18. Check-Ins

18

Check-Ins

Brighton

Thursday, May 18 th

11:47 a.m.

"You can't do that—"

"I wasn't asking your permission," a female says from out of view.

Voices and hurried footsteps draw my attention from the hall. I find Kline and his soon-to-be ex-wife stopped in the doctors' lounge doorway. My heart sinks, realizing now may be the moment I've been dreading. I don't know how to broach the subject of him dating the victim and my curiosity surrounding it.

The ability to disappear would be helpful.

They glare in my direction with scowls and arms crossed, instantly replacing my worry with an escape plan.

"Just sign it." Margo gives me a deprecating smile. "If it isn't your star pupil." She takes an unwelcome step into the lounge as her eyes rove over me.

"You're not getting the house in Vale," Kline murmurs, wiping a palm over his chin as he sniffles and rubs his eyes before jutting his lips out.

"Hi, Margo." I hate being the center of her attention. I fight hard not to recoil as I pause with the salad-filled fork raised to my mouth, my eyes bouncing between them. I close Liam's file in front of me, stuffing it in the middle of the pile to my left, and pocket my voice recorder. I'll get back to reviewing his surgical note later.

"Brighton." She gives me a tight-lipped smile and arches a well-manicured brow.

Guess my lunch break is over. I give the two of them a hesitant smile, lowering the fork to my barely touched bowl. "Give me a sec. Almost done." I replace the lid and lick the Caesar dressing remnants off the fork before dropping it into the sink.

Kline clears his throat, loosening the collar of his gray button-up shirt. "We have a meeting."

"Awe, how sweet. We . I love how he makes the two of you a ‘we.' " Margo's smile slides from her lips, her eyes scanning over me. Again. I drop the bowl into the trash. "Does your meeting have to do with the malpractice lawsuit I saw plastered on the news?"

Kline stiffens as he unbuttons his sleeves and rolls them to his elbows. His eyes are cold as he steps into Margo's personal space, taking her by the arm and pulling her the rest of the way into the lounge.

I reach for the charts on the table and tuck them under my arm as I ease along the counter toward the door and slip past them, hiking a finger over my shoulder as I make it into the hallway. "They moved the meeting to tomorrow. I have a couple of patients I need to—"

"Have they released what it's for this time? Does it have to do with you again ?" She yanks away from him, brushing a hand over her flawless blonde bob. She rolls her ice-blue eyes at Kline as she steps toward me, grabbing a hold of my chin and inspecting my face. "I'd watch out if I were you. I wouldn't want my name tied to him if it were me."

"I'm busy. I need to get back to patients." I glance between them, holding my hands up as an act of surrender. I want no part of whatever's going on.

"You look like all of them." Margo tsks , clucking her tongue. Who is she talking about? She closes the distance between us and twists a strand of my hair between her fingers. My dark-brown locks are a stark contrast to her white polish. Her scrutinizing attention makes me nauseous.

Kline tenses and a pinched expression spreads across his face. "Margo," he warns.

"Are you waiting to date her too? Isn't that a conflict of interest?" Her tone is condescending, a smirk playing at the corner of her mouth as she drops my hair.

"It's time for you to leave." He directs her out of the doorway and into the hall, past me. She pushes against him to look back at me as he shoves her toward the exit.

"I'd watch myself if I were you." She replaces her gruff irritation with a sickly-sweet pitch, mocking him. " Kline has a type."

What I think—scratch that— what I know about Kline and Margo is irrelevant. And I can't keep up.

There's the pending divorce.

He's been dating other women.

What does any of this have to do with me?

"You never know what's right under your nose." She yanks free from his grasp and slams her shoulder into the door, glaring at him as she enters the oncology floor. "Sign the papers and get them back to my lawyer."

Kline's gaze drops to the floor. "Stop adding stupid shit, and we'd be done."

All eyes turn in our direction.

Margo heads toward the elevators. The entire floor watches her. Everyone is holding their breath. Keyboards go silent. Conversations end. It's as if someone has pushed pause, and everything moves in slow motion, and I'm watching the moment like we're swimming through honey.

Along with the beeping of the monitors, the only sound is her heels clicking against the linoleum. She jams her finger into the elevator call button and readjusts her Louis Vuitton purse. She slips onto the elevator, crossing her arms over her chest.

And the muted conversations return.

Great. The nurses are going to eat this up.

If I never see her again, it will be too soon.

The door to the main floor closes, leaving Kline and me in the back hall.

"What in the hell was that?" I throw my hands in the air.

"She's jealous."

"Of what?"

He scratches the gray-speckled scruff on his chin as he glances at me out of the corner of his eye.

I huff out a laugh. "Me? You're kidding, right?"

He shakes his head; his salt-and-pepper hair needs a cut.

"Doesn't she have anything better to do with her time?"

"Yep, his name is Chris."

"The news anchor?" I forgot Kline mentioned he was dating Margo. Maybe that's why Jenks thinks he should have special access to everything that has to do with this hospital.

"One and the same."

The asshole covering the lawsuit against the hospital. Against Kline. Against me.

"Is it going to be a problem?"

He averts his gaze, kicking at the floor. "Probably."

"Why's she still hounding you?"

"She's bored." He cocks his head to the side as he leans against the wall, and I spot the grayish hue under his eyes. He yawns and rubs a hand through the scruff on his chin.

"And that's your fault because?"

A low buzz crackles in the intercom before Lauren's voice comes on. "Dr. Fields, you're needed in room four-oh-one. Dr. Fields, four-oh-one."

"Don't worry about it."

"Why do you let her treat you like that?"

"It's easier." He pulls his shoulder to his ear, removes his glasses, and cleans the lenses with the corner of his untucked dress shirt.

"Easier than what?"

He glances around and lowers his voice, "Convincing her to keep my secrets."

"Don't have secrets." I freeze, knowing he has more than he's willing to portray. I swallow my discomfort, hoping I'm not caught.

His head tilts to the side, and a smirk plays at the corner of his mouth. He narrows his gaze. "You had a meeting with Luca?"

"Yes." My palms go sweaty. A heat rushes up my neck. "Last week."

"Interesting." Confusion streaks across his face. "Why didn't you say anything?"

"I didn't think it was important."

He gets lost in contemplation. His brows knit together. "It was last week?"

I swallow past the lump in my throat. "Yes, after . . . Carrie."

"Why would he say he just talked to you?" He doesn't direct the question at me. "Things aren't adding up. Are you going to talk again?"

"He hasn't mentioned another meeting."

His eyes narrow, and he swipes his tongue across his top teeth. "Hmmm. Are you going to be deposed?"

"Yes."

"Do you have any questions?"

A million. I shake my head. "No, everything looks pretty clear."

"You get what they're trying to do, right?"

"They have evidence." I grimace. Is he trying to suggest he's not at fault? "A lot." Of course he focuses on the lawsuit and doesn't bother to ask if the meeting had anything to do with the murder. I know I shouldn't be discussing this with him, but I don't see another way to get him to talk. And I hate the idea of missing the opportunity to get him to slip up through normal, everyday conversation.

He humphs under his breath, rubbing a hand across his forehead. "You can't have evidence for something that didn't happen."

I step back as if I've been slapped. "I saw it with my own eyes."

The corner of his mouth quirks up. "You saw something ."

There is no actual possibility he could think I'm stupid enough to be played for a fool. I'm sick and tired of him expecting me to go along with whatever he says.

"I saw the inaccuracies in the charts."

He wanders down the hall toward his office, takes a few steps, and returns. "How many?"

"How many?" I lean in, unsure of what he's referencing. My brain halts. When our eyes meet, it hits me. "Patients?"

Does he want to know how many Luca has or how many I know of?

"Four," he says, looking for confirmation in my face.

I don't give it to him. Because I know he took the one. He had to. I still can't figure out why he would replace it with another incriminating chart.

He tilts his head to the side. His eyes dart to the charts in my arms. Why's he acting as if he didn't hand the files to Luca himself?

"I have a patient waiting." I jerk my chin toward the oncology floor, my mouth dry. Here's my opportunity to dig. Find out how deep this goes. But a small part of me isn't ready to know all the details. I want more information, and I don't want it coming from Kline.

"Hey, on a side note, it'd be best if you keep whatever I say between us."

"Noted. Have you talked to Luca?"

He stiffens. "Yes."

"Did you get one of these?" I pull the worn subpoena envelope from my lab coat pocket, holding it up.

His eyes follow my movements, stopping at my hand. He runs his tongue over his teeth and sneers. "Yes."

"Why did I get one? I have nothing to do with this. And you know it. I shouldn't even be named in this lawsuit." I lower my voice, closing the distance between us and stopping at the entrance to the doctors' lounge. "What do they think I know?"

He drops his gaze to the floor, shaking his head. "I have no idea."

The blatant lie stings.

"I don't believe you." My chest tightens, and I ball my hands at my sides, trying to calm my fury.

"I don't care." Angry eyes flick to mine, his jaw tightening as he snatches the envelope from my hand.

I dive for it, but the asshole holds it out of reach before pulling out the slip of paper to peruse the contents.

"My deposition is at the end of the month."

"Mine is too." I try to keep the quiver out of my voice but fail.

He quirks his head to the side, glancing at me over the paper. "And you won't have to go to trial?"

"I don't know yet. Guess it depends on what they ask in the deposition. Luca said I have nothing to worry about."

"He's right." He folds the sheet and stuffs it back in the envelope, offering it to me.

I cram it in my pocket, heat settling on my cheeks. I keep my eyes trained on the floor. I need more time. I've found more charts with problems, but it's done nothing but create more questions.

"How's the kid?" He leans against the wall and stuffs his hands into his pockets, looking me directly in the eye.

"Liam?" I pull my brows together, stunned at his change in subject.

"I saw his file come through." He reaches for the charts in the crook of my arm. "May I?" He doesn't wait for an answer before he's flipping through them, pulling Liam's free.

He gazes over the findings as my need to disappear resurfaces. Liam was here for the port placement this morning. No signs of Dax until the end. If I didn't know any better, I'd think he was avoiding me. He seems to have no issues sticking around if it's only Lauren. And he doesn't seem to realize I've noticed. But when I'm around, he's nowhere to be found.

"Could be worse." Kline's voice pulls me from my thoughts.

"Worse than what?"

"What I expected."

I narrow my eyes, extending my hand for the chart. "Liam's handling things better than we could have hoped for."

Kline turns, keeping the file out of my reach. "For his age." It's a low blow, but I ignore it.

"How's his pain?" He continues to flip between sections of the chart. His line of questioning reminds me of my first years in residency. I try not to take it as an insult, but he's wearing on my patience.

"Mild." I cross my arms over my chest, tapping my foot against the linoleum. "We'll consider pain meds after he's had a couple of rounds of chemo."

A frown etches his brow. "That's a little early. We usually wait until after the midpoint CT."

I snatch the chart from his hands, curious why he dares to question me. "He's my patient. And we all have our specialties. You don't need to concern yourself."

"I know." He leans his head toward his shoulder. "Following best practices?"

"Every time."

"That's my girl." His compliment makes me cringe. He winks at me and smiles, striding past me, head held high like a dog who marked his territory. He opens the door to oncology and motions for me to follow, taking his charts from the inbox at the end of the nurses' station.

My inbox is a couple past his and overflowing. I try to downplay my frustration, walking past him and grabbing some paperwork for my next patient.

His eyes drift over the charts in his basket before he glances up, sensing the heat of my stare. "It's not too late. He's still a prime candidate for—"

"He's mine."

Lauren clears her throat with perfect timing. "Four-oh-one is here early."

Kline ignores her. "It was just a suggestion."

I close my eyes and accept being put in my place to not cause a scene.

His retreating footsteps echo across what feels like an empty cavern. I lift my head, noting everyone is minding their business, and get back to work.

Lauren smiles at him as he passes. He glances over his shoulder, grins at the nurse behind the counter, and swings the door open to his patient's room, stalling. "Don't make me regret this," Kline calls out to me.

"Yeah, yeah." My indifference comes tumbling out with faux enthusiasm. I roll my eyes and flip open my patient's chart, studying the contents as a means of distraction.

He takes pride in being head of the department, and I owe him a lot. But not like this. Not under these circumstances. His poor choices are not on me. Stupidity shouldn't be rewarded. And I'm not an easy target.

Going from Grady's doctor to my mentor was a leap he didn't have to take, but having a persistent teenager hounding you isn't easy to overlook. I knew he would help me become what I needed to be—because he's the best, or at least he was.

He screwed up.

But I know something I shouldn't know.

And we all have our secrets.