Jacked (Trent Brothers #1)(81)

Her fingers slipped up my back, sending another shiver through me. Erin’s shy approach was beyond sexy.

“Is that so?” she whispered.

I shrugged. “I’m just saying.”

She smiled coyly. “You’re just saying?”

“Just saying.” Playing with her was such a turn-on.

Her fingernails scraped over my sides again from my small taunt when I faked backing away, unwilling to relinquish her hold on my shirt. Hell if that wasn’t a turn-on, too.

I went in for another kiss. Carrying her off to my bed and f*cking her stupid crossed my mind again, this time with clearer, more vivid pictures.

Pictures I’d hoped to paste around the entire inside of my skull and keep the leftovers in my wallet.

Erin’s lips let go first.

Another time, perhaps. I tried to back up, get out of her space. It was after I kissed her forehead that it struck me how natural that felt. “Eat your sandwich.”

I set two bowls of soup down and sat next to her, dipping half of my sandwich right into my hot broth, trying to get my hard-on to subside. No sense putting on false pretenses. I was glad to see she was able to eat, even though she was taking small bites. There was nothing worse than rot gut from a hangover. Been there, done that.

“Your stomach feeling better?”

She nodded, puckering her lips to blow on another spoonful. An urge to snag the spoon away from her and kiss her again came on like a sudden hurricane.

“This is delicious. You make it?”

I finished the last of my grilled cheese. “Nope. This is mom soup.”

She leaned back over her bowl. “I love mom soup.”

“It cures whatever ails you. Well, that’s what we were raised to believe.”

And just like that, my favorite doctor curled into herself a bit more. It was tiny but noticeable. Over at my stove, I filled my bowl back up to the top. She was still in her protective ball when I sat back down.

“You’re killing my ego, you know.”

She glanced over at me. “I am?”

I stirred my noodles around with my spoon. “Yep. Usually a woman isn’t so sad after kissing me. I fear I’m losing my touch.”

At least she smiled.

“You’re not losing your touch. Trust me.”

“Well, that’s a relief.” I took another bite of my sandwich. “You want to talk about it?”

She looked back over at me. “Talk about what?”

“Whatever it is that’s weighing heavy on your mind.”

“I wouldn’t know where to start.”

I set my spoon down and turned to face her. Something was telling me I was still partly to blame here somehow. I’d spent my entire life conquering things that tried to break me. A few situations got close to wrecking me for good, but I had to keep reminding myself that there was nothing that I couldn’t overcome.

Guilt, however, was laying its heavy hand on my shoulder, weaving its malevolence up into my thoughts. The fact that I went from avoiding Erin, to accusing her of being a drunk, to making out with her in my kitchen, wasn’t lost on me. Last thing I wanted to do was mess with her head. Time to own up to my mistakes and take the heat.

“Start by talking.”

I noticed her hand trembled slightly when she scratched her eyebrow. She probably feels like wrung-out garbage being hung-over.

“I lost a pediatric patient yesterday. It’s… it’s hitting me hard.”

My body jerked, ready to console her. Misty blue eyes hesitantly glanced over at me and just like that I was rendered helpless, feeling powerless to fix whatever was causing her such grief. Maybe that’s why I found myself over at her house so many times this past week, unable to ring her damn door, but repairing everything else I could get my hands on beyond the rift I’d made between us.

“She was only four years old. Four. Her entire life was in front of her.”

Oh shit. My hand landed softly on the curve of her shoulder. None of the words of comfort that flashed through my mind seemed appropriate or fitting.

She dipped her face down. “She had long blonde hair, and curls… I tried not to look at her face while we worked on her. I just couldn’t. That was someone’s baby. Someone’s daughter. I lost her before we could get her into the O.R.”

I rubbed her back while feeling her pain. It was all too familiar for me.

“I’ve worked on injured kids before, too many to count, but I never had one die on me.” She drifted her eyes over to me. “Losing a geriatric patient is one thing. It’s still ha… hard, but I just try to tell myself that they’ve lived their life, that they’ve loved and lost and made their mark on the world. But babies? Babies aren’t supposed to die, not like that. I can’t shake the fact that I let her down.”

Words my counselor once told me came to mind. “You can’t blame yourself, Doc. I know you want to because it’s easy to do, but deep down inside you know it’s not your fault.”

Erin shook her head in disagreement. “I was upset and unfocused and had no business working another severe trauma. I didn’t have my head in the game and that’s all on me.”

I held my breath for a moment, recalling the days when I had to rip my own wounds apart. “Circumstances aren’t always within our control, Erin.”