know exactly how Coleman had been appointed second in command without even a trial period, but the man evidently had some pull with Angel’s resident neurosurgeon, Alex Rodriguez, although Brad couldn’t imagine anyone forcing Alex’s hand on anything. There’d been rumors of a secret meeting between the two, which Brad had initially shrugged off as gossip. But something had gone down because Alex hadn’t quite been able to meet Brad’s eyes when he’d told him the news.
Hell, could life get any more complicated? First Chloe showed up on his doorstep, her wounded eyes revealing far more than she knew. Then Katrina wigged out on him just as the prenatal wing was heading into its busiest season. Throw a hard-headed surgeon into the mix and Brad had his hands full.
Perfect.
Using the controls to zoom in on the surgical site, he watched the monitor as Cade reached into Melanie Roberts’s womb with gloved fingers and gently drew the fetus into view. A boy. Melanie probably already knew that, though, through the wonders of ultrasound. The same test that had revealed the defect.
Turning the baby to expose the bubble-like formation on his lower spine, Coleman’s magnifying goggles zeroed in on the problem—the tiny camera mounted on his headgear giving Brad the same clear view. The defect was about an inch long, close to the base of the spine, but despite the location, the open portion of the back could still cause problems with the child’s lower limbs if not corrected. At twenty-one weeks, the fetus’s kick reflex was still strong and healthy, the perfect time to operate, according to Coleman.
As if feeling Brad’s eyes on him, Cade glanced toward the huge bank of windows to his right. The magnified view of the operating room on a second monitor only made the furrows visible above the surgeon’s goggles seem that much deeper. No doubt it rankled to have to answer to someone else when he’d run his own department in LA. But if you moved hospitals, you couldn’t expect to start at the top. And if the man had any illusions about replacing Brad, he had another think coming. If either of them left, it would be Coleman.
Brad looked up from the monitor and gave the other man a slight nod to indicate he’d seen the problem and agreed with whatever Cade saw fit to do. The surgeon turned back to his tiny patient and Brad’s thoughts went back to Chloe.
Hell, he’d talked to Jason again that morning and almost the first thing out of his friend’s mouth had been a stern reminder that Chloe was still his little sister. As if Brad didn’t know that.
What did Jason expect him to do? Make a move on her? Impossible.
Unbidden, his brain played back the sight he’d uncovered when he’d taken off Chloe’s coat. His reaction had been anything but brotherly. Neither had his reaction to seeing her stroll through the apartment in his sweat pants the next morning. But he was practically a family member—kind of like a first cousin, right?—and he’d better remember it. Chloe was fragile right now. Vulnerable. He, more than anyone, should remember what it was like to be rejected by those who were supposed to love you unconditionally—but who, instead, were completely indifferent to your efforts to please them.
Just like Travis had been with Chloe’s efforts? Something inside him said yes, that’s exactly what had happened. She’d gone there dressed in an outfit that should have had the man salivating like a hungry hyena. It had certainly gotten a reaction out of him. Instead, Travis had done or said something that had cut her to the quick.
Something that had caused her to flee into the night.
Brad didn’t want to be that man. Didn’t want to hurt someone who’d once meant a lot to him.
Someone who still did. Sweet innocent, idealistic Chloe.
One wrong move on his part and he could hurt her even more. Especially if he couldn’t keep himself in check. If anything could keep him on the straight and narrow, that realization should.
At least, he hoped it would.
HE HAD TO BE KIDDING.
Resting on Brad’s bent thigh was a dark shiny helmet that matched the one currently on his head, the visor flipped up so he could see her. And he was seated—booted foot casually propped up on the left pedal—on top of a motorcycle. One that looked eerily familiar. When he’d said he’d meet her in the parking garage this morning, she’d assumed he’d be pulling up next to her in a Beamer, not on a Harley.
He could have stepped right out of one of her old photos from days gone by. She’d thought that with all his success his old mode of transportation would have been one of the first things to go. Evidently some things never changed. Was that really his old motorcycle? The one he’d had his accident on? A shiver of fear went through her.
“I—I can’t ride on that.”
His mouth quirked, and he held out the helmet. “I’ll be careful. Promise.” The black leather jacket he wore—along with a second one draped on the seat behind him—said otherwise. The pair screamed danger with a capital D.
Gripping the strap of her purse as if it alone could save her, she said, “Don’t you have a car, like normal doctors?”
“Since when have I ever done things that others deem ‘normal’?”
Was he referring to his parents? They’d always disapproved of Brad’s motorcycle riding, although she’d never heard them say anything outright. But she’d overheard Jason talking to their mom and dad once about how Brad felt more at home at their house than at his own. Jason had said he could see why. Brad’s folks were a matched set—snooty, looking down their noses at anything that didn’t meet with their approval. Their own son was high on that list, evidently, since they looked right through him, instead of at him.
Chloe hesitated. Yes, Brad knew she was afraid of motorcycles, especially after she’d seen the damage done by his accident. But did she really want him to put her in the same category as his parents...thinking she was too good to be seen riding on one?
His gaze slid across her cheeks. Touched lower. “I’ll take good care of you, Chloe. I give you my word.” He balanced the helmet on his leg again then reached out his hand, palm up.
She licked her lips, then, as if hypnotized, she put her fingers in his and let him tug her a few steps closer until his knee touched the side of her thigh. Another shiver went through her, this one having nothing to do with fear but something even worse.
Could she really ride on that thing, behind him? She’d balked once before. Not just because of her fear but because of how unpredictable her reactions to him were. And the feeling that she’d be betraying Travis if she let her guard down, even for a second.
Knowing what she did now, that naïve sentiment was laughable.
Travis was no longer a part of her life, and he never would be again. So shouldn’t she get out and see exactly what she’d been missing?
But...on a motorcycle?
Why the hell not?
Lifting her chin, she grabbed the helmet from his leg, turned it round and jammed it on her head. The sense of claustrophobia was immediate, as was the urge to claw the thing back off again.
It’s supposed to cradle your head, dummy, how else is it
