LITMIR.BIZ

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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, who knew how much time he had left? If he didn’t at least make the effort, could he forgive himself?

      Probably not. It wasn’t like they were on the other side of the world—just the other side of the state. He could be at their house in less than an hour. “I’m at work until Saturday. Will that be soon enough?”

      “I’ll tell him.” There was no direct response to his question, so he assumed his father wasn’t on his deathbed. A click on the other end confirmed that she’d hung up without saying goodbye.

      Not that he’d expected it.

      As he set the phone down, he stared at it, half expecting it to start jingling again. But it remained silent for once. And in the quiet of his office he tried to absorb the reality of his mother’s words. His father had cancer and was asking for him.

       CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

      BRAD WENT TO bed alone.

      Chloe hadn’t set foot in the guest room in two weeks, other than to get her clothes for the next day, so she was torn as to what she should do.

      He hadn’t said anything, but had come home looking drawn and sick. Before she could ask if he was all right, he’d disappeared into his room without a word and still hadn’t re-emerged.

      At nine o’clock she’d finally sat down and eaten a plate of leftovers for dinner, straightening the kitchen afterwards. It was now decision time. He’d said at the beginning of their arrangement that he wanted her in his bed every night, even when they weren’t intimate. Did that still hold true? If not, wasn’t she letting herself be used?

      She drew her knees to her chest on the couch, knowing the answer to that was no. She was the one who’d asked for help, who’d practically flung herself into his arms. If he was tired of her, she had no one else to blame but herself.

      And he had apologized for the incident in Labor and Delivery. Had said he didn’t want her to worry. Things had seemed to be back to normal when she’d got in the elevator this afternoon.

      So what had happened to change all that?

      He hadn’t even stopped

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