46. A Faulty Plan

46

A Faulty Plan

Dax

Saturday, June 10 th

6:06 p.m.

Liam is losing his shit.

I take a deep breath, count to ten. I mute the TV, drop my feet from the coffee table, and lean forward with my elbows on my knees. "Liam."

"Hmmm?"

"You're gonna wear a hole in the floor."

He comes to a dead stop, rubbing his knuckles over his hip. "Did she respond?"

"No." I glance at him out of the corner of my eye, assuming he's referencing the drawn-out text he slyly sent from my phone to Brighton about his grand idea. His need to know what she's said is annoying.

"That's a pretty urgent-sounding text, right? Do you think she's worried?"

"Or busy. I told you—everything's fine." I drop my head back against the cushion, close my eyes, and pinch the bridge of my nose.

"But what if she can't come over? Or meet? What's his problem with her, anyway? Sounds like there's some kind of bad blood between them."

"I think you need to worry more about the X-rays you didn't get and what she's going to do when she finds out."

"I'm fine," he says as he coughs once and clears his throat. The recliner scoots back when he plops into it. "You know how I mentioned my idea about talking to Dr. Matthews." He pauses, raking a hand through his tufts of hair. "And asking to transfer my care to him from Brighton—I left something out. Do you think it could get her in trouble?" He tenses as soon as the words are out of his mouth.

I let this process.

His lips fall into a straight line. He scoots to the edge of the seat.

It's obvious my silence is killing him. Now he knows what it feels like.

"You have the best doctor in New York, you're in the middle of treatment, and everything is going great, and you want to transfer to a different doctor, right?"

He hangs his head but nods.

"Sounds like you're an idiot. But if you're playing toward his ego, I think it might work. Wait, wait, wait . . ." I hold up my hand. "You think she might get in trouble? You haven't come up with an idea about why you want to transfer?"

I pull my phone off the cushion next to me, open the text thread, and see she still hasn't responded.

"That's the only piece I'm missing, but I think this could work."

"What do you plan to say to Dr. Matthews? Like, why do you want to change?"

"It would be for personal reasons."

"She wasn't supposed to take you on as a patient in the first place. If you ask to change, he's going to want to know why."

"That's why I text her. I want to get her opinion on things."

"We can come up with something else."

"I don't think she has anything else."

"Why the fuck do you need to be involved? I don't like it. What if he does something stupid while you're under his care?"

"For you." It comes out as a whisper. He pulls his shoulders to his ears and continues to look anywhere but at me. "And I want to help."

"What does changing your doctor have to do with me? And how would it help?" My phone vibrates from the coffee table, and he stretches for it, getting to it a second before I do.

"She says she's busy and can talk later." Worry spreads across his brow. "That doesn't sound good."

I pluck the phone from his hand, reading her text. "It doesn't sound good or bad. I don't see how you can infer how a text sounds ."

"If someone sent me that, I'd be shitting bricks."

"Not if you're considering it. And putting yourself in danger won't help. What if something happens that Brighton isn't able to fix? Or worse, what if she's too late?"

"I didn't think about that, but I don't think she'd agree to my plan if she has any doubts."

"But I don't think it's a good idea."

"And I don't care. If she agrees, I think we can catch Kline in the act."

"It's too risky."

"I don't want to stand in your way. And me changing doctors can fix things in more ways than one, don't you get that?" He flicks out both hands, palms up.

I'm speechless. I hate how he does this. He puts me first to the detriment of his own needs, and it kills me. Every. Fucking. Time.

"This is stupid. We'll figure out another way. You need her. We need her. I'm not letting you put yourself at risk. Whatever you think I want or need—it has nothing to do with her being your doctor. Your treatment is more important. No matter what. Don't you understand?"

"I'll make sure Dr. Matthews knows it has nothing to do with her quality of care. But I think this will work."

"I don't care."

"This is my life, and I can do with it what I want."

I start pacing, fully appreciating why Liam found comfort in it before. There's something therapeutic about it. Something that helps the flow of frustration. Something that deflects my need to strangle him.

"I saw you."

"Saw me what?"

"With her. And I get it."

"Dammit, Liam, why are you doing this?" I replay our interaction from earlier. I can't pinpoint any instance when we treated each other any differently than we had any time before.

"To make things easier."

"It's not worth it." I grind my teeth, not knowing where or how to release the tension. I'm losing my patience.

"She's not?"

"I didn't say that."

"See! She's on Dr. Matthews' team. She's gonna be there, working alongside him, and we can be on the inside."

"Not if it gets her in trouble." I come to a standstill.

"Don't you think I already know that? Give me your phone. I'll talk to her and make sure she's on board."

My phone is on the table where I left it. We look at each other. There's a second of hesitation, and Liam reaches for it.

And I let him beat me. Again.

"She won't answer." I cross my arms over my chest, pretending to hate how the little shit is faster than me and my chicken legs.

"Maybe she will."

"Let me do this." He holds out the phone, unable to unlock it, and coughs again, pinching his eyes closed. "I'll make sure everything is a go before I talk to Dr. Matthews, but that won't change anything. What you do with this is up to you. But I'm not gonna stand in your way."

"We're just friends."

"Is that what we're calling it these days?" he teases.

I can appreciate what he's trying to do. There's no telling if Brighton will take things further with us or which way she'll choose. And I hate that it fucking terrifies me.

"I think this is a bad idea."

"Call her. This is your green light. Make it so it's not awkward when we're at the hospital. I still have treatment for a while, and we need to get things moving if we're going to catch him." He yawns, dropping back in the recliner.

No offense to Liam, but I wish he wouldn't have put us in this situation. I can't place all the blame on him because it's mostly my fault. I guess I was more obvious than I realized.

"What am I supposed to say to her?" I trudge through the living room and grab my keys off the counter.

"That's up to you. I don't want to be the reason you look back on your life and wish things were different."

Even though I want Brighton as Liam's doctor, he's right; she is still on the team, and nothing stands in our way except me.

"I'll talk to her, make sure things aren't a complete disaster. Need anything?"

"Can I come?" He leans over the arm of the recliner, rubbing Axel's velvety soft ears.

"You sure that's a good idea?"

"It's worth a shot." I get a grin, and he hands me my phone. "She wants to meet at the park. I mean what I said. I'm doing this for you. Don't waste it." His words are slow. Deliberate. He gives me a playful grin before stuffing his feet in his shoes. "I'll figure out everything else."