The Doctor Who Has No Closure (Soulless 10)

Fuck. “The box tipped over… I’m sorry.”

His mouth was harder than it’d ever been, like he was clenching his teeth as he also pressed his lips tightly together. He wanted to explode, but no words came. He suddenly moved quickly, shoving everything into the box, tipping it upright, and then carrying it from his bedroom.

He didn’t say a word to me.

I had a feeling he never would.

I didn’t speak to Dex for the rest of the weekend, hoping his anger would dissolve by Monday morning.

That didn’t happen.

When he got into the SUV beside me, I handed him his coffee and breakfast. “Morning.”

He took a drink of his coffee then looked out the window.

Fuck, I was in deep shit.

We arrived at Kline Clinic, and he purposely walked quickly because I would never be able to keep up with him in my heels. He made it to his office and shut the door.

I went into my office and got to work, hoping his anger would simmer down on its own.

When lunchtime arrived, I placed his meal on his desk then went into his lab.

He was deeply focused, like always, and didn’t notice me.

“I wanted to let you know I put lunch on your desk. I’m going to head back to the medical office because I have to make some follow-up calls.”

Without looking up, he spoke. “Alright.”

I lingered for a moment, hoping he would say something else.

Nope. “I’ll see you tomorrow, then.”

He had already returned to ignoring me.

I almost asked Cleo for advice about the situation, but I didn’t want to violate Dex’s privacy by telling her about the picture frame and making the situation worse. It was obviously really private to him, considering he threw out his diplomas and awards…but kept that picture.

So, I had to figure this out on my own.

He was just as silently hostile at the practice as he was any other time, so we worked through the patients while avoiding each other as much as possible. When lunchtime came around and I put his food on the coffee table while he read his paperwork, I decided to try to clear the air.

I sat on the couch across from him and waited for him to acknowledge me.

He didn’t.

I inhaled a deep breath before I spoke. “I’m sorry about what happened. I wasn’t prying—”

“You were going through my shit.” He lowered the paper and stared at me, his eyes vicious, burning in the center and making a ring of smoke around the edge. “Who the fuck do you think you are?”

Jesus.

“I trusted you in my fucking home, and you do that?”

When he started to yell, I wanted to yell back to defend myself, but that would just escalate the situation and make it worse. It took all my strength, but I kept my voice steady. “I backed into the boxes, the top one tipped over, and then I kneeled down to put everything back. I swear. I saw the first picture of you and your brother, and it was so cute that I couldn’t stop staring. And then I saw the other, and…I’m sorry. I would never violate your privacy intentionally. And not because you’re my boss, but because that’s not the kind of person I am. So, could you stop cursing at me and treating me like shit, please?”

The second I said that, he redirected his gaze, as if ashamed.

“I’m truly, deeply sorry. Okay?”

He kept his gaze out the window, breathing hard, as if his anger were wrestling with his pragmatism. “Did you tell my mom?”

“No. I would never do that.”

After a couple seconds, his eyes flicked back to me, less hostile now.

Relief washed through me now that the man I knew had returned, that he didn’t want to rip my head off my shoulders anymore. In a short amount of time, I felt like we’d become close, closer than friends, having a special kind of camaraderie based on trust. I didn’t want to lose that, not when we were doing amazing work together. “I’m sorry that I made you so uncomfortable—”

“Forget it,” he said quickly. “I overreacted.” His hand moved to the back of his neck, and he massaged it before he dropped his hand back into his lap. “You just…caught me by surprise.” He lifted his chin and looked at me, his eyes a little more kind, and he put on a slight smile that was forced and almost painful, as if he were embarrassed by the way he behaved.

I could let the conversation die and move on, but now that the subject was broached, I couldn’t just let it go. “I’m sorry about your divorce.” I knew it was rough, not because his mother told me so, not because of the way he reacted to the picture frame, but because he declared he wanted to be alone for the rest of his life. This woman really, really fucked him up.