Chapter 19 #3
We’re both silent, processing the weight of this admission. There’s a ruthless tension between us, a simmering attraction that neither of us can pretend is fake.
“But if we’re going down in flames,” he offers, “we might as well… enjoy each other’s company.”
Neither of us is in denial now.
If it’s ever discovered how we deceived each other into true feelings, I’m sure we’ll be the laughingstock of the field of medicine.
But I’m not laughing now. I’m with Kane.
I scoot closer, our thighs brushing, and his gaze finally drops, eyeing the lace that weaves around my hips.
And it’s just that slight movement—his concession of his gaze—that gives me the confidence to slide closer, trapping myself flush against him.
His arms pin me in.
“Okay,” I murmur. I’m hot all over, balancing on the hard bulge between his thighs, the anticipation of him touching me making me dizzier than his actual touch.
His head dips, and with the gentlest of pressure, his lips meet mine.
Heat and pressure, and his chest is firm against my breasts.
Then the slightest press from his lips, and he’s kissing me, harder, one hand moving to my ass while the other tangles in my hair.
He angles me back, deepening our kiss.
Then, he pulls back, our ragged pants splitting the air, his eyes heavy-lidded, mine glazed over.
Pleased with my flush, he descends, tongue parting mine with a groan.
“Good girl,” he breathes between kisses, one hand weaving through my hair again while the other squeezes across my hip. I wind my arms around his neck, pulling us impossibly closer.
If I ever officially descended into hell, it would be now, because I’m more heat than human.
I dig my hands into his shoulders, and he groans again. “Hungry, are you?”
He nips my ear. “Down,” he commands.
I stop, confused, until his hand hovers over my belly.
He presses once, but not hard enough to actually move me.
Oh.
Always a choice with him.
The tenderness of the gesture makes my core throb.
Never losing his gaze, I lay back down on the ruined upholstery, my hair cascading around me as he stares rapturously.
He climbs onto me, kissing me from my neck all the way down.
Kiss.
It burns, like a brand, just above my collarbone.
Kiss.
I gasp, feeling his tongue lap under my bra line.
Kiss.
His teeth scrape across my hip bone, weight settling heavily over me. He’s caging me in, but I’ve never felt more free, exploring the hard ridges of his back while he’s sucking on the skin above my panties like a starved man.
My hips jerk up on their own, wanton, desperate to feel his hard ridges against mine. I arch against the soft press of his tongue.
He finally skirts back to my face, parting my lips with his, while his arms ghost over my waist. They dance slowly down, fingers teasing under my bra line first, then palming the inside of my thighs.
I need him closer.
I need him in places he shouldn’t be.
He’s lit something in me I’ll never extinguish. It’s not enough.
I finally grab his wrist, moving it between my legs, and he stops.
“What?” I whisper.
With a sudden recoil, he pulls back, and the cool air rushes over me at the same speed as my embarrassment.
I self-consciously cross my arms over my very cold, very exposed, vaguely wet torso.
“Kane?”
His abrupt retreat has me speechless. Was I not… pretty enough? Sexy enough? Am I simply not—
“I’m not going to take advantage of you,” he says resolutely.
“What?!”
Now I’m embarrassed and confused.
“This is a fake relationship—”
I push back onto my elbows. “Kane—”
“No, it’s not right—”
“Not right? I’m—”
“Percy,” he pleads, in that raspy, throaty voice of his. It’s his apology and vow in one.
My shame is making me delirious.
“But we—”
He scoots away suddenly, unable to even look at me. “You’ve got a great story to tell your friends now,” he tells the air on the other side of me.
I don’t know whether I’m more wounded or offended.
I’m suddenly raging with jealousy for whoever he’ll actually finish the deed with. For whoever isn’t me. For the idiotic deal I came up with in the first place.
Was it all a lie? Is anything he says true?
“And do you?” I demand. “Do you have a good story to tell your friends?”
He lets out an exasperated sigh, rubbing his brows.
“You ruin me, little surgeon.”
The candles flicker, casting shadows over his dismal expression.
“I ruin you?”
“This—” he says roughly, blinking rapidly—“this is nearly unbearable.”
Now I’m unmoored. “Unbearable?”
“I should have said no to this when it first started. It’s freezing, this room is drafty, and you’re nearly—” he gesticulates wildly—“naked.”
“The falling in was all me, Kane!”
“But you wouldn’t need to impress people if I hadn’t agreed to this—”
“Oh, please! You love hanging out with me! And I’m not the only one with something to gain here—”
“But I should have been a better man and said no. You should have listened to the rumors about Dr. Demon and left me alone. You’re still a student, for God’s sake, and I’ve got you half-naked and drenched in front of me—”
“You’re my Dr. Demon, first of all—”
“I—” he inhales sharply, then stops. “I like you too much,” he says softly. “Too much to push you away, but so much I feel guilty keeping you.”
“Kane—” I murmur.
His face is aghast as I feel. It’s the closest I’ll ever get to him confessing he loves me.
“I will make sure this lasts until match day,” he says, and I know he’ll honor his word. The pain in his voice is proof enough.
How honorable. How adorably cavalier. He won’t fuck me and then dump me in a week.
What a lucky girl I am to have a guy with so much fucking dignity.
For a moment, I can picture it. What my life would be like without him in it. Just me, my degree, and my academic validation, with nobody to share it with.
I loathe that he doesn’t know how much I despise it. How much I crave the peace that comes with having something tangible outside of academics to pour my love into.
I’m hit with such a wave of loneliness and remorse that I can’t even look at him anymore. “Well, I’m sorry I put you in this situation,” I whisper.
He sighs, one of those deep, long-standing ones that men use when they’re too tired to talk anymore, and that’s the end.
Just like that.
One sigh from him, and it’s all over, me turning my head so he won’t see me blink away tears.
In the corner of my eye, his hands hover over his thighs, like he’s debating whether he should reach for me again, but he ultimately drops them.
In the distance, a woodpecker clangs against a tree, his persistent pecking assaulting my ears.
I shove myself away, putting distance between us, water dripping off to become chilly once more. I let the shivers shake me, even knowing how much it bothers him.
I hunch back into my shell like a turtle while Kane remains a statue.
I might actually hate this man.
I’m undoubtedly in love with this man.
I’m going to spend the rest of my life wishing I’d chosen this man.
And the only thing holding me back is…
Fuck the entire medical education system. Actually, fuck me, for being daft enough to think that medical school was a good idea. I should have married young and never gone to college instead of dealing with the humiliation of putting myself out there.
This is what happens when I attempt to be brave.
I pivot to the window, watching the condensation coat the glass, refusing to look back at the man I came with.
The minuscule candle flickers on, and Kane’s shadow is as silent as he is. From the reflection, he drops his head into his hands, groaning.
I can’t wait for all of this to be over. For the algorithm to work its witchcraft and dispel us outward to our next job.
Because as soon as it’s over…
I glance back at Kane. He’s not looking at me either, staring at the floor with an empty, glassy expression. He’s in way more danger of being flung across the country for his next job, or worse, not matching at all.
My frantic emotions melt with the candle wax, heat draining from them with each passing second.
A dull ache replaces the fire in my heart, and the minutes of us sitting in silence pool like hours, regret pushing me to say something, anything, to ease the pain in his body that mirrors mine.
Because damn it all, I still care about him, even if he’s too cowardly to fight for us.
“You can call me anytime during match week,” I tell the window. “Even though we’ll be… over… I’ll still support you through everything.”
He exhales in a rush. “Percy.”
“I’m sorry you never matched,” I continue. “And that you had to Scramble,” I add. I’ve never brought it up before, but with round two looming ahead, I know he’ll need support eventually, even if it’s only from me.
Even if he despises his attraction to me.
His fingers twitch, the only sign of a nervous tic he’ll show.
I swaddle myself with towels, the dampness budding goosebumps over my skin as I hide from my feelings.
I brace myself for his silent dismissal, but, just as the knot in my chest tightens to the point of suffocation, he speaks.
“I think it would have been easier if I hadn’t given it everything I had,” he says, looking at his hands.
“But I did. 80 publications on EONS. Showing up early every day and staying late.
I had glowing recommendation letters, I honored every shelf, I was at the top of my class… and it was all for nothing.
“I felt like my heart had been ripped out of my body when I got that email. At first, I thought I had a stroke. I couldn’t process the words.
When you die, they say your memories all flash back, and that’s exactly what it felt like.
Like all my memories were bullets, and I their soft and helpless flesh. ”
My heart cracks at the anguish in his voice.
“Time became an infinite stream of agony,” he says, dropping his head in his hands again.
“How could this happen? What went wrong? My dean called me, who was as devastated as I was. I’ve always been at the top of the class.
I’ve never failed. I’ve never failed! It had to be a mistake. An error, a clerical glitch.