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“Do what?” I draw back in my seat.
“Lie to me. Badly.”
My face heats. “I’m not lying. That’s how it went down.”
“Maybe so, but you’re holding back. I can see it in your face. You’re too pure to bullshit me.”
“Pure? I’m just tired.” I make a show of running a hand over my face, wiping under my eyes.
“You are tired, yes. You’re also trying to save that worm from being gutted.”
Holy crap.
“Okay, let’s not get carried away. You can’t get all face-breaky over a few mean words. You really want to know?” I grab my spoon and jab it into the soup with unnecessary force. “I came across this weird record. A transplant he signed off on recently in the system. But Grubert didn’t have the specialty to perform it as the attending physician. The patient was like a ghost, too. No real record at the hospital, no notes for everything there should be. I brought it up to my supervisor, but he said to ignore it. He was pretty insistent, too. Grubert must’ve caught wind of it somehow, because he came to check in on me at the end of the night.”
I take another sip of wine for courage.
When I set my glass down, Luca’s gaze looks restless, like the waves on a windswept lake.
“Any transplants that happen on my end never have official records. My partners inside the clinic see to that.” Each word he speaks comes clipped. Controlled. Dangerous. “The prick ought to know that, and he’s got no business pecking you. Believe me, I’ll talk to him. I will set him straight.”
His fist falls against the table.
The sound cracks through the dining room, though I know he wasn’t banging it nearly as hard as he could.
My spoon jumps against the bowl. Wine trembles in both glasses.
I flinch.
Luca sees that, too.
His anger changes. Not gone but redirected inward. His fist loosens.
He isn’t looking at me anymore.
His eyes are fixed over my shoulder and I’m not sure why.
“Sorry,” he says gruffly. “I’ll reel it the fuck in. You don’t deserve the outburst.”
His lip curls, but he still doesn’t look at me.
God, why does he look like he’s just heard a very bad joke? Or someone laughing at him?
His mouth moves softly, silently, mouthing something far from friendly.
“Luca, it’s… fine. Frustrating for both of us. But are you okay?”
“It’s not fine.”
Neither is he, I think.
Before I can react, he pushes his chair back from the table and stands, pacing two steps away before turning back. He walks behind me, striding intently, slashing his hand through the air.
“Why are you—”
“Pesky damn fly,” he mutters before he stops, gently gripping my shoulders. His fingers massage me until I lean into his grip. “Grubert, he’s losing his fucking mind if he’s getting that stupid. You’re sure there was no threat?”
“Luca—no.”
