like navigating a swarm of bees? I’m already tired of it. I don’t want you here.”
What he wanted was to forget about their past—and that couldn’t happen if he had to look at her and see pain on her face. He’d been in some truly terrible places during his service, so he knew what pain looked like in all forms. Physical pain he could deal with, but this sort of quiet, chronic emotional suffering ate at him. And on her it was worse. It made him want to drag her to the airport and shove her onto a plane himself...make her go where everything wasn’t so loaded. Somewhere he wasn’t.
She didn’t move.
He gave her a few seconds and then his control snapped, and he prowled forward to stand over her chair. Their patient was oblivious still, from the lingering effects of general anesthesia, and would not witness him about to yank Erianthe out of the seat and march her to the door.
“Swarm of bees?” she said finally, shaking her head, her cheeks growing pink as her gaze swiveled up to him. A second of eye contact was all it took. “That beard must have made you poetic, Ares.”
Then, jumping to her feet, she rounded on him and jabbed a finger into his chest, her cheeks blazing now.
“I’d have to be in a coma to miss how badly you want me gone—which is fine, as I’m not all that eager to spend time with you either. I’m leaving the clinic, but I’m done running from my home.”
As soon as the words flew out his hand twitched, and it was only at the last second that he shut down the urge to grab her before she got away. As much as he wanted her gone, he also wanted to sort things out with her. It was a ridiculous and undoubtedly destructive instinct.
He could do nothing about the heat rolling over his face. “I never asked you to do that.” He’d never asked her for anything—not even explanations. And he had no idea if he should...if she’d want him to. Directly acknowledging the past would probably make this tension between them that much worse.
She fumbled the paper with his number from her pocket, flipped it and scribbled a number on the other side, then handed it back to him. “No, you were just part of what made it uninhabitable for me.”
He snatched the paper, half tearing it with the rough handling. “You were the one who never wanted to see me again. It was your decision to stay gone—just as it was mine to stay gone too. Until now.”
“That’s right. I make my own decisions now.”
“Make them at Chris’s house,” he muttered, and stepped purposefully back from her. “And don’t come back here before tomorrow unless I call you.”
“Have you been listening at all? I told you I make my own decisions, Dr. Xenakis. You have reached your lifetime limit of making one for me. I’m leaving now because I’m tired, and looking at you makes me want to scream. How about you take some time to look for a drop of civility before tomorrow? The others aren’t stupid. The only reason they haven’t figured anything out is because they haven’t seen us together yet.”
With that, she turned on her heel and walked out.
That was the first thing she’d said that he couldn’t argue with. They really had to get it together. But not tonight.
He sat down and listened for the door to swing closed behind her. A week hadn’t been long enough to prepare to see her again. Maybe he should’ve tried to call her before she arrived, to see if they could find some neutral ground.
The shock of it was that he’d spent a decade picturing the same girl he’d known. She’d stopped aging in his mind—which was right in line with how old he felt when he thought of her. Still eighteen...still stupid. Still desperate for a solution that would work out.
Happiness hadn’t even been on his radar as something that could be possible long-term—he’d learned from his parents’ string of broken nuptials how infrequently marriage led to happiness. But safety? That might have been possible. Temporary happiness. Until he’d botched everything up with her and made her leave, with their child, before he could screw them up with his own ineptness when it came to family. That was right where Dimitri Nikolaides had struck too—in his weakest spot.
It hadn’t worked out between them a decade ago, and now that girl was gone forever. She’d been the queen of mascara and makeup, which had made her look older and harder. Using eyeliner he’d seen her melt with a cigarette lighter before applying it, just so she could get the absolute blackest smudge possible. The reddest lipstick. The shortest skirts. Whatever would annoy her parents the most.
Brazen. Fearless. Strong.
Now she was fresh-faced, and somehow she looked younger to his eyes. Anytime her gaze fell on him her dark eyes were a string of long, empty nights and full of something even darker. Disappointment. Anger. Hatred...
Something bruised and broken dimmed the sparkle in those midnight eyes. How other people wouldn’t see it, he couldn’t imagine. Anyone with vision and human emotion would see right through her.
He checked Jacinda’s vitals, then the baby’s, and sat down.
If the three weeks he’d planned on staying was too long—and it was, even though the first week had already flown by—the three months he’d actually agreed to when Theo had called him was dramatically beyond the limits of what he was willing to subject himself or her to.
The second he’d seen Erianthe again—when no one had thought to warn him she’d arrived and was treating a patient—he’d seen her face and had only been able to imagine how he’d looked. God help them both if he’d looked half as distraught as she had.
When Theo had called him home, the need to be there for the friends he considered his family had made him agree to the three months requested of him.
Then his survival instincts had kicked in when he’d spoken with his boss. When he’d been asked when they could call him for his next assignment, he’d said three weeks. He’d even heard the word leave his mouth, known it was wrong and hadn’t corrected it. The word choice had been an accident, but letting it stand had been a conscious decision.
Three weeks, and now he had to keep it together only until the final two were finished, then find a way to bow out quietly when his office called him for reassignment.
A lot could go wrong in two weeks.
The door opened behind him.
Dammit, Erianthe.
He surged to his feet and spun around, readying himself for another argument, but instead saw Deakin standing there, his brows halfway up his forehead.
“Do you greet everyone that way, or did I do something?”
“I thought you were Erianthe,” Ares muttered, sitting back down. “I made her leave to get some sleep. She wasn’t best pleased with me.”
Back when they’d been together, hiding their relationship, pretending to pick at one another had actually been fun. Now lying to the men he considered his brothers stood out as the lesser of two evils. Hiding the ugly truth from people he loved was better than being the one who delivered the information that would burn everything down.
No sooner had the fire reference occurred to him than
