“It’s settled, then,” Vincent said. “I’m sure you can find some practice work online. Anything more and you’ll have to wait for the documents.”
Vincent turned his attention to his laptop, the conversation over.
The moment they stepped into the hallway, Haven flung herself at him. Carmine stumbled a few steps but managed to keep his balance as she leaped up and wrapped her legs around his waist. He clung to her tightly so she didn’t fall.
Haven buried her face in his neck, her hands finding their way into his hair. Carmine was stunned into silence, unable to do anything but stand there and hold her.
* * *
Carmine pulled the cake out of the fridge when they made it to the kitchen, and Haven watched as he cut a slice for himself. “So you like the cake?”
He grabbed a fork. “Italian cream cake’s my favorite.”
“Is it really?”
He smirked, taking a bite. “It is now.”
Haven laughed as Dominic strolled into the room. “Whoa, I can’t believe you’re eating without me. That’s foul.”
Shrugging, Carmine hopped up on the counter as Dominic cut a massive piece for himself. Soon the rest of the family joined them, Corrado and Celia getting pieces and standing off to the side while Dr. DeMarco grabbed a bottle of water. He closed the fridge door and turned to look at them, his gaze shifting toward the cake.
“Have you tried some, Dad?” Dominic asked.
“No.”
Dominic cut another slice and slapped it on a plate, holding it out to his father. “You should.”
“I’d rather not,” Vincent said, eyeing the plate with distaste.
Dominic shrugged. “Your loss, but I tell you—this is the best cake I’ve ever had. She’s a great cook.”
“Yeah,” Carmine said. “Probably all the Italian in her.”
He tensed when he realized what he’d said and noticed his father had the same reaction. Vincent opened his water and took a drink as Carmine tried to think of something to say to shift the conversation elsewhere. Before he could, Dominic laughed. “Must be. You know damn well she has Carmine’s full-blooded Italian in her all the time.”
Vincent coughed as he choked on his drink. Celia snorted, trying to hold back her amusement, but Dominic didn’t bother containing himself. The laughter died down as Vincent caught his breath, looking at him with disapproval. Carmine waited for him to say something, but he just walked out.
After he was gone, they burst into another round of laughter. Haven looked at Carmine with confusion. “I thought you were half-Irish.”
Carmine opened his mouth to answer but closed it again, shaking his head. There was no way to explain it without embarrassing her.
* * *
Night fell, the house as still as a graveyard. Vincent sat in his office, glaring at the plate on his desk. The small sliver of cake was just enough to taste, but the thought of taking a bite made his stomach churn.
Maura always made Italian cream cake. It had been her favorite.
He fingered the small gold band around his neck, his pinky finger barely fitting halfway through it. The metal was startlingly cold against his skin but not as cold as Vincent felt inside.
After another minute of staring at the cake, he picked up the plate and tossed it into the trash. It hit the bottom of the empty wastebasket with a loud clank, and Vincent didn’t give it another thought. He slipped the necklace under the neckline of his shirt again, concealing it, and picked up a stack of papers on his desk.
X-rays, consultations, broken bones, stitches. Diseases, rashes, infections, viruses. One awful diagnosis after another, but Vincent preferred it to the morose thoughts swimming in his head.
For as many lives as he’d destroyed, as many people as he’d watched die, there were countless others he’d saved. And as exhausted as he was, somewhere in the mound of files in front of him had to be another patient who could take the sting of death away.
If only for a little while.
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