Risking the Crown (The Crown 2)

I turned my attention to the pot of boiling water on the stove. I could make one dish, and Lennon was getting ready to try it.

“So, I heard you caused quite the commotion at the hospital today.”

“Really?” I poured in a box of pasta and set the timer.

“Were you there for your follow-up physical with Dr. Evans?”

“No, I got my clearance for the AFA.”

She jumped from the couch. “What in the hell are you talking about? It’s not even close to six weeks.”

I rotated my right hand in front of her. “Look, I’m fine. You’re an amazing surgeon. I’m ready to play.”

“Play?” She choked. “You think you’re going to play with that hand? You’re fucking crazy.”

I liked it when she said fuck. Such a dirty word on a pretty, luscious mouth.

“Calm down. My doctor cleared me.”

Her hands were on her hips. I knew that livid look in her eye. “I didn’t clear you.”

“But you’re not my doctor, are you? You handed me off to Dr. Evans and he and my therapist have signed all the paperwork.”

Before I knew what she was doing, she grabbed my right hand. I didn’t flinch. “Let me look at that.”

She twisted it in front of her, drawing imaginary lines with her fingers between the bones. She made a cross over my knuckles and applied pressure at my fingertips.

“And this doesn’t hurt you?”

I shook my head. “Not at all.”

Her eyes narrowed. “What did you do? This is impossible.”

“Do?” I pulled my hand back.

I had made the decision that I wasn’t dragging her into this. As far as she was concerned, she needed to think I was a medical miracle. The kind of man who could heal with the speed of The Flash.

“Yes, what did you do? Best case scenario you had a six to eight week recovery period and then you would start rehab. We talked about it, Wes. This isn’t possible.”

“Well, I’m fine. The hand works great. See?” I waved with all fingers and my thumb. “I’m lucky I had such a kick ass surgeon who could stitch me back together.”

Her lips puckered together. “I don’t buy it. What are you not telling me?”

“Let it go, Lennon.” I stirred the pasta in the pot. I miscalculated this conversation.

She walked around the kitchen island. “I can’t. I know you took something. You did something. Who helped you? Where did you get it?”

I shook my head. “Stop. Stop.”

“How could you do this? How could you jeopardize your career like this? Your health? Do you even know what you took? The side effects?”

“It’s none of your damn business. You’re not my doctor, you made sure of that.”

“Yeah, because you wanted to date me.” She stormed out of the kitchen.

“Where are you going?”

“To take a shower.” She slammed my bedroom door in my face, but I walked in after her.