Chapter 12
TWELVE
DANIEL
Wind and rain battered the clinic building with relentless fury, each gust sending tremors through the walls that I felt in my bones.
But even the raw power of Mother Nature was nothing compared to the chill anger radiating from Gabi like arctic air from an open freezer.
She was a woman of great passion in all things—her work, her family, her convictions, her love.
It was something I'd always appreciated about her, something that had drawn me to her like a moth to flame from the very beginning.
If I'd just pissed her off in some ordinary way, she'd have let me know in no uncertain terms, probably with a few choice words in both English and Spanish that would've peeled the paint off the walls.
In a heartbeat, I'd have taken the blistering heat of her Latina temper over this cool indifference that felt like being slowly frozen to death.
She sat at a table across the room, her back ramrod straight, stubbornly not looking in my direction or otherwise acknowledging my presence in any meaningful way.
That alone let me know exactly how badly I'd fucked things up.
The silence between us had weight and substance, pressing down on the room like a physical force.
She hadn't said a word for the past three hours—not since we'd more or less made nests for ourselves on opposite sides of the break room, which was the center-most, windowless space in the building and our best bet for riding out whatever hell Hannah had in store for us.
We'd grabbed mattresses from a couple of the patient beds and brought them in to lie on, if we ever actually tried to sleep.
Mine was positioned near the door, hers closer to the far wall, with what felt like an ocean of charged silence stretching between us.
The fluorescent lights overhead buzzed and flickered intermittently as the wind outside howled like something alive and angry.
I'd been racking my brain for the better part of those three hours, trying to think of something—anything—to break the ice between us.
Sure, an apology was right up there at the top of my mental list, but just blurting it out didn't seem like it would get me far.
I needed to build up to that, create some kind of opening so I was sure she at least heard me, even if she didn't believe a single word coming out of my mouth.
The problem was, I'd never been good with words when it mattered most. Give me a tactical situation, a rescue operation, a crisis on the water—I could handle all of that without breaking a sweat.
But this? Trying to find my way back to the one person who'd ever really mattered?
I was floundering worse than a greenhorn in his first storm.
So far, the power had held, but I knew it was only a matter of time before the lines snapped under the assault of wind and debris, and we were plunged into the twilight world of lanterns and candles.
The building groaned around us, a constant reminder of the hurricane's growing strength.
I could break out the supplies I'd brought and try to feed her.
Given how busy she'd been moving between patients, checking charts, coordinating with her small staff, I suspected she hadn't eaten in hours.
That had often happened during her residency in New Orleans.
She got so caught up in her work, so focused on taking care of everyone else, that she forgot to take care of herself.
Back then, bringing her a meal had often been the only time we got to spend together during her grueling schedule, and I'd always taken great pleasure in feeding her.
Watching her face light up when I'd show up with her favorite po' boy or a container of my grandmother's gumbo.
Those had been some of the best moments we'd shared.
From across the room, cutting through the storm's noise and the tension between us, her belly growled loudly enough that I heard it.
Okay, Universe, message received.
I grabbed one of the waterproof bags I'd kept stowed on the Zodiac and began unpacking the contents, hoping the rustling might draw her attention without seeming too obvious about it.
Cured meats, various cheeses, water crackers, applesauce pouches, dried fruit, tortilla chips, and salsa.
It had started out part charcuterie board in my mind and ended up part camping fare as I'd grabbed whatever nonperishables were in my quarters at Nag's Head.
The salsa would definitely be below her standards—she made a hell of a homemade one with fresh tomatoes and peppers that brought tears to your eyes in the best possible way—but either way, it wasn't a bad spread for hurricane rations.
Again, she said nothing as I opened containers and began loading a paper plate, but I caught her stealing glances in my direction when she thought I wasn't looking.
Maybe she was still avoiding even looking at me directly, but at least I had her attention.
When I crossed over and thrust the plate toward her, she looked up with a frown that could've curdled milk. "What is this?"
"Food. I'm guessin' you haven't eaten in hours." I kept my voice carefully neutral, not wanting to sound like I was lecturing her or trying to take care of her when she clearly didn't want my care.
Her gaze strayed to the nearby bag, where I spotted some protein bars sticking out of a side pocket—clearly her own emergency provisions.
I shimmied the plate a little, offering a small smile. "It's not boudin balls, but it's gonna be better than that cardboard you've got over there."
Her eyes snapped to mine at the reminder of one of her favorite dishes from my kitchen.
For a moment, something flickered in those dark eyes, a crack in the ice wall she'd built between us.
I thought for a moment she'd turn the food down out of sheer spite, but at last she accepted the plate with reluctant fingers.
"Thank you." The words were stiff, formal, but they were something.
"No problem." I returned to the table to build my own plate, trying to act casual, though my heart was hammering against my ribs. "I'm surprised you didn't have a more elaborate setup yourself. As I recall, you absolutely know how to throw a hurricane party. Even if it's just for one."
I glanced back in time to see her shoulders hunch, and I knew I'd stepped on something tender.
"I'd originally intended to ride out the storm with my sister and her kids over at her in-laws' house." Her voice was carefully controlled, but I heard the hurt underneath.
"Why didn't you? I mean, I know Hoyt had to work." The words were out before I could stop them, and I immediately regretted bringing up her brother-in-law.
That earned me another sharp look, this one with an edge of suspicion.
"I've been liaising with the fire department since I got here," I explained quickly. "Met him yesterday morning. Seemed like a good guy." Which was true—Hoyt McNamara had struck me as exactly the kind of solid, dependable man you'd want watching over your family.
"Ah." She popped a dried apricot into her mouth, chewing thoughtfully. "I changed my mind because there was an attempted break-in at the clinic yesterday."
I remembered the scratches on the back door—fresh gouges in the metal that looked like someone had been working at it with a crowbar or something similar. "Somebody tried to jimmy the back door?"
Her tone dropped another few degrees, becoming almost arctic. "Did my staff get chatty?"
"Nope. Noticed it while I was waiting on you to get back." I took a bite of cheese and crackers, trying to keep things casual, even though my mind was already running through possibilities, none of them good.
She hummed a noncommittal note, the sound barely audible over the storm.
"There been any previous break-ins?" I pressed gently.
"Not since I've been here. And neither Dr. Sibley nor anyone else on the staff has mentioned it. Plus, if someone had tried before, it would have gotten all over the island, and my sister would've told me." She gestured vaguely with a cracker. "You know how small towns work."
Not a regular target then, which made it more concerning, not less.
"So you decided to ride the storm out by yourself, in case they came back?" I prompted, trying to keep the worry out of my voice.
"Partly." She was being deliberately evasive, and it was driving me crazy.
"What exactly are you planning on doing if somebody does come back?
" I tried to keep the judgment out of my tone, but I didn't at all like the idea that some kind of tweaker might be hanging around, looking for easy drugs to steal.
Or worse, that some of the traffickers we'd been tracking might've decided to target the clinic for an easy score during the chaos of the storm.
It wasn't their usual MO, but we weren't dealing with the cream of society here.
Crimes of opportunity were a thing for a reason, and a medical facility would have plenty worth stealing.
Gabi wasn't helpless—I'd seen her handle herself in tough situations before—but I was definitely glad I was here, even if she didn't want me to be.
"Honestly, I hadn't gotten that far. I just wanted to be here.
I hoped my presence alone would be a deterrent.
" She shrugged, but I saw the tension in her shoulders.
"Beyond all that, I wanted to be here so I can help with any emergencies on-island in the wake of the storm.
Trees will go down, power lines will snap, and it's gonna be hard to move around.
I need to be where the medical equipment is if I'm needed.
There's the triage station we set up at the community center, but anything more serious will need the facilities here. Right now, I'm the only doctor around."
That was a hell of a weight to carry, especially for someone who'd just finished her residency and was still finding her footing as an attending physician. But it was so perfectly Gabi—putting everyone else's needs before her own safety.
"I can respect and understand that," I said carefully, "but once the power goes, since we're all the way in here, it's not likely anybody would recognize anyone's here. Cars could be left behind, and the building might appear empty from the outside."
"True. I'm hoping it doesn't come to that." She ate a cracker with cheese and salami. "Thank you for the food and the extra supplies you brought."
In other words, time for a subject change. Message received loud and clear. I could roll with that, even if every instinct I possessed was screaming at me to push harder, to make her talk to me properly.
"Anytime."
For a few more minutes, we ate in silence that felt less hostile and more.
.. careful. Like we were both walking on eggshells, afraid to say the wrong thing and shatter whatever fragile peace we'd managed to build.
The storm continued its assault outside, and I found myself cataloging every sound—the way the wind howled around the corners of the building, the rhythmic drumming of rain against the walls, the occasional crash of something being hurled against the structure.
Then, as if someone flipped a switch, the power went out.
The sudden darkness was absolute and disorienting. The constant hum of the air conditioning and fluorescent lights that I hadn't even been aware of suddenly cut off, leaving only the storm's voice.
"Knew it was comin'." Switching on the flashlight on my phone, I fumbled my way to the candles I'd spotted earlier on a supply shelf.
Gabi turned on a battery-powered camp lantern, casting dancing shadows on the walls.
By the time I got the half dozen candles lit and set around the room in strategic positions, the space was starting to remind me of another hurricane party, when we'd been trapped alone together in that windowless stairwell.
That had been how we'd met, just a few short weeks into her second year of residency.
I'd been visiting a buddy who lived in her building when the evacuation order came too late for anyone to actually leave safely.
We'd ended up in that stairwell together—her with a bag of snacks and a bottle of wine, me with a deck of cards and a thermos of coffee.
We'd sat together in the humid dark after the power died and talked for hours about everything and nothing.
Then we'd found far better things to do with our mouths in the dark.
Shaking off the memory of the best damned make-out session of my life—and everything that had followed over the next two years—I settled back in my chair, the plastic creaking under my weight. "So what's it like being home, Dr. Carrera?"
Her narrow-eyed glare could've cut through steel, and I realized immediately that I'd said something wrong. The formal title, maybe? Or just the fact that I was trying to make small talk when we had so much unfinished business between us?
I scrambled to recover, my words tumbling over each other. "You look good. You look happy. Or you did before I showed up." Might as well acknowledge that I knew I was up shit creek with her without a paddle.
When she only continued to stare at me with those dark eyes that had once looked at me with such warmth, I gave up on finding the right approach. Sometimes the only way forward was straight through, even if it hurt like hell.
"For whatever it's worth, Gabs," I said, my voice rough with emotion I couldn't quite hide, "I'm so fucking sorry."