Dr. Fake It - A Possessive Doctor Romance

“Go to hell.” I clenched my jaw and tightened my fists, taking a step toward him. I wished I had a knife, or a gun, or anything I could use to break him, kill him, and end this right here and now.

“Oh, don’t you worry.” He took a few steps back toward the bakery. “I’ll be dragging you down there with me.”

He turned and pushed the door open and disappeared inside.

I stood there, heart racing. I was tempted to follow him inside, but that wouldn’t help a damn thing, and Dante would side with him, of course. I couldn’t do anything about it, so I turned and stormed back to my car.

At least Dante had accepted my offer, or at least was interested in it. At least there was some possibility of getting out of this alive and in one piece and not in debt to the goddamn mafia, however slim.

I turned on the car and drove back home to Erica, my mind a whirling mess of conflicting emotions and anger and rage.24EricaI felt a strange flood of relief as I walked with Gavin to the hospital later that afternoon. He left me on my mother’s floor and kissed my cheek before disappearing down a side hallway and out of sight. I wandered toward the nurses’ station, trying to work through our situation in my mind.

Fiona half stood and waved at me. “Hey, you,” she said.

I smiled at her. “Hey, yourself. I figured I’d come visit my mom.”

“Good thinking.” She came out from behind the desk and slipped her arm through mine. “Slow day today.”

“Gavin was talking about how busy it’s been.”

“That’s sort of how it goes around here. For a day or two, it’s nonstop, and then it’s totally dead and quiet for a few days until the rush happens again.”

“Sounds stressful.”

She shrugged and shook her head. “You get used to it.”

We reached my mom’s room and stepped inside. I shut the door behind us then lingered at the end of her bed.

“How’s she doing?” I asked.

“Same as before.” She checked the chart and let out a little grunt. “No change, really. It’s a good and a bad thing.”

“Good how?”

“She’s not getting worse.”

I nodded slowly and touched my mom’s hand. “But she’s not getting better, either.”

“Pretty much. I think a lot of doctors would say that if she’s not getting worse, that’s a good sign, but I don’t know.”

“Thanks for being honest.”

“Sure thing.” She put the chart back at the end of the bed. “I gotta ask. How’s living with Gavin been?”

I looked up, a little surprised, and felt my heart jolt. “Uh, good.”

She gave me a grin. “Oh? Good?”

“Yeah, I mean, he works a lot, so he’s not around much.”

“Right. That look on your face says something else.”

I felt my cheeks turn red. “That’s not what I meant.”

“Sure, whatever.” She laughed and shook her head. “Honestly, when this whole thing started, I thought you two were absolutely insane. Like, literally, I was looking up psychologists I could send you both to. But then I saw you two together, and it sort of made sense.”

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t know. He looks at you a certain way. And when he does that, you sort of… brighten up. Like you glow a little bit.”

I shook my head. “I don’t see it.”

“Yeah, I bet you don’t.” She laughed again and stretched. “I’m just saying, I know I was tough on you two at the start, but I changed my mind.”

I smiled a little and stared down at my mom. I could see that look she meant, that look Gavin gave me whenever he was around—it was admiring, like he couldn’t get enough of me, and it drove me wild. I thought I did a better job at hiding it, but I guess not.

“He talked about taking her off the breathing machine again.”

“That might be a good idea.”

I looked at her. “Really?”

She chewed on her lip then gestured at my mom. “No change, right? But if you want her to wake up, something’s got to, sooner or later.”

“What if she can’t breathe?”

She shook her head and didn’t respond.

I looked back down at my mom. I didn’t know what to do, couldn’t picture the right course of action. Everything seemed so complicated and fraught, and the consequences were enormous. If I was wrong, then my mother could die. And if I was right, she might wake up—or she might breathe on her own, but still be in a coma.

I hated this choice and hated myself for being too weak to make it.

“I know I have to do something,” I said, not looking at her. “But I feel like no matter which way I go, something could go wrong.”

“That’s how it is here,” she said. “But most of the time, doing nothing is worse than doing the wrong thing, if that makes sense. You don’t have a chance if you don’t do anything.”