12. Knox
Chapter twelve
Knox
Rule #6: Let people help you.
I t was the flatline beep that took up the most space in my brain. Closing up after a C-section, especially when the mother was stable, was automatic and full of expected steps. Closure of the uterine incision followed by closure and repair of the fascia and subcutaneous tissue. Tidy rows of neatly placed, dissolvable sutures were so familiar to me, that it was as automatic as driving my car—my hands worked even as my mind reeled. Behind me, the flatline tone from the twenty-seven-week fetus suddenly switched off.
I flinched like I'd been struck. I couldn't turn from my work or divert my attention to the tragedy that had played out with Spencer behind me. We had been performing a simple FETO surgery on the fetus with CDH, and as complicated as the mother's condition was, she had begged us to try. The baby's prognosis had not looked good, and without surgery, he wouldn't have survived outside the womb. We had tried. The placenta had abrupted mid-surgery. I'd performed an emergency C-section, but his lungs were too poorly developed, and his body far too small for viability.
He'd died in minutes, despite Spencer's best efforts with his NICU team.
I finished closing up the mother, knowing that we would have to deliver unthinkable news in a few short hours. She had gone to sleep with her child nestled safely in her womb, but she would wake empty and tossed into a kind of despair I couldn't even begin to imagine.
Spencer and I exited the OR in tandem, scrubbing out in silence with only the running water and my pulse in my ears to break the quiet. As I dried my hands and arms, staring blankly through the window as the OR staff began their cleanup, Spencer threw his towel into the hamper with more force than necessary. I glanced at him, still silent. His dark eyes had misted over, and he sniffed, tightening his lips. I released a soundless breath. "You did what you could, Spence."
"Oh, are we sharing trite phrases from residency again?" Spencer snapped, ripping off his surgical cap. His top knot had gotten mussed, but he didn't bother fixing it. "That's nice."
I couldn't blame him. Few words were worthy of a loss this profound. "I'm sorry."
He shook his head, pacing away. "The mom?"
"Her vitals stayed steady. Blood loss was minimal, and I don't foresee any complications." Her placenta had abrupted, but her body had tolerated the emergency surgery well. She was a young mother—just twenty-three, and in the prime of health. But I knew that would only make her loss feel more devastating. She had expected a miracle and had been given a nightmare.
He nodded, bunching his surgical cap in his hands and staring down at it. "Good job. You worked fast."
In the scrub room, only the two of us took up the small space, and suddenly, it felt claustrophobic. I swiped my mouth, leaning against the wall next to the door. "Let's get out of here. I don’t have anything else scheduled today."
"I do," Spencer replied flatly. "I'm not going to let down the rest of my patients today." Spencer never planned for the setbacks. It was a testament to his unfailing optimism, but it also tended to cause him unnecessary wounds when he miscalculated.
I'd known there was a chance of an unfavorable outcome with this surgery. I'd planned for it. Spencer hadn't. Knowing I wouldn't be able to dissuade my friend, I pushed off the wall and opened the door for him. "I'll inform the mother. Get to your next patient."
Spencer walked past me, his features set in hard lines and his shoulders tense. "Thanks. I'll see you later." Some doctors wanted to debrief immediately after losing a patient. Others needed to process, complete paperwork and loose ends, and then would talk about it later. Spencer was one of the latter.
I made my way to the locker room to change out of my scrubs and into my white button-down and black slacks. I had a bit of time before I had to tell the mother the news, and it didn't matter that I'd done this many times before; it didn't get easier. It didn't become routine or numb. It hurt every time, and I dreaded it just as acutely as I had the first time I'd delivered devastating news.
After I was dressed, I sent Spencer a message.
Rook:
When you're done I'll be at Cass's.
It took Spencer a few minutes to respond to my message about our favorite bar. We didn't go there often, but some days, it was the only logical place to be.
Spencer:
I'll be there.
I got to the bar well before Spencer, and I found a seat by the window with my back to the wall. Cass's had been styled more like a modern bistro than a typical bar, and hanging from the center of the ceiling was an enormous, triangular glass shelf that had been filled with empty bottles of every shape and color. I preferred being able to sit away from the other patrons while I nursed a whiskey sour, so I asked for a quiet space along the far wall.
I watched the bar fill steadily with patrons, my mind fogging slowly and body unwinding with the same steady flow as bathwater down a drain. As I leaned back in my seat, sipping on my second drink, Spencer came through the double doors and found me with a ragged look in his eyes. He was wearing a black turtleneck and a brown tweed coat that made him look like a total douche. I spared him that insult and kicked out the chair for him instead. "Got you a negroni."
Spencer nodded, sitting heavily in the chair and reaching for the amber drink. "Thanks."
I watched him for a few moments, swirling my drink and then taking another sip. He looked around the room, and as he put the glass to his lips, he suddenly downed the drink in three gulps. I gave him a slow blink. "I'm not carrying you home."
"Rideshares," he choked, smacking his lips and grimacing. "Appreciate your support, though."
Shrugging, I swallowed another mouthful of my own burning, bitter drink. "Anytime."
Spencer flagged down the waiter, and as he did, a petite woman in a pressed, black skirt suit took a seat at the table next to us. I glanced at her, and Spencer followed my eyes. She was beautiful, with long, thick, black hair and full eyelashes that swept across her light umber skin. I flicked a look toward Spencer, and he gave me a mischievous half-smile. "How's your roomie?"
I rolled my eyes and finished my drink. "Why?"
"No reason. You haven't said anything for a while. Are you still stuck in your definitely illegal leases? Is she still refusing to marry you?"
The woman to my right gave us a fast glance, like she'd heard us, but then she returned her attention to her phone while she waited for her drink. I set my glass on the table with a firm click . "Yes, we're stuck in the apartment together for now. At least until I can find a lawyer who is bold enough to stand up to my parents. And Gemma seems to think marrying me would ruin her reputation at her job."
Spencer bobbed his head back and forth like he was considering the logic of that statement. "That kind of makes sense."
"No, it doesn't. Not when she's sleeping in my bed." And getting trussed up in my closet. And driving me mad with lust every day.
Spencer sighed, leaning back in his chair and staring out the windows where the outdoor patio had been outfitted with wrought iron tables and lit braziers to warm the chilly autumn air. "I mean, have you tried actually getting to know her?" He gave me a hesitant glance. "She's cute. And nice."
A mist of dark red washed over my vision momentarily. "I'm not sure what you mean by that. We're just trying to untangle our lives."
"That's what I'm saying," Spencer went on more confidently, leaning his elbows on the table. "Why are you trying to untangle from her? Get tangled. She's fucking hot, and you just said she's in your bed. What's the deal with you?"
"You're not seriously suggesting I get romantically involved with Gemma," I said with a scowl. "Spence, be real."
"I am real," he insisted, his brows puckering. I knew a cranky Spencer when I saw one. Another drink, combined with the devastating events of the day, and he would be insufferable. "Or, if you're not going to, then let me. I get the bro code or whatever, but if you're not interested in her—"
"I'm not," I dismissed immediately. A lie. You're a liar, Knox.
"Then let me take her on a date, at least." Spencer put his hands palm up on the table. "Or is there something I'm missing?"
"Why are you even bringing this up right now?" I frowned.
"Because you're cockblocking me, and I want to know why," he shot back. A few people turned to look at us, including the beautiful, dark-haired woman to our right. She gave us an inscrutable look, and then she returned her gaze to her phone. She looked familiar, but I couldn't put my finger on why.
Tearing my attention away from the stranger, I sighed and leveled a glare Spencer's way. "You've had a long day."
"Yes, and a date with a really cute blond would be a welcome distraction," he said with a tilt of his head and wide eyes for emphasis.
I scrubbed a hand down my face. "Can we not? Gemma is off-limits. End of story."
"So, you won't let yourself have her because your swim coach fucked you up when you were seventeen, and that means I can't have her, either. Right?" Spencer froze immediately after the words left his lips. His whole body tensed up.
I didn't so much as flinch, ignoring his jibe at my past. "She's not an object. Neither you, nor I, can have her ."
Spencer's jaw flexed. "No, you're right. She's a person. A living, breathing, lovely person, and you're putting weird boundaries around her like you have any right to do that."
I tried to ignore that he'd stabbed my weak point, that he'd found the fleshy, soft area between the plates of my armor, but he'd struck true. My experience with my swim coach in high school had left a small but vulnerable spot at the center of my heart, and Spencer was right, even if he was an asshole for pointing it out.
I did feel unworthy of real affection. Even as that memory slithered around my thoughts, coating it in noxious oil, I tried to ignore the feel of my coach's hands on my body combined with her insulting words. I blinked once.
"I have a right because I live with her, and I don't want that kind of complication in my life. Back off. That's final."
With a sound of disgust, Spencer ripped a fifty from his wallet and threw it on the table. "Have you asked her what she thinks of that rule?"
"I don't need to," I replied evenly. But my pulse raced, and my palms had grown clammy. The whispered words from my memory tortured my mind. "You are pathetic, Knox. Your laps are too long. Your form is sloppy. Your body is soft, right here… do you feel that? Soft right here. And here."
"Right," Spencer scowled. "I'll see you on Thursday. Don't forget your mouthguard. If you lose too many teeth, you won't have any left to lie through."
I watched him go, and heat crept up my neck and to my face, which was the only indication that he had rattled me. And he had truly unsettled me. I kept those memories buried firmly in the past most of the time, but it didn't take much to unearth them when I'd done little to truly face them. The seemingly errant touches from my coach coupled with her scathing put-downs, the increasingly uncomfortable way she had given herself access to my body when we ran laps in private… all of it lurked under the surface just waiting to grab me in a stranglehold. I hadn't understood as a seventeen-year-old what grooming behavior looked like. I hadn't understood that an adult could belittle a child until they felt worthless enough to crave their abuse and eventually, their touch.
I'd managed to pull myself away from her insidious intentions before they had become too serious, but not without damage left behind. Not without emotional scars that would burn and itch and slash across every aspect of my romantic relationships as an adult. I'd done some work to overcome the hurdles I'd faced after the experience, but Spencer had the right of it. I felt unworthy of affection. And I feared what truly trusting would look like—would that, too, come with subtle put-downs and an ice pick to my confidence? Would physical touch from a person I wanted to trust cause me to feel sick to my stomach and like an alien in my own skin?
Gemma had asked why I never touched her. It wasn't because I had an aversion to touching her. It was like being afraid to touch a crystal clear well with muddied hands. Would touching her poison us both? Would it bring up the fears of my past and end up hurting her? I couldn't answer those questions because I had never felt this way about a woman before now. I'd had plenty of sexual partners in the past—usually partners who aligned with my tastes and didn't mind being tied up and controlled. But they had been, for the most part, emotionless experiences full of pleasure but no promises for the future. I'd never been in danger of getting hurt.
Gemma could destroy me. I knew, deep in my being, that she held the power to set me free or bind me in the chains of my own fears. Gemma wasn't just an attractive woman I desired; she was everything I didn't deserve.
I ordered a beer, and while I waited, I stared ahead, eyes vacant and thoughts forcibly silenced. To my right, the businesswoman sipped a red wine, her eyes on her phone and her leg crossed over the other. She glanced at me, and I couldn't help but notice the action in my periphery, so I met her gaze cautiously. The beautiful woman smiled over the rim of her glass. "Quite the predicament you're in."
I looked away. "Not sure what you mean."
"I couldn't help but overhear that you might be having a little… legal trouble." She set her wine glass down and traced the rim. "Sounds kind of illegal, actually."
Sighing, I looked around to see if the waiter was bringing my beer. I didn't have the time or interest in offloading my personal issues on a stranger. "My colleague isn't as discreet as I am. I'd appreciate it if you pretended you heard nothing."
"Ooh," she winced. "See, I don't do that—pretend. But I am a lawyer, and I'm not half bad." She leaned back, angling toward me. It was then that I noticed the enormous wedding ring on her left hand and the fact that her phone screen lit up with a picture of a handsome, brunet man.
Somewhat more comfortable knowing she might be fishing for business rather than hitting on me, I gave her my attention. "Do you work in the area? You look familiar." She gestured with her head to the TV screen over the bar where news coverage of a celebrity wedding had been playing. I stared at the screen and realized it had been her wedding they were airing. I rotated a silent question her way.
She cracked a smile, just as effervescent as she looked on the television. "Azura Brady. Just got back from my honeymoon. And you are?"
Oh fuck , I thought, taking her in with new eyes. Azura Brady wasn't just a celebrity. She was world-famous for being a shark in the courtroom and taking suckers for all they were worth. "Knox Rook… and it seems like I might be in luck," I admitted. "I'm guessing you don't usually take appointments."
"Not usually," she agreed, picking up her wine glass again. Her dark eyes sparked with interest. "But it's hard to ignore blood in the water once I smell it." She swirled the claret wine slowly, and her features sharpened like the piercing incisor of a great white. "Let's hear your case."