Total pages in book: 149
Estimated words: 146548 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 733(@200wpm)___ 586(@250wpm)___ 488(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 146548 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 733(@200wpm)___ 586(@250wpm)___ 488(@300wpm)
“I’m getting a new one made.” To me, he says, “Dr. Rhee will be in soon to explain the surgery, but in short, he’ll attach a metal plate and screws to hold the bones together.”
Farrow combs both his hands through his hair. “Wait,” he says, “if you’re not here for the surgery, then why the hell did you stop by?”
To fuck with Farrow, probably.
Maybe to fuck with me, Farrow’s boyfriend, too. But it seems kind of callous. Especially after a car accident.
Rowin faces me, not Farrow, and he tells me, “Dr. Edward Keene has requested that I be your physician after post-op. I wanted to introduce myself before you went into surgery. Any medical or rehab needs, you’ll defer to me—”
“What?” My mouth parts, and I almost go to stand up but cords tug. Dammit.
I always thought Dr. Keene would eventually refer me to a new physician since he refused to be mine. But Farrow’s ex? It’s underhanded and fucking wrong.
Farrow shakes his head repeatedly, his nose flaring. “My father put you up to this?” he asks Rowin.
“This isn’t some sort of conspiracy,” Rowin says. “I’m in training to join the Hales, Meadows, and Cobalts’ med team.”
“Med team?” Farrow repeats. “It’s never been called that.”
“It’s what your father called it. Maybe because he’s looking to hire beyond the Keene dynasty. He told me that his brother Trip has been on sabbatical for over a year, and Trip’s wife, who I believe is a family doctor, wants to take leave to have another child.”
I remember Trip’s two sons are under seven, and Farrow told me that his uncle is already grooming them for medical school.
Rowin continues, “Your grandfather is retired, so that just leaves your father. And he’s understaffed as the famous families grow older. He needs more concierge doctors.”
A long pause strains the room.
Farrow rises to his feet. “I hope you know that my father chose you as retaliation against me. You’re not his special physician that he picked out of the pack.”
“I really don’t care why he offered me the job,” Rowin says. “The pay is unbelievably high and the hours are better than surgery. Hell, all of the Med-Peds residents and three-quarters of Surgical would’ve died for this position. It’s too rare to pass.”
“No,” I suddenly say aloud, wincing as I crunch upward. Both guys tell me to stop moving. I glower at Rowin. “No.” My voice is firm. “You can’t be my concierge doctor. You can be anyone else’s in my family, but not mine.”
Farrow’s ex is not prying into my medical history.
And if he already has, I don’t want to know.
“That’s fine,” Rowin agrees. “I’m not sure who you want to replace me, but hopefully you’ll find someone because you need PT after surgery.” He inches backwards, barely glances at Farrow, and he tells me, “If you’ll excuse me, I need to go check on your cousins.”
Rowin leaves.
The door clicks shut, and Farrow remains standing but turns to face me. His eyes carry more apologies than usual.
I bend my knees so he can sit down. “I can remove Rowin from whatever med team there is if you want.”
“Don’t worry about that. I don’t care enough about Rowin to get him fired.” Farrow doesn’t take a seat yet, but he rests a knee on the firm mattress. His gaze never drifts off mine. “I’m sorry that I didn’t tell you about him—”
“I asked you not to, Farrow.” I gesture to his chest with my good hand. “It’s not a big fucking deal.”
“Okay, but if I had known you’d ever meet Rowin, I would’ve told you about him and how he proposed. I didn’t want to blindside you, ever.”
I inhale, trying not to smile. “Maybe I can try to accept your apology.”
“Maybe,” he repeats like I’m full of shit and I’ve already scribbled hearts around M + F in my diary. Just so you know, I don’t have a diary. And if I did…Farrow would be all over it.
He places the chocolate tin on the tray table, and I watch him pick my philosophy paperback off the bed.
I try to open and close the hand that sticks out of my sling, and my brain must short-circuit because I say without thinking, “Your ship name with Rowin is literally FarRow.”
Farrow goes still, the paperback rolled in his hand. His brows slowly rise at me. “Wolf scout, there is no ‘ship name’ between me and Dr. Fart.”
I laugh once, a pain stabbing my ribs. I shut my eyes, and when I open them, Farrow is closer, checking an IV tube.
He glances down at me. “How long have you been obsessing?”
I hate that I’m confined to this bed and I can’t stand at eye level with him. “Since you uttered the word ex,” I say, not denying the truth. “He has a tattoo—”