could only hope that this time she was wrong.
* * *
The next few hours passed in a whirlwind of activity for Brad. Word had gotten around the hospital about Clara Serrano’s condition, and he’d been fielding all kinds of questions. He could only imagine what the phones were like in other parts of the hospital. The administrators must be buried under an avalanche. Laws prevented them giving out specifics on the patient, but because the syndrome was relatively rare, other facilities would soon be asking questions to help them deal with their own cases.
Clara still hadn’t given birth, but they were expecting the babies to make an appearance at any time.
He hadn’t seen Chloe again since their encounter on the floor of Labor and Delivery, but he hadn’t gone out of his way to see her either. She’d acted differently last night, and although he couldn’t put his finger on what it was, there’d been a sense of detachment that hadn’t been there on previous nights.
Oh, she’d been just as sensual as always, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that she’d been holding something back. That had bothered him. But what had stunned him even more had been his reaction to it. In his previous relationships, when one or both parties had begun to cool, he’d been fine with it. Had had no qualms about walking away. Anything was better than being locked into something with no way out.
This was different. He’d held onto Chloe just a little bit tighter, almost as if trying to pull her closer, even as he felt her emotional withdrawal. Why did he care so much? This was supposed to be a temporary arrangement. It would be a temporary arrangement.
He just had to convince his heart of that.
That was the tricky part. He’d been programmed from childhood that withdrawal was normal. That the more you cared about someone, the further away they would pull. And if you fought against it, tried to do something that got you noticed...the locks began clicking shut.
That was just the way it was. He’d learned his childhood lessons well and had the routine down to a science. Either he pulled back or the woman did. Either way, the result was the same. A relatively painless separation. And he remained free to move on.
Just because that wasn’t how things worked in the Jenkins family it didn’t mean that he should start smothering those around him or trying to hang onto something that was obviously not meant to be.
Like him and Chloe?
Exactly like that.
So why had she acted so wounded when he hadn’t called her about Clara Serrano? He was just saving them both some heartache. If she wanted to fling open that door and walk away, he was going to let her—it wasn’t locked. His gut churned at the thought.
Maybe it was harder for her to pull back because she’d been wired differently. Her childhood had been spent in the bosom of her family, protected and cared for. Was that why she’d been so quick to believe the rubbish Travis had dished out about a love that lasted for ever?
In his experience, it didn’t. And if it did, he sure hadn’t experienced it.
His gut twinged again, and he reached for a nearby bottle of antacids with a frown. All he needed right now was an ulcer.
No, all you need is Chloe.
Popping the pill into his mouth, he crunched down on it, focusing on the sounds of his jaw pulverizing the pill, hoping it would obliterate that last thought as well.
He didn’t need anyone.
The phone rang again. He swallowed and glanced at his watch as he picked up. Four-thirty. He’d be officially off duty in another hour. “Davis here.”
“Bradley? This is your mother.”
His eyes closed. Not today.
He couldn’t remember her ever calling him at work before. Personal lives and professional lives had to be kept strictly apart.
Shock roiled through him as he realized he’d used almost those exact same words with Chloe the other day, explaining why she shouldn’t tease him at work. The hurt on her face could have mirrored his own hurt each time his mother had aimed a well-manicured finger at the closet in his room.
Oh, hell, no!
“Bradley.” His mother’s voice was a little sharper this time.
“Yeah, I’m here.”
“Aren’t you going to ask me how I am?”
Was he? He should. It was social convention, and if nothing else, she followed that to a T. She expected him to follow suit. That’s why he had a useless set of fancy dishes in his kitchen cabinets.
But it was easier to comply than to argue. “Of course. How are you, Mother?”
“I’m fine.” Even though she’d been the one to demand he ask the question, she brushed it away just like she always did. He felt the muscles of his jaw stiffening, and he glowered at the bottle of antacids.
Before he could reach for them, she went on in her proper little voice, “Your father has received some distressing news.”
His father. A nice enough man but one who’d never stood up for his son, who’d let his wife discipline him however she saw fit.
“I’m sorry to hear that. Anything serious?”
“He has pancreatic cancer.”
The words slipped by him almost without him noticing...until he pulled them back and paid attention. “Dad has cancer?”
“Yes. He found out a month ago.” There was a slight pause. “He wants to see you.”
A month ago. His father had cancer and no one had seen fit to call him until now. The acid levels in his stomach grew deeper, the antacid he’d just taken swept away in the onslaught. “Why?”
He was almost proud of the cool, indifferent tone of his voice, but inside a little boy cried out for a response. Wanted to know why his father hadn’t loved him enough to intervene.
“He wants another opinion.”
Ah, so that was it. This was no call for a sentimental reunion. His mother had a need for him, and she wasn’t afraid to let her request be known. “I’m a prenatal doctor, Mom, not an oncologist.”
“He still wants to see you. He has copies of all his tests and blood work.”
He fought back a sigh. “I know an excellent doctor who specializes in—”
“Bradley!” His name cracked over the line. “If we had wanted another specialist we would have called one. He wants you.”
Did she honestly expect him to drop everything and run to be by his father’s side? He’d thought about trying to reconcile with his parents over the years, but hadn’t been sure he wanted to make the effort. And as they’d drifted further and further apart, the desire to settle things between them had drifted with it.
But if his father was already a month post-diagnosis,
