The Monster (Boston Belles #3) - L.J. Shen Page 0,114

did he want?

“Everything okay?” Mrs. Martinez’s face clouded as she drank in my expression. Her hair had begun to grow again, fluffy and strewn about her head like little clouds now that she’d stopped her chemotherapy treatments. She was feeling better. Sometimes it worked that way after chemo. She opted to stop because her doctor had told her there was no hope for remission. But we now had new hope. She was taking an experimental drug that was supposed to shrink the tumor on her pancreas.

I was feeling hopeful she could live a comfortable life for months, maybe even a couple years.

“Yeah.” I smiled brightly, nodding as I all but pushed her out the door. “Sorry. I just had a moment there. Everything is fine.”

“You know …” She stopped, digging her heels into the floor, grinning. “I never asked you if you are married. Are you, Dr. F?”

I hadn’t given any of my patients my real full name. I needed to take safety measures to ensure my tracks were covered in case things went south.

“Not even remotely.” My fingers tightened around my phone, which kept buzzing. “I’m morbidly single, I’m afraid.”

“Hmm.” She looked thoughtful. “There is nothing morbid about your situation, dear. You will be married soon.” Mrs. Martinez winked. “I know about things like that.”

“You do?” I asked, my smile thin and distracted.

Please, lady, let me answer this.

She nodded enthusiastically.

“Absolutely. I was a fortuneteller my whole life before I retired. Traveled around with Aquila Carnival. Do you know it? They stop every summer just outside the city.”

Aquila Festival was where the most monumental part of my life had happened. Where I met Sam.

“I predicted I’d get cancer, all the royal weddings and divorces, and the exact order of Kate and William’s babies by gender…” her chest puffed proudly “…and let me tell you, my sweet, you will get married and soon. Maybe even to the person who tried to call you right now.” She jerked her chin to the phone I was clutching.

I dropped my eyes to it and realized I missed the call.

“Don’t worry.” Mrs. Martinez rose on her tiptoes, kissing my cheek. “He’ll call again. He has something important to tell you. Goodbye.”

I closed the door after her, frowning at my phone, willing it to ring again.

Sure enough, it did.

He has something important to tell you.

Swiping a finger across the screen, I received the call.

“What do you want?” I put on the most bored tone I could find in my arsenal of voices.

“You, spread eagle on my bed, wearing nothing but whipped cream and my favorite please-fuck-me-Sam expression,” he said darkly.

I did not reply. Responding to his banter would suggest I’d forgiven him.

“I need your help,” he said after a beat.

“You need help … I can agree with that. But it won’t be mine, Sam. I’m done handing you favors just to watch how you screw me over.” I ambled back into my office, pinning the phone between my ear and shoulder as I scrubbed my hands clean in the sink.

“Actually, you seem to have a dog in this fight. Remember that Russian kid from the night we stayed at the cabin?”

“Yes,” I said immediately. Of course I remembered him. He haunted me in my dreams. The liquid fear in his eyes. The way he shook and begged for his life. The pain Sam had inflicted on him when he shot his arm.

“Well, he is right here with me, suffering from a chest wound. Shallow, I think. Things went a little sideways with the Russians, and he got caught in the middle of it.” Sam delivered the information blandly, like he was reading me food options from a menu.

“Bring him over,” I ordered.

“We’re just pulling up in front of your clinic,” he said and hung up.

I prepared the examination table for the new patient as I mulled over how odd Sam was. He’d promised he would court me on Christmas, and I suppose he did, in his own way. He sent me flowers yesterday with a simple unsigned note bearing his name, and a piece of jewelry, I suppose as a late Christmas gift.

But he didn’t cower or beg. Didn’t come knocking on my door.

He wasn’t exactly chasing me. More like speed-walking while taking frequent water breaks. He still had a long way to go. But he was still in training.

A few moments later, there was a knock on the door. I opened it, finding Sam and the Russian kid leaning against the gigantic man I hated