Stripped - By Brenda Rothert Page 0,4
feel like a stalking victim. Dating a nurse from work had been a mistake he deeply regretted. They had only gone out twice and slept together once when she’d suggested they move in together. She’d said they could get used to each other before they got engaged. He had told her he didn’t want that and had broken things off, but Kelly hadn’t accepted it. It had been a month, and she still pursued him at every chance.
“Were you in on that knife in the chest?” Reed inquired.
“Yeah, I was in the room, but I didn’t get to work on him. Jackson did an impressive job on it,” Chris said.
“Hey, Chris!”
The hair on the back of his neck stood up as he heard Kelly’s high-pitched voice. He said nothing as she approached.
“How about breakfast when you’re off?” she said, leaning against the counter just inches from him.
“No.”
“Dinner tomorrow? We need to talk things out,” Kelly said, her dark ponytail swishing as she nodded for emphasis.
“There’s nothing to talk out. We went out a few times, and while I think you’re a nice person, I’m not interested in us going out anymore.”
“Well, we’re still friends, right? Friends need to spend time together.”
“No, we’re not friends. We didn’t even know each other before I said I’d go out with you. I’m really busy, and it’d be best if you would stay on the cardio floor,” Chris said dismissively.
Kelly left with a huff and Chris sighed. Every effort he’d made to tell her he didn’t want to see her anymore had failed. This was why it was good not to get involved in a relationship to begin with, he thought.
Chris stuck his head around the door frame and met Abby’s eyes.
“Can we talk?” he asked, nearly whispering to keep from disturbing Kathy, who was resting. Abby leapt up from her seat anxiously. She stopped just before she made it to the door. What if he remembered her? She cringed at the thought that he wanted to talk to her about being a stripper. Maybe a lecture on promiscuity. It would be a waste of breath on Abby, who hadn’t been with a man in more than two years.
She steeled herself as she followed him down a hallway to a door with a brown faux wood sign proclaiming it “Conference Room E2”.
“Soda? Coffee?” he asked, pausing at a station outside the conference room to pour himself coffee from a pot. Abby shook her head solemnly.
He held the door and she walked through, nervous as she took a seat at the long table.
“You doing okay?” he asked as she eyed him warily. He sank into the chair next to hers, turning to face her.
“I’m fine. Just worried about my Mom,” she said.
“I know. I didn’t want to upset her by asking this, but are you sure she’s quit smoking? She said she has, but we usually don’t see such rapid deterioration with her condition unless the patient is still smoking.”
Abby sighed and shook her head.
“I do my best to keep her from smoking. My brother and I are the only ones in the house who could buy her cigarettes, and we don’t. But I think one of her friends sneaks them to her while I’m at work.”
“Does she understand how serious her condition is, and how detrimental smoking is?” he asked with a look of incredulity.
“Her doctor has told her many times, and I remind her every time I smell smoke in her room. I don’t know what else to do,” Abby said, pressing a hand to her forehead with frustration.
“Are you her caregiver?”
“Yes, for the most part. My brother helps me, but he’s in college. One of us tries to be there all the time, but we sometimes can’t be.”
“She doesn’t need round the clock care right now. What’s your situation? Do you have other help and support?”
“I have my brother.”
“So it’s just you and him and your Mom?”
“And my two younger sisters.”
“There are resources out there to help. People who can come in and help with your Mom’s care when you need a break.”
Abby laughed, looking out the window at the lights of an adjacent building.
“I don’t take breaks. I’ve been doing this for a while, and I do okay. But thanks for your concern, I appreciate it,” she said, looking back at him. His stubble matched his dark gold hair, and Abby couldn’t help but admire him. Sam was right – he did look like a Greek God.
“Have we met before? You’re