of the evening? Of the risks she’d taken?
When he’d realized Leo Jones had been choking, he’d rushed to the man and performed the Heimlich maneuver. Too bad he hadn’t been successful. Then McKenzie wouldn’t have any worries about blood exposure.
Why hadn’t he insisted on performing the procedure to open Leo’s airway? He should have. He’d offered, but precious time had been wasting that could have meant the difference between life and death, between permanent brain damage and no complications.
He’d let her do what she’d competently done with quick and efficient movements. She’d saved the man’s life. But Lance would much rather it was him being the one worrying about what he’d been exposed to.
Why? Was she right? Was it because she was female and he was male and that automatically made him feel protective?
Most likely he’d feel he should have been the one to take the risks regardless of whether McKenzie had been male or female. But the fact she was female did raise the guilt factor, with the past coming back to haunt him that he’d failed to protect another woman once upon a time when he should have.
Plus, he’d been the one to invite McKenzie to the show. If he hadn’t done so she wouldn’t have been at the community center, wouldn’t have been there to perform the cricothyroidotomy, wouldn’t have possibly been exposed to something life threatening.
Because of him, she’d taken risks she shouldn’t have had to take. Guilt gutted him.
If he could go back in time, he’d undo that particular invitation. If he could go back in time, he’d undo a lot of things.
Truthfully, he hadn’t expected McKenzie to accept his invitation to watch his show. She’d shot down all his previous ones with polite but absolute refusals.
He glanced at where she stared out the window from the passenger seat. Why had she semiaccepted tonight?
Perhaps the thought of seeing him onstage had been irresistible. He doubted it. She’d only agreed to go and watch and so had technically not been there as his date.
Regardless, he’d been ecstatic she’d said she’d be there. Why it mattered so much, he wasn’t sure. Just that knowing McKenzie had been attending the show had really upped the ante.
Not knowing if she’d let him or not, he reached out, took her hand, and gave a squeeze meant to reassure.
She didn’t pull away, just glanced toward him in question.
“It’s going to be okay.” He hoped he told the truth.
“I know. It’s not that.”
“Then what?”
She shook her head.
“Seriously, you can tell me. I’ll understand. I’ve had blood exposure before. I know it’s scary stuff until you’re given the all-clear.”
She didn’t look at him, just stared back out the window. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
“What do you want to talk about?”
She glanced toward him again. “With you?”
He made a pretense of looking around the car. “It would seem I’m your only option at the moment.”
“I’d rather not talk at all.
“Ouch.”
“Sorry.” She gave a nervous sigh. “I’m not trying to be rude. I just...”
“You just...?” he prompted at her pause.
“Don’t like needles.” Her words were so low, so torn from her that he wasn’t sure he’d heard her correctly.
Her answer struck him as a little odd considering she was a highly skilled physician who’d just expertly performed a procedure to open a choking man’s airway.
When he didn’t immediately respond, she jerked her hand free from his, almost as if she’d been unaware until that moment that he even held her hand.
“Don’t judge me.”
How upset she was seemed out of character with everything he knew about her. She was always calm, cool, collected. Even in the face of an emergency she didn’t lose her cool. Yet she wasn’t calm, cool or collected at the moment. “Who’s judging? I didn’t say a word.”
“You didn’t have to.”
“Maybe I’m not the one judging?”
She didn’t answer.
“If you took my moment of silence in the wrong way, I’m sorry. I was just processing that you didn’t like needles and that it seemed a little odd considering your profession.”
“I know.”
“Yet you’re ultrasensitive about it.”
“It’s not something I’m proud of.”
Ah, he was starting to catch on. McKenzie didn’t like to have a weakness, to be vulnerable in regard to anything. That he understood all too well and had erected some major protective barriers years ago to keep himself sane. Then again, he deserved every moment of guilt he experienced and then some.
“Lots of people have a fear of needles,” he assured her. They saw it almost daily at the clinic.
“I passed out the last time I had blood drawn.” Her voice was condemning of herself.
“Happens to lots of folks.”
“I had to take an antianxiety medication to calm a panic attack before I could even make myself sit in the phlebotomist’s chair and then I still passed out.”
“Not unheard of.”
“But not good for a doctor to be that way when she goes around ordering labs for her patients. What kind of example do I set?”
“People have different phobias, McKenzie. You can’t help what you’re afraid of. It’s not like we get to pick and choose.”
She seemed to consider what he’d said.
“What are your phobias, Lance?”
Her question caught him off guard. He wasn’t sure he had any true phobias. Sure, there were things that scared him, but none that put him into shutdown mode.
Other than memories of Shelby and his immense sense of failure where she was concerned.
Could grief and regret be classified as a phobia? Could guilt?
“Death,” he answered, although it wasn’t exactly the full truth.
She turned to face him. “Death?”
His issues came more from having been left behind when someone he’d loved had died.
