"I told you not to doctor me."
I scowled at her as I loosened the watch from around her wrist. "Answer the damn question, Shap."
"I have an eating disorder recovery specialist in Baltimore. I've been working with her for about five years."
Only five years, my god. That wasn't enough. Not nearly enough.
"And your stomach? Who's looking after that? Emmerling knows all the best people in GI."
She huffed out an aggravated breath. "Thanks, but I'm not sharing my bulimia-induced gastroparesis and irritable bowel with any of my colleagues. Definitely not the ones I mingle with after-hours." She dropped her gaze to the floor. "Not sure why I shared it with you."
I stared at her as the same question bounced around my head. She pressed her lips together and that tiny gesture loosened something in the middle of my chest, and I couldn't stop myself from wrapping my arms around her and holding her tight to me.
For a second or two, Sara stayed frozen in place, her hands hanging at her sides. Then she softened against me, her arms linking loose around my waist and her forehead settling against my chest.
Of all the ways I'd ever touched her, I'd never touched her like this. Never without the intention of stripping her down, taking everything she offered. It was strange, this feeling. I couldn't explain it but I couldn't let her go either. I had to do this, I had to hold her—even if it was awkward and uncomfortable.
If I had to categorize it, I'd say this was what a pulmonary embolism felt like. I was reasonably confident I wasn't experiencing an embolism but there was something thick and deadly and new pulsing behind my sternum. There was a quick kick to my heart rate and my head felt fuzzy as my chest cinched again, and I couldn't decide whether I'd feel better if I let her go or held her closer.
"Let me see if I can find it. Give me just a minute to look—ohhhh." At once, we swiveled in the direction of the hall and found Erin blinking at us. "Sure. Yep. Okay."
"Noooo," Sara replied, jerking away from me. "Oh, no. Not okay. Nothing is okay. There is nothing, actually. This is not—it's not." She stared at me, her gaze sharp enough to saw bones. "Tell. Her."
I crossed my arms. Maybe I really did have an embolism because it felt like all the air had been knocked out of me. My chest ached and every muscle clenched when I said, "It's nothing."
Erin swung an impatient frown between us. "You could've told me. I wouldn't have meddled myself into Malakai's business if I knew this was happening. And, oh my god"—she brought her fingers to her temples—"I don't want you to have to sneak around in my house. We have a very strict no-sneaking policy here. You know that, Sebastian."
Sara hit me with fix this right now before I fix you into a body bag eyes.
With a great, douchey snicker, I said, "Really, Walsh. There's nothing to tell. Nothing to see here." I waved a dismissive hand at Sara like I hadn't suffered a very confusing and very somatic embolism at her hands. "We were just talking."
"It was a professional conversation," Sara added.
Erin bent an eyebrow up. "You two are funny. This is funny."
"Walsh," I warned.
She glanced at me. "If you're insistent on lying, lie better. That's all the advice I have for you this evening."
I shoved my hands in my pockets and tipped my head up to study the ceiling. "Nothing to lie about." The old staircase curled and crooked above, and competing shafts of moonlight and street light shone in through the landing windows. I shifted to face Sara. My chest still ached. "Isn't that right, Shap?"
Chapter 20
Sara
I was used to this.
I knew how to simultaneously manage a hurgly-burgly belly and complex surgical procedures, so I could handle Sebastian and Erin, and everything else.
This was extremely manageable. If I had to list my skills in order of proficiency, holding it together and getting through stressful times without breaking a sweat outranked anything I could do surgically. Even during medical school and residency, when I was at my sickest and most broken, I looked like the most confident, controlled woman in the world. Maintaining complete self-assuredness while crumbling on the inside was my superpower.
"Yes, that's right. Nothing to lie about here. Just a quick discussion," I said, turning my attention to Erin because I couldn't stand to see Sebastian's reaction.
"And y'all concluded that discussion with a hug?" She pushed her glasses up her nose, her gaze trained on Sebastian. "You could've told me. The only things I know how to keep are secrets."
Sebastian stared at me for a long moment. Then, "You don't know this but Shapiro is a compulsive hugger. Hugs everyone. All the time. For no good reason. Must be a plastics thing. Just wait, she'll probably hug all over you on her way out of here tonight. It's actually very unpleasant so prepare yourself." His lips turned down into a deep scowl which I didn't understand seeing as he just threw me under the effusive affection bus. He should've been smirking his ass off. Before I could mine that reaction any further, he plucked his phone from his back pocket, saying, "I gotta head out, Erin. I got called in on a case. Thanks for feeding me—again."
"You're not on call," she said as he backed away.
"Something came up," he said, pointing to his phone. "They need me for a thing."
"That doesn't happen," she said. "I'm serious about you lying better. You're terrible at this." She swung a glance toward me. "Both of you."
Sebastian's gaze met mine. He was still scowling and I couldn't dismiss the feeling that, once again, he was disappointed about something. He gave a brief shake of his head before disappearing down the hallway. Now I was sure of it—he was disappointed in me. And for what? Preventing our coworkers from finding out we were carrying on a toxic game of enemies with benefits? There was no way I did anything wrong here, and if his head was too far up his ass to realize it, that was his problem. Not mine.
I was still staring after Sebastian when Erin asked, "Have you ever heard of rift valleys?"
I blinked away from the empty hall. "What?"
"Rift valleys. They're a product of extensional tectonics. The plates pull apart over time, creating a linear lowland between highlands or mountain ranges."
I bobbed my head but I was so confused. "Right. Yes."
"Some of the world's deepest lakes are actually rift valleys. Lake Baikal in Siberia holds almost a quarter of all the freshwater on this planet." She laced her fingers together and then drew them apart until only her fingertips touched. "It's this spectacular place where the earth is cracking apart and it's been doing it for twenty-five, maybe thirty million years. It's the most ancient lake in the geological record and that's a wild ride all on its own."
"Oh, wow. Really?"
"But it's not the whole story. When I want to scare myself—and I mean really scare myself—I think about Lake Baikal, and I'm going to tell you why."
I motioned for her to continue. Was I supposed to understand any of this? "Please do."