Knox looped the rope, watching me with steady confidence. "We are. The sooner you accept it, the sooner we can move on from this."
With my heart sprinting in my chest and my insides liquid with desire, I couldn't deny that the sooner I put distance between myself and Knox, the better off I would be. He was dangerous. "Find another way," I suggested. I pulled the hoodie over my head, and as I tugged it down, I peeked at him again.
He was still watching me, wrapping the rope mechanically and skillfully. "And what way would you suggest?"
I had no idea. Living with Knox was becoming increasingly perilous for my sanity. Marrying him was unthinkable, even as a solution to a problem. I pulled up my hood and folded my arms. "Is blackmailing your mother an option?"
Amusement softened his features. "Tempting."
"It's too late to scheme, Rook. I'm going to bed." I turned to leave, but I paused on the threshold. With a look over my shoulder, I asked, "You wash that rope after you use it, right?"
Rook cinched a knot around the bunch of rope with a hard tug, not breaking eye contact. "This one's new."
I swallowed hard. "Oh."
"Satisfied?" he asked, one eyebrow lifting.
Not even remotely. Sadly. "I'm not sure how I feel about that," I admitted. "How many do you have?"
"Enough."
I considered the way his strong hands were tapping the rope, and my stomach did a front flip. Enough for what? For a brattymatchmaker? For an orgy? Turning away from him with one last shrewd glance, I left the closet.I guess I'll never know.
Chapter twelve
Knox
Rule #6: Let people help you.
It was the flatline beep that took up the most space in my brain. Closing up after a C-section, especially when the mother was stable, was automatic and full of expected steps. Closure of the uterine incision followed by closure and repair of the fascia and subcutaneous tissue. Tidy rows of neatly placed, dissolvable sutures were so familiar to me, that it was as automatic as driving my car—my hands worked even as my mind reeled. Behind me, the flatline tone from the twenty-seven-week fetus suddenly switched off.
I flinched like I'd been struck. I couldn't turn from my work or divert my attention to the tragedy that had played out with Spencer behind me. We had been performing a simple FETO surgery on the fetus with CDH, and as complicated asthe mother's condition was, she had begged us to try. The baby's prognosis had not looked good, and without surgery, he wouldn't have survived outside the womb. We had tried. The placenta had abrupted mid-surgery. I'd performed an emergency C-section, but his lungs were too poorly developed, and his body far too small for viability.
He'd died in minutes, despite Spencer's best efforts with his NICU team.
I finished closing up the mother, knowing that we would have to deliver unthinkable news in a few short hours. She had gone to sleep with her child nestled safely in her womb, but she would wake empty and tossed into a kind of despair I couldn't even begin to imagine.
Spencer and I exited the OR in tandem, scrubbing out in silence with only the running water and my pulse in my ears to break the quiet. As I dried my hands and arms, staring blankly through the window as the OR staff began their cleanup, Spencer threw his towel into the hamper with more force than necessary. I glanced at him, still silent. His dark eyes had misted over, and he sniffed, tightening his lips. I released a soundless breath. "You did what you could, Spence."
"Oh, are we sharing trite phrases from residency again?" Spencer snapped, ripping off his surgical cap. His top knot had gotten mussed, but he didn't bother fixing it. "That's nice."
I couldn't blame him. Few words were worthy of a loss this profound. "I'm sorry."
He shook his head, pacing away. "The mom?"
"Her vitals stayed steady. Blood loss was minimal, and I don't foresee any complications." Her placenta had abrupted, but her body had tolerated the emergency surgery well. She was a young mother—just twenty-three, and in the prime of health. But I knew that would only make her loss feel more devastating. She had expected a miracle and had been given a nightmare.
He nodded, bunching his surgical cap in his hands and staring down at it. "Good job. You worked fast."
In the scrub room, only the two of us took up the small space, and suddenly, it felt claustrophobic. I swiped my mouth, leaning against the wall next to the door. "Let's get out of here. I don’t have anything else scheduled today."
"I do," Spencer replied flatly. "I'm not going to let down the rest of my patients today." Spencer never planned for the setbacks. It was a testament to his unfailing optimism, but it also tended to cause him unnecessary wounds when he miscalculated.
I'd known there was a chance of an unfavorable outcome with this surgery. I'd planned for it. Spencer hadn't. Knowing I wouldn't be able to dissuade my friend, I pushed off the wall and opened the door for him. "I'll inform the mother. Get to your next patient."
Spencer walked past me, his features set in hard lines and his shoulders tense. "Thanks. I'll see you later." Some doctors wanted to debrief immediately after losing a patient. Others needed to process, complete paperwork and loose ends, and then would talk about it later. Spencer was one of the latter.
I made my way to the locker room to change out of my scrubs and into my white button-down and black slacks. I had a bit of time before I had to tell the mother the news, and it didn't matter that I'd done this many times before; it didn't get easier. It didn't become routine or numb. It hurt every time, and I dreaded it just as acutely as I had the first time I'd delivered devastating news.
