Chapter 8 Lara #2
“This would be hard on anyone, Dr. Crane, but like the rest of your team, you have the full support of the hospital. However, you need to take the four weeks off. It’s not negotiable while legal does what they need to do.”
I turned my head away, unable to stop the memory of Dr. Morgan’s face when he’d put me on leave. Nor the way he couldn’t give me any confidence that I’d still have my job when these four weeks were up.
“I guess maybe we should figure out some basics? For tomorrow?” I blurted out, trading my own demons for the ones who’d taken my sister. “We’ll need to be on the same page.”
“Okay,” Calder said and looked up, waiting for me to go on.
“Well, I think we should come up with a different job for you. I’m guessing being any kind of investigator / retrieval specialist is going to bring more questions than answers. So what job do you pretend to have when you’re someone other than Calder Stone?”
“Rancher.”
“Right.” I blew out a breath. Maybe his nickname should be Captain Obvious.
Calder sat forward. “So, you’re worried about my fake job but not about the fake relationship we’ll need to have?”
“No—I mean, yes. I mean, I thought we’d keep that part simple. We met in college, went our separate ways, and then connected again back in Wyoming . . . The best lies are the ones closest to the truth, right?” I bit into my bottom lip, and his nostrils flared like I’d bit him.
“And what about us is ‘simple’?” Calder asked, the huskiness of his voice settling into my veins the way an anchor sinks to the ocean floor.
Nothing. Nothing about Calder, nor the way I was attracted to him, was simple. Not then. Not now. Not in this fake story and not in reality.
“We just have to fake enough to get to the retreat. It should be easy enough then to find Rachel, right?”
I didn’t like the way his mouth drew into a tight line.
“And if she’s not there?”
“Her car is there. You can’t tell me that Rachel not being there is the more likely scenario.” Defensiveness saturated my voice. I knew we’d been through this, but I also knew she had to be there.
“I’m not, but it is a possibility, and one we should be prepared for.” The way his jaw fired, I’d be shocked if it wasn’t sharp enough to split the hairs of his short beard.
“Where else would she be?”
“And what if she’s been at the retreat the whole time and hasn’t contacted you because she can’t? Or what if she still doesn’t want to talk to you?”
His words weren’t meant to harm. They weren’t accusatory or denigrating, like what Brandon had said earlier. But like the blade of a scalpel wielded to flay damaged tissue from healthy, they still cut a painful path to the tenderest of flesh.
Still, he was right. That was also a possibility, and one I should be prepared for.
“Then I guess our relationship will be no worse off than it already is,” I said with defeat. “As long as she’s safe, I don’t care how she feels about me.”
At least that sentiment, I knew he’d understand.
“Let me clean up quick, and then I’ll take you back to the Betty,” Calder said, standing and stacking my plate on his.
“Okay.”
As he washed the dishes, I moved to the small couch, wanting to put my feet up for just one minute. Already feeling my eyes turn heavy, I reached for the crossword puzzle from the pile of Calder’s things. Hopefully, this exhaustion meant I’d sleep soundly tonight.
Philtrum
I paused on the neatly printed letters, the only answer in all caps.
For the first time since I’d set us on this path, I really let my mind dip its toes into what I’d signed us up for. What would this fake relationship really entail? Talking—therapy, I assumed. But what if there was more? What if there were physical exercises? Intimate exercises?
My heart charged forward as I forced those thoughts back.
Resting my head on the back of the couch, I pushed my brain to focus on the black and white squares in front of me—an easier puzzle to solve than my simmering attraction to my sister’s good-looking, good-cooking ex-boyfriend.
It wasn’t long before the soothing rush of water from the sink, the soft cushion of the couch, and the simple abundance of exhaustion was enough to send me over the edge into sleep.
“Lara!”
Gasping, I grabbed my chest to catch my heart as it tried to escape.
Ian’s red eyes and dilated pupils as he lunged for me freshly imprinted on the inside of my eyelids; it wasn’t what had happened that day, but my nightmares didn’t care how much they twisted the truth, as long as it made it more traumatic.
“Lara.” The deep velvet of Calder’s voice was like a warm weighted blanket over my trembling consciousness, his hand on my shoulder, anchoring me in the midst of the storm. “Are you all right?”
No.
“Yeah.” I nodded quickly, fighting to steady my breathing and keep my eyes away from his hunting gaze.
If Calder looked too closely, he’d know something was wrong, and if he knew something was wrong, he might change the plan for tomorrow. His words—I won’t spare your feelings at the expense of your safety—rattled around my head like a grenade waiting to explode.
“Yes, sorry. I just . . . I must’ve been dreaming,” I insisted, sitting up straighter and taking stock of my body. My vitals. My racing pulse. My damp skin.
Just breathe. I coached myself like I was talking to a patient. The adrenaline, the panic, the fear . . . it wasn’t unlike many of the patients I’d treated in the ER with severe injuries, their bodies going into overdrive to compensate.
In my case, the only injury I’d sustained was to my mind. Dr. Morgan had strongly recommended therapy during my time off, but my invisible demons weren’t nearly as important as my missing sister, so therapy would have to wait.