One Day Soon (One Day Soon, #1)(28)

Yoss snorted. “I’m used to not eating, Doc. It’s nothing new to me. I’ll be fine.” He finally looked at me. Just briefly.

“I’ll also most likely be ordering a liver biopsy, but we can discuss that further after I get the results from the tests.” The doctor closed the file and pushed his glasses up his nose. “I’ll leave you to talk with Imogen. Cheyenne will be in to take your vitals in a while.” Dr. Howell gave his patient a smile and then turned to me. “We’ll talk soon, Imogen.”

Dr. Howell took Yoss’s chart and left the room. Then it was just Yoss and me.

I stood there awkwardly for a while before sitting down in the chair beside his bed. I didn’t know how to be around him now. When I had walked into his hospital room yesterday, I had been overcome by memories of the young people we had been.

It was very obvious we weren’t those people any longer.

“Mr. Frazier?” Yoss sneered.

“Well it wouldn’t exactly be good for people to know that you and I—”

“Fucked?” Yoss filled in. I flinched at his cold tone.

Fucked?

No, it had never been something so harsh. He knew that. But he seemed intent on hurting me for some reason.

“That you and I know each other. Our history has no bearing on me coordinating your services. So there’s no point in bringing it up,” I finished, my voice hard and brittle.

“If you say so, Imogen.”

I took a deep breath and opened his file, pulling out the assessment I needed to fill out.

“I bet you never thought you’d see me again, did you?” Yoss’s barking laughter seemed incongruous with the situation.

“No. I didn’t,” I said, looking up at him. Some of the swelling on his face had gone down, but the bruises left a patchwork of color across his face.

“Too bad for you,” Yoss bit out.

I put down my pen and narrowed my eyes. “Look, I’m picking up on the fact that you’re less than thrilled to see me. I’m not entirely sure what I ever did to deserve this nastiness from you. I wasn’t the one that left you in the rain underneath a bridge,” I snapped.

Yoss and I stared at each other, a silent battle of wills. “You’re still pissed about that, I take it.”

My mouth fell open. “What is your problem, Yoss?” I demanded, getting angry.

“I don’t have a problem. I’m hunky dory, Imogen. I mean look at me. How could you think I wasn’t fine?” Yoss lifted one of his bandaged hands and waved it in front of my face.

“This isn’t going to work,” I said, closing the file and getting to my feet.

“Excuse me?” Yoss said, his anger replaced by surprise.

“I can’t work on your case. I’ll transfer you to one of my co-workers. It’s obvious you have some problem with me now, though I don’t get it. But whatever, I want you to get the help you need, and obviously that’s not going to happen if I’m your caseworker.” I felt sick.

Was I going to walk out that door and turn my back on him?

Could I really do that?

“Imi—”

“No, it’s for the best. It’s obvious the past fifteen years haven’t been good to you. God, I wish they had been. But I’m not going to be able to do anything for you apparently.”

How I wished that wasn’t true.

“Imi, wait,” he called out as I made to leave the room.

I hesitated, my hand on the curtain.

“I’m just—I’m not being fair to you. I’m sorry,” Yoss said softly. “Please don’t go. Don’t transfer me to someone else.”

“You don’t want me here, Yoss,” I argued, dropping my hand to my side.

“I do. But—” he cut himself off and I turned to look at him again. He was exhausted. His eyes were unnaturally bright. His face flushed. He looked as though he had a fever.

I walked back to his bedside and without asking permission, I put my hand on his forehead. “You’re burning up. Let me call the nurse.”

Yoss reached up and grabbed my hand. “I’m angry, Imogen, but not with you. Please don’t leave.”

I nodded. “Okay. But you have to talk to me, Yoss.”

“I will. I promise,” he said emphatically.

I promise.

How many times had he said those words to me?

I pushed the call button on the side of his bed and Cheyenne came in a few minutes later, a small woman with an air of efficiency.

“Mr. Frazier, you’re awake,” she said with a smile.

“I think he’s running a fever,” I told her.

Cheyenne came over and touched his forehead. “I’d say so. Let me grab a thermometer.”

I waited with Yoss until Cheyenne came back in to take his temperature. He had dropped my hand, but his eyes kept finding me again. And again.

“101 degrees. That’s not too high. You most likely have some sort of secondary infection, but I’ll page Dr. Howell so he can reassess the situation,” Cheyenne said. “Imogen, you should probably let the patient get some rest. You can do your paperwork later.”

“Okay, I should go see the rest of my clients,” I said.

“You’ll come back though, right?” Yoss asked, sounding so much younger than he was.