My heart is racing as I carry Amara into my clinic, Maddie hot on my heels. I’m usually calm when dealing with accidents and emergencies, but not today. Something about Amara tugs at my heartstrings. Watching her succumb to panic, seeing the color drain from her face… I can’t remember the last time I felt so helpless. Over the years I’ve come to excel at detaching myself from my patients, but something about Amara is different. I felt her pain as if it were my own.
Maddie rushes around me to open my office door, and I carry Amara in gently. She’s quiet in my arms, her breathing even, and her cheeks a beautiful rosy color. She looks fine now, yet my heart is still in disarray. I’m worried. I know she’s not truly hurt. Her wounds are superficial, yet I can’t take it. I guess it was the look in her eyes, the devastation that momentarily consumed her.
She’s still trembling ever so slightly as I place her on the patient bed in my office, her feet dangling off the edge. She looks up at me, our eyes locking. Those blue eyes of hers… I could lose myself in them if she’d let me.
“I can disinfect her wounds, Dr. Grant.”
I blink, tearing my gaze away from Amara. I forgot Maddie was even here, and the look on her face tells me she knows it. The silent warning look she sends me has me hesitating, but I shake my head against better judgement.
“That’s quite all right,” I tell her. “I’ll do it myself.”
She nods and walks over to the cabinet in my office, clearly insistent on not leaving me alone with Amara. I bite down on my lip as I take the glass bottle from her.
“I won’t require assistance,” I say, knowing full well that I’m making a mistake asking to be alone with Amara. There’s something about her I can’t resist. I’m a rational guy, and her grandfather’s warning is still ringing through my ears loud and clear, but it isn’t enough to make me resist temptation, to make me walk away from a chance to have a moment alone with her.
Maddie looks into my eyes, and I force a polite professional smile onto my face. She stares at me for a second, and then she nods.
“I didn’t think she’d leave,” Amara says the second the door closes behind Maddie. She sounds amused, but there’s an edge to her tone. One that fills me with curiosity.
“Me neither,” I murmur as I open the bottle of disinfectant.
“She’s pretty,” Amara says, her tone oddly aggravated.
I smile to myself and look at her. “Is that so?”
She purses her lips, a hint of impatience in her eyes. “You don’t think so?”
I kneel in front of her and look into her eyes as my hand hovers over her scraped knee. “Not as pretty as you are,” I say, right before pressing the damp cloth on her skin, distracting her. She hisses, but her eyes never leave mine. I almost wish I didn’t have to focus on her wounds, because I don’t want to break this moment between us, and I should.
She smiles at me, and I smirk as I clean up the rest of her wounds. “That’s the second time I’ve got you on your knees in front of me.”
I grin and drag my attention away from her bloodied knees. “So it is. Are you turning this into a habit, Ms. Astor?”
“Amara,” she corrects me. “I told you to call me Amara… and what if I am?”
I place my hands on either side of her, my eyes on hers. “I guess I’ll just be at your mercy, falling to my knees at your beck and call.”
She laughs, and my heart skips a fucking beat. She’s beautiful. The way her cheeks dimple, the way her eyes narrow when she laughs, yeah… she’s the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.
Tearing my gaze away from her is a battle, and it’s a losing one. I can’t stop smiling as I stick bandaids on her knees, my eyes trailing upward every few seconds.
“Do you flirt with all your patients?”
I smirk unapologetically. “Only the ones that come on my fingers.”
Her lips fall open, and then she bursts out laughing. “You, Dr. Grant, are just the worst.”
I know I’m taking it too far, but I can’t resist her. I can’t resist that smile of hers. I want to tease her, make her laugh. I shouldn’t, though. She’s a patient. A student. Harold Astor’s granddaughter.
I rise to my feet, my smile falling. Amara isn’t someone I can flirt with. I’ve never once been unprofessional or inappropriate with a patient, not even when they were blatantly into me. Why is it different with her? Why her, when she’s someone I can never get involved with.
I force my polite physician smile onto my face and take a step back. “You had a panic attack today, Amara. Is that something that occurs often?”
She looks away, the mood instantly changed. “No. I haven’t had one in years. It surprised me, too. I… there was a trigger. I just, I got a text message from someone I hadn’t heard from in years, and my thoughts just started to spiral. I couldn’t understand why he’d contact me now, and I lost control over my emotions.”
He? I involuntarily grit my teeth. Whoever contacted her must have caused her enough pain for her to respond the way she did today, and it has my every protective instinct jumping into action.
“I can refer you to a psychologist,” I tell her, wanting to help in any way I can.
Amara grimaces. “I’m still seeing one,” she says, her voice soft. She looks up at me, her fingers brushing over my arm briefly. “It’s not what you think. There’s nothing crazy or overly concerning going on, Dr. Grant. The message… it was my father.”
I relax involuntarily. I didn’t even realize I’d been so tense. Amara looks away, her arms wrapping around herself. Her father, huh? I gathered from Maddie’s endless gossiping that Amara’s father left them years ago, forcing her mother to go back home to Harold Astor after he disowned her, but that’s as much as I know.
“I haven’t heard from him in years, and I couldn’t understand why he’d contact me now. I started to overthink things and worry about my mother. About having to tell her he contacted me. She’s not going to respond well. I might have overreacted, but my mother would easily put me to shame.”
I move closer to her involuntarily and shake my head. “I didn’t think you overreacted, Amara. Not even for a second. There’s clearly pain there, and you’re only human,” I murmur, brushing her hair out of her face gently. “It must have been overwhelming and surprising. I can’t even imagine how you must have felt.”
She nods, a hint of surprise in her eyes. “Thank you,” she whispers. “Thank you for being there, for helping me. I’m not sure I could’ve pulled out of that suffocating feeling if you hadn’t been there.”
I shake my head. “You would have.”
She looks away, a haunted look in her eyes. My heart tightens when she reaches for her handbag beside her. I don’t want her to go.
“I’ve taken up so much of your time today, Dr. Grant. I’ll pay your consultation fee, of course, but I wanted to apologize.”
I shake my head. “There’s no need. I dragged you in here, after all. This one’s on me.”
She rises to her feet and walks to the door, turning back to look at me with a playful look in her eyes. I’m glad she managed to shake off the sadness that surrounded her just moments ago, but I can’t help but feel that it’s all just bravado. I excel at putting up a front. She isn’t fooling me.
“I’ve had you on your knees twice now. I should really return the favor sometime soon,” she says, her eyes dropping down to my trousers, and then she walks away, leaving me feeling out of it. This woman is an enigma, and with every interaction she cements herself further into my thoughts.
I shake my head as I walk to my desk, my eyes dropping to the photo of my parents. I’d give the world to speak to them one more time. I know not all parents are the same and that Amara must have her reasons… but from where I’m standing having parents that want to be part of your life is better than having none at all.
I lift the photo frame with trembling hands, my heart aching. Would I remember them without the photos? Every day, the memory of them fades a little more. The pain never dulls, but it’s starting to get harder to remember the feel of my mother’s arms, the smile on my dad’s face.
I’d give anything to have one more moment with my father, and I hope Amara won’t come to regret staying away from hers.
