Dr. Fake It - A Possessive Doctor Romance

“What are you going to do if they decide to get violent?” she asked.

“I’ll handle them.”

“They’re thugs. They’re used to this sort of stuff.”

I shrugged. “And I’m a doctor. I’ll break their knees.”

She laughed, and I think she did it despite herself. She shook her head, flyaway strands of her hair brushing up against her cheek and forehead.

“Come on, Gavin. This is stupid, right? You can’t protect me from them.”

“Yes, I can,” I said, my voice a growl. “I told you they wouldn’t try anything against me, and if they do, I’ll be ready.”

“I can’t ask you to do that. You’ve already done too much.” She glanced down at the ring on her finger.

I took her hand in mine and touched the ring with my thumb, then on impulse held it to my lips. She seemed surprised and stared at me, mouth open, before pulling away.

“I swear they won’t get near you,” I said, my voice steady and even, because I wasn’t lying. I wouldn’t let those men anywhere near her, and I’d fight them myself if it came down to it.

I’d do to those men what I should have done to my sister’s husband all those years ago, back when I realized what he was—back when I realized he was a bastard and deserved to get hurt. Ever since then I’d been taking boxing classes after work, and every time I hit the heavy bag, I’d think about that piece of shit’s face getting pummeled under my fists.

Maybe some part of me wanted those mafia bastards to try me. Maybe I had a death wish in me, a violent and reckless streak that begged to get hurt, or maybe I wanted to do for Erica what I should have done for Jamie. I couldn’t be sure, but at least I knew that I wasn’t lying to her, that I’d do anything I could to keep them away and to keep her safe.

“I believe you,” she said, “although I don’t think I have any other choice.”

We lingered there in the hallway. I wanted to touch her again, kiss her fingers, her wrists, her arms—her lips and neck and ears and chest. I wanted to pull her against me and hold her until she felt safe again.

Instead, she turned and drifted back to the couch.

I knew following her would be dangerous. I had a stab of adrenaline running through me, and I was worried I’d burn it off by taking it out on her. Instead, I went back to my room and shut the door, and spent the next half hour pacing around and picturing what I’d do if either of those men tried to hurt her. Maybe it was juvenile and foolish, but the more I pictured getting hurt for her, getting badly injured, the more I thought I’d step up when the time came to put myself and my safety on the line.10EricaI stared up at the ceiling most of that night, thinking about the thugs that appeared at the front door. I kept picturing them coming back in the middle of the night and breaking inside, stealing me away, and forcing me to bend my knees for their bastard boss. I imagined Gavin defending me, and although he was big and strong and tough, I kept wondering if he really could keep me safe from two violent mobsters.

I didn’t get that much sleep. I kept spinning my ring around my finger, picturing those assholes coming to get me—and thinking about the kiss I shared with Gavin on our wedding day.

He knocked on my door early, just after sunrise. I stirred and sat up.

“We’re going to the hospital,” he said without coming inside. “I’m heading out in an hour, and I figured you’d want to come with me.”

I chewed on my cheek. “I’ll be out in a little bit.”

I heard him walk off before climbing out of bed and using the bathroom. I showered, got changed, and met him in the kitchen for coffee and breakfast. We didn’t speak as he read the newspaper and wordlessly passed me each section as he finished with it. I stared at the paper, skimming the headlines, then dropped it on the floor—and rubbed my fingers together where the ink coated them, making the lines stand out stark white on black.

His commute was pretty easy. We walked downstairs then out into the beautiful morning air. “If the weather’s bad, I’ll call an Uber,” he said as he strolled along past people standing in line outside of a fancy bagel shop, past men in suits and women in skirts and tasteful jackets carrying big designer bags, briefcases, mugs of coffee.

“Must be nice,” I said.

“Truth is, I don’t get to pay much attention to all this.” He slowed his pace and looked at me. “I spend most of my time at the hospital.”