“The worst since I’ve returned.”
I wait for the instinctual wave of fear to hit me at Cullen’s admission, but nothing comes. I’m not afraid of him, I realize. PTSD or not, the man isn’t going to hurt me. Not now, not ever. I slide closer to him and feel some of the tension seep out of his rigid body as I press up against him. “Frank was just talking up your violent tendencies to me recently. And he has his photographer dog you on just the right week. It’s almost as if he somehow knew you’d be having a hard time.”
Cullen pulls away from Addie and turns to face me, his eyes intent on mine. “It does, doesn’t it? And it sounds a bit familiar. Sky. Remember I asked you about taking drugs during that Fleet Week incident?”
Seriously? Now? I pull back from Cullen, but his hand tightens on my knee, his head shaking. “Do you know why it was that specifically I asked about?”
I puff a bit of hair from my face. “Because you were looking at all possibilities of—”
“Because you tested positive for ecstasy.”
I freeze, feeling my eyes widen. I’ve never taken drugs. Ever.
“I had Liam dig into your file at the Post. They had you take a drug test, but they never shared the results with you. You had it in your system.”
A chill brushes over me. “I know how this sounds, Cullen, but I swear—”
“I believe you.” His eyes never waver from mine. “I imagine Jaden has something to do with that. But the fact that you had a drug in your system and didn’t know about it made me think that maybe I do as well. Or don’t, as the case may be.” He shifts his weight to look at Addie, whose hand on his shoulder now lies still, her face tight. “I’ll make you a deal, Therapist Peterson. You can call Yarborough and put him on notice, but he isn’t to sedate me and drag me into surgery the moment I walk into the ER. I’ll surrender voluntarily once I have this settled.”
Cullen and I enter the hospital two hours later, his muscles tightening as we step through the whooshing automatic doors. It’s a small motion, one I wouldn’t have noticed before—one I’m certain no one looking at his stoic features would ever guess—but that’s all too clear to me now. Sliding closer, I twine my fingers with his.
Instead of letting go, Cullen squeezes my hand, his grip tight.
“Addie said she extracted a promise,” I murmur under my breath.
Cullen gives me a dark look. “I’m sure she did. But I’m not sure you know Yarborough very well. He didn’t get the note that I own this fucking hospital.”
From another man, the words would sound conceited. Hell, when I first met Cullen, I would have taken them exactly the wrong way too. But I’m no longer the same woman who barged in on a traffic accident and made assumptions about a tattooed, too-beautiful medic. “I’ll ask Catherine to send him a memo,” I promise.
He snorts. “I’m not sure Catherine knows either.” Nodding briskly to the man at reception, Cullen uses his key card to open the ER door, unleashing the smell of disinfectant that always clings to medical offices. At the center of the large rectangular room, Michelle rises from behind the nurses station and frowns at the sling on Cullen’s left arm. I’m glad she’s here, because Cullen’s tight grip slackens by a marginal degree.
“How’s the baby?” Cullen asks.
Michelle brushes her hand over her no-longer bulging belly. “Started displaying his admirable lung capacity the moment we brought him home from the hospital. And thank you for the thoughtful gift, Cullen, though you really shouldn’t have.” Her voice softens, her hands fingering a heart-shaped silver locket around her neck, the baby’s name engraved on the outside. Tiffany’s Forever Love. Yeah. I was an idiot. Michelle shakes her head. “I’ll argue that point another time, however. What do you need?”
He draws a breath. “Blood work. On me. I need you to do it personally and mark it stat for the lab.”
Her face tightens, but instead of asking the question clearly running behind her intelligent eyes, she pulls a pair of gloves from a box and jerks her chin toward an empty treatment room. “What are we testing for?” she asks, pulling out a butterfly needle and stopping with her hand hovering above the tube choices.
“Draw the whole set, Michelle,” a man in a thigh-length white coat says from the entranceway. “I’ve already put in the order.”
“Of course, Dr. Yarborough,” Michelle says, her gaze cutting from the test tubes to where Cullen has seated himself on the treatment table. “It wasn’t me this time, Cullen. I promise.”
Saying nothing, Cullen offers his arm, wincing slightly as she taps the vein with expert precision. I wonder whether I should leave the room when she does, but Cullen motions for me to stay. “Addie called you. I imagine that blood work has pre-op orders already in the computer?”
“Would you have preferred to be stuck twice?” Yarborough retorts, utterly unfazed as he strides forward. Stopping about a foot away, he gives me a measuring glance before returning his attention to Cullen’s ruggedly perfect face. “I didn’t come to give you an I-told-you-so speech. I came to tell you to worry about your mission and to leave the shoulder worrying to me. I’m very good at what I do, son. You be good at what you do, all right?”
A muscle twitches alongside Cullen’s jaw, his posture managing to relax without moving. “Yes, sir.”
Yarborough nods and strides out of the treatment room.
Cullen snorts softly. “You know, sometimes I wonder if this place doesn’t have me under surveillance.”
I lean forward in my chair. “I’m guessing the surveillance here is more the word-of-mouth kind, but Cullen—speaking of surveillance, don’t you have a system set up at your house?”
“A security system, you mean?” He nods. “Of course I do. Liam’s people run it. Why?”
“Because if you’re right and someone altered your medication, wouldn’t they need to get into your house to do it?”
Pulling out his phone, Cullen starts dialing.
The Tridents arrive before the lab results do, Eli, Liam, and Kyan striding into the ER like an attack squad and scaring off the technicians. The men’s shrewd and calculating gazes assess everything they touch, from Cullen’s torn-up knuckles and slinged arm to the stiff set of his shoulders—the most Cullen shows in deference to the pain. Then their eyes turn on me, locking in trained unison. Hard, beautiful faces, all as open as stones.
Right. I don’t belong here, amidst the Tridents. A girl who’s never worn a uniform, who caused Cullen so much grief. One of the Tridents’ own is hurt, and they don’t want me here. When I walked into the hospital at Cullen’s side, I should have known I was just a placeholder.
Getting to my feet, I lay a course for the door, the space between Eli and Kyan looking like my best option. If I’m lucky and neither man moves, I can blade my body and be gone without touching them. Without meeting anyone’s eye.
“Reynolds.” Moving faster than anyone has a right to, Cullen hops off the exam table and bars my path, his wide chest blocking out the room. Mossy-green eyes meet mine, every line of his face focused on me with heart-stopping intensity. Reaching out with all the self-assurance in the world, Cullen brushes a lock of hair away from my face, his touch gentle but so very deliberate. My pulse stutters, my body caught between Cullen’s touch and the knowledge that three men who very likely want me gone are watching every move I make. Bros before hoes.