14. Bronacular

14

Bronacular

Dax

Thursday, May 11 th

10:26 a.m.

A pillow crashes into the back of my laptop and snaps me back to reality.

"You're going to drive yourself insane." Liam glares at the laptop.

I narrow my gaze and close the computer screen before sliding it onto the cushion beside me.

"Everything's under control," he says.

"Aren't you worried?"

He stops passing the soccer ball between his feet and clenches his jaw. "Would you drop it already? Things are going according to plan."

"What plan?"

Does he know something I don't?

He juggles the ball from one foot to the other and sighs. "The plan."

Rumor has it the quickest way to make someone go unconscious is strangulation, and I have to fight the urge and ignore my annoyance at how Liam's handling everything. And it's taking all my willpower. He's none-the-wiser and rolls the soccer ball to his other foot, his attention back on the TV.

"Has something changed?"

"No." He grins at me, remote in hand, as he munches on a carrot. "I already told you. Coach said I can return to soccer when I get released in a couple of months. My classes will wait, even if it adds an extra semester. I'm not worrying about it."

"A couple of months is a stretch." It worries me that, above everything else, soccer is at the top of Liam's priorities. Having his finals out of the way for the semester is one thing, but if he can't return to college in the fall, it'll throw off his entire plan for the doctorate program.

"Quit Googling shit. You're stressing me out." He pops a carrot into his mouth and points to the muted TV. He props his foot on the ball, pausing the nonstop rolling.

"What if it's metastasized?"

"CT read is on Monday. Maybe they're waiting to give me the bad news in person." He rubs his hands together and gives me a wicked grin.

I wipe a hand across my face and drop my head against the back of the cushion. "Stop being cynical about everything. Why don't you care about what they find?"

"I care, but not as much as you. It's not like we can change anything. There are only two options." He holds up his fingers, ticking them off. "It's either worse than we thought or way better. I'm sure it's nothing we can't handle."

His phone vibrates, and he lights up as he scoots to the edge of his seat. "Crissy wants to know if we're still on for tomorrow night. What should I tell her?"

"Whatever." I wave his question away. "I'm good with whatever."

A grin spreads across his face faster than his fingers fly across his phone screen. "Sweet. She sent the address."

He scoots to the edge of the recliner, grabbing the remote from the coffee table. Two lines form between his brows. His mouth falls open, and the volume of the TV increases.

"After confirming the murder victim was a physician at Mount Sinai West . . . "

My eyes fly to the screen. What did he say?

"Are you seeing this?" Liam grabs his ball and tucks it under his arm. "That's my hospital."

I appreciate that his focus is on the fact that whatever is going on is at the hospital where he's getting treatment and not on the murder. "What if the victim is your doctor?"

"Oh, shit." His face pales, and the volume of the TV goes up another notch.

The male news reporter continues his spiel, never breaking eye contact with the screen. " . . . The woman who found the victim is one of the physicians named in the recent malpractice litigation . . . "

"I told you." Liam jumps up from his chair, pointing at the TV, and bounces from foot to foot. "I bet it's her."

I drop against the cushion. "That makes no sense. Dr. Fields could be the victim for all we know."

"Or she's the one who found the victim."

"And what if she is?"

He throws up his hands and plops back into the recliner, dropping his ball. It bounces once before he steadies it with his foot. "I change doctors."

His comment makes about as much sense as this entire thing makes sense, which means only in his brain. "She's the best."

"Or she could be the worst." He narrows one eye at me and cocks his brow, groaning for emphasis. "If she's part of the malpractice, I don't want her."

"Do you know what the malpractice is for?" It irritates me that he's only concerned that Dr. Fields could be one of the names in the lawsuit, not that she could be dead.

"Well, no, but—"

"Exactly. Maybe it's nothing."

"She's getting sued."

"What makes you think Dr. Fields is the one they're talking about?" A seed of worry settles into the pit of my stomach that he could be correct, but I don't know what to do about it. Doctors get hit with malpractice all the time, right? Even if her name is in it, it doesn't mean she's at fault. It's probably not even her.

The reporter drones on. " . . . nationally renowned for the unconventional treatment of her patients, many practices she's undertaken have led to outcomes that have paved the way for . . . "

I'm pretty sure the news guy is reading verbatim from the article I read on Dr. Fields yesterday.

Liam drops his ear to his shoulder and gives me an I told you so look of irritation.

"Maybe it's a mistake."

"But what if it isn't?"

I lean forward, resting my elbows on my knees. "Guess you could ask her."

He scoffs, dropping his voice to a deeper tone. "Hey there, Dr. Fields, you the doc in the lawsuit? What'd you do? I need to know so I can decide if I want to keep you as my doctor." His pitch returns to normal. "That'll go over great."

" . . . when questioned about her involvement with the open murder case, Dr. Fields denied comment . . . "

"See, I knew it!" Liam slaps his leg, not missing a beat. "She found the body, and she's the one in the lawsuit."

A mixture of relief and worry settles into my gut. I'm thankful she isn't the victim, but knowing she's part of the lawsuit doesn't bode well for her according to Liam's opinion. "What do you suggest?"

He kicks the ball to his other foot. "I don't know."

"You wanna change doctors? Because that sounds like a pain in the ass, but it's up to you." I'm losing an uphill battle, and I'm still trying to figure out how to manage his expectations.

"Not really."

"Exactly."

"Guess we should give her the benefit of the doubt. Stop worrying about it," he says, appeased. I can't tell if he's reassuring himself, or if he's talking to me. He mutes the TV and leans back in the chair, happy with his decision.

I scoop up my phone and start researching information about the lawsuit. From everything I find, Dr. Fields hasn't been named outright for anything. However, the references in the articles do point at her as the unnamed physician.

If I thought I had doubts about her before, they're now blaring in my face. Do I suggest he stay? Tell him to get another opinion? This is a fucking mess.

Liam munches on his carrot, pointing it at me. "Maybe if you worried more about the size of your chicken legs than you did over everything else, you'd have a better chance of outrunning me." Fear replaces the glint in his eyes as it hits him that this isn't accurate right now because of his cancer. He swallows, and his Adam's apple bobs as he backtracks. "I mean, uh . . . I didn't . . ."

I leap off the sofa and race around the far edge of the coffee table as Liam flies over the arm of the recliner and slides across the wood floor, gripping the kitchen counter as his socks give way once he hits the tile and slips onto his side.

He grabs at his hip and winces. I stop a couple of feet from him, instantly regretting how easy it was for me to forget about his cancer. He sees the guilt in my eyes and gives me a flippant grin.

The little shit's playing me.

"I was kidding." He stands. The counter is the only thing separating us, and he uses it to his advantage. "We both know your chicken legs have nothing to do with your lack of speed."

I rake a hand through my hair and chuckle. "You win." I raise my hands in defeat and watch as the smug grin falls from his lips.

Axel and Bane join us in the kitchen, disappointed they're late for the scuffle, and disappear from my view behind the counter. I take the opportunity of Liam's distraction as my chance and race into the kitchen, putting him into a headlock as I rub my knuckles over his scalp.

The playfulness in his eyes fades as he wrestles to get away. Axel leaps and yips, excited by our battle.

Liam laughs. "What the hell? Come on!" He shoves and pushes, to no avail.

"Say, ‘uncle.' "

He pinches his lips together. And a small part of me considers the consequences of taking him to the ground.

It could hurt his hip.

He twists out of my grasp and pushes away.

Or not.

An apple thumps against my chest.

What the hell?

And another.

Stunned by the fruit rolling across the tile, Axel and Bane have my attention as they chase after an apple and give Liam the time to race through the opposite side of the kitchen and into his room. He slams his door.

I chuckle, impressed by his evasive tactics.

The last apple settles near the baseboard under the sink. I scoop it off the floor and place it on the counter next to the others before I head toward Liam's room. I knock and pause, waiting for a response. "You can't hide from me forever."

"No one said I was hiding."

Axel and Bane crowd around my feet as I rap my knuckles across the door. "I'm gonna hit the gym to work on these chicken legs. Let me know when you're ready for your beating."

The door flies open. "Will you grab egg drop soup from Yogi's?" The idea of food replaces Liam's need for self-preservation. His eyes grow as he accepts his mistake. I couldn't care less. I'm happy he's wanting to eat. He steps back as the dogs rush into his room. Axel leaps onto his bed, and Bane struggles to get his short, bulldog legs over the edge of the mattress.

Liam shields himself behind the door. "It's the truth—chicken legs or not, you know you'll never outrun me."

"Yeah, yeah."

"I was kidding. Come on." His shoulders hunch as I take a step into his room. We circle like a lion and its prey. I lunge forward, grabbing him by both arms.

He squeezes his eyes shut, and his body tenses while he waits for my next move. He peeks at his shoulders, from my right hand to the left.

"Do you want pot stickers or fried rice?" I drop both hands, chuckling as I ruffle his hair.

Axel bounds off the mattress and past us into the living room as Bane accepts defeat and follows him.

Liam narrows his eyes, trying to decide if he's gonna get pounced on again or if this is a truce. I leave him to speculate as I follow the dogs and grab my hoodie from the hook next to the front door. I stop as he peeks out of his room, making eye contact.

"Both?" I wait for a response.

"And hot mustard sauce."

"It's gonna be a little while."

"My stomach can wait while you work on those chicken legs." A rebellious grin spreads across his face as he slams his door.