off when they jump in to save you—”
“I don’t blame you.” He put his palms up. “Not at all. I just wish you had a home to go to, not a hotel. And maybe… maybe I’m trying to make sense of everything up front so if things don’t go the way we plan, I can find some peace in the failure.”
As C.P.’s brows popped, she reached out and squeezed his forearm. “If I die… if I don’t make it, Gus, it’s not your fault. Do you understand—”
“Oh, yeah.” He shook his head. “I mean, I know that. Come on, I’ve been in this research and development racket for—”
“Gus. Listen to me.” She waited until his eyes swung back to her. “If I die because of our Vita, it is not on you. You just keep going with the research. I’ll be a stepping stone, and you put your foot right on my grave and get to the next level up. Do you hear me? And I promise, you will know where Vita ends up—and I will make sure it’s the right place. As good an oncologist as you are? I’m just as good at the negotiating table. You can trust me to take care of your work on the business side—and your career. I’m not going to fuck you like that.”
He glanced away again. “I’m not worried about that.”
Bullshit, she thought. But she let him lie out loud.
“And the next thing I don’t want you to worry about is me.” She stepped closer to him. “I’m a big girl and I’ve had a lot of experience with cancer treatments. This is going to go where it does—and look at it this way. I’m not just putting my money where my mouth is—I’m putting my life on it. At least if I die on my own protocol, I’ve got some integrity, right?”
Gus exhaled as if he were letting a burden go. Or trying to.
Then he looked at her… and brushed the fall of blond hair back from her face.
When they stayed where they were, she knew he was going to kiss her. And she wasn’t going to stop him.
Leaning into his body, she curled her hands around the backs of his upper arms and parted her mouth. As her lungs got tight, an anticipation that was about so much more than mouth-to-mouth contact took hold in her gut.
Gus stroked her hair again and searched her face as if he were measuring her features, memorizing them.
Then he tilted forward. And placed a chaste kiss on her forehead.
Stepping back, he said in a sharp voice, “I’m going to repeat two scans tomorrow morning before I’m prepared to administer. MD Anderson did them, but I want them on my equipment. We’ll do the infusion tomorrow night after the majority of people sign out.”
As he went to leave, and not just the bathroom, she spoke up. “Gus—”
Without turning around, he held his hand up and said over his shoulder, “You have men for fucking. I’m not going to be one of them.”
But then he paused in the doorway and glanced at her. “But what I will do for you is be the best goddamn doctor on the planet. That you can count on.”
He left in a hurry, striding out and not looking back. The close of her bedroom door was loud, even though it was just a click of the fixture.
When the tears came, they were hot and burned her cheeks. She didn’t bother wiping them off. Who was going to see, anyway?
And the fact that there was no one around her in this house filled with people was the one commentary on her life that she worked so hard to avoid dwelling on. But at the end of the day, everyone died alone, didn’t they. Even if there was a crowd surrounding your bedside, no one ultimately could reach you as you took your last breath.
At least… that was what she told herself as she put her stilettos back on.
TWENTY-TWO
BACK UP ON Deer Mountain, Blade knew he had to get the fuck away from his sister and that shifter. The former was going to sense his grid at some point—she was just too distracted at the moment—and the latter was so observant that even a subtle tilt in his balance had tipped her off to his new location by the SUV.
He should move very far away. He should resume his search for the steel-capped tunnels that led to the underground lab, the one that should have been destroyed back in April.
He should set his charges and leave to watch the light show from a peak across the valley.
And then he should rest his weary head.
Instead, he dematerialized farther away from Xhex and the wolven, to a point back by the rear of the blocky vehicle, and as he resumed his corporeal form, he narrowed his eyes to improve their focus—even though he could see just fine. The issue was that he was having a problem understanding what he was seeing: Daniel Joseph, Blade’s former soldier, was supposedly dead.
And from the looks of the guy, he might as well be.
The previously fit pain in the ass was sitting on the back of the SUV, looking like he was still recovering from some serious wounds, six months after the skirmishes on this very mountain. Except that wasn’t it, was it. As the wind shifted, the scent of the human man drifted over to him, and Blade flared his nostrils. When he caught what was on the air, he refused the conclusion outright. Except there was no denying it.
