“Keep trashing football, and the only thing you’ll be thankful for this Thanksgiving is getting out of this meal in one piece.” Troy offered a stony smile, swirling his whiskey in his hand.

“So, Sam, you’re the last single man standing. Up for a quick trip to Sin City to play blackjack at the casino this weekend?” Devon changed the subject.

“You’re still doing that?” Sparrow darted poisonous arrows at her son through her jade-green eyes. “It’s dangerous, not to mention reckless. You’re already blacklisted from three hotels.”

Sam smiled, eating and pretending like the conversation didn’t swirl around him.

“Not surprised.” Hunter chuckled, raising his virgin Bloody Mary to his lips. “Do I want to know what for?”

“Winning too much money.” Devon laughed, pouring himself another drink. “Sam is the best blackjack player I’ve ever seen in my lifetime. A wizard with numbers, really. He makes all the calculations in split seconds.”

I thought back to the finite mathematics homework he’d worked out for me when I was still a teenager. Devon wasn’t exaggerating.

“What a great way to utilize your analytical talent,” Cillian drawled sarcastically.

“Better to waste a talent in the wrong place than not have one in the first place,” Sam pointed out.

“Your main talent is to find your way into rich people’s inner circle,” Cillian countered, his tone easy. “Which you’ve been doing very well since childhood.”

“Anyway, cards at Badland tonight,” Hunter said. “Right after dinner.”

I wanted to hear more about Sam, but my mother was desperate to draw me into the conversation she was having. She did that often. Lured me into small talk to save her from awkward lulls. She said she found socializing tiring, yet she threw events all the time and counted on me to do all the talking and fundraising on her behalf.

“I’m so lucky to have Aisling…” Mother patted her eyes with her napkin, sighing heavily “…I don’t know what I would have done without her. She is my anchor. No wonder she works at bringing life into this planet. She is my perfect angel.”

“She sure is saintly, ma’am.” Emmabelle flicked up a brow in my direction, giving me the stink eye. I knew Belle would love nothing more than if I showed my devilish side a little more often. “Too good to be true. Almost.”

“Right now, she is working day and night to help me with a charity event this month,” my mother started, and I could see the rest of my friends had already trained their face to stoic politeness, knowing she was going to yap about it for hours.

I felt my phone buzzing under the table, in my lap, and looked down. The number flashing across the screen signaled it came from the clinic. Merde.

I ducked my head down, swiped the bar to the green circle, and answered. “Yes?”

It was the call I dreaded. The one I didn’t want to receive.

A patient who had been struggling pretty badly.

“Yes. Of course. No, it is not a bad time at all. I’m on my way. Thank you.”

I hung up the phone, smiling brightly to everyone at the table, realizing for the first time the phone call drew everyone’s attention. Sam’s eyes rested on me lazily, swirling the whiskey in his tumbler as he watched me with a mildly entertained look I wanted to wipe off of his face.

The whole night he’d been looking at me like he couldn’t decide whether he wanted another round in the sack with me or wanted to kill me. I wished he’d just make up his mind and put me out of my misery.

“My apologies, but I have to run. Something important at work.” I stood up abruptly, patting my mother’s shoulder. Everyone’s attention made my ears hot and my fingers tremble. “Compliments to our chef. I will send her flowers tomorrow morning for her troubles. Thank you, everyone. Have a good evening.”

With that, I dashed out, running straight to my Prius, not even bothering to grab a coat on my way. I made a beeline to the address I punched into my phone.

It took me an hour to get to the residential building in Westford. A newly built apartment complex with a tennis court, a pool, and an indoor gym. There wasn’t security or anyone manning the reception, though, something I’d asked about in advance, just to be on the safe side.

I went to my patient’s house, did what I had to do, and got out of there three hours later. All thoughts about the Thanksgiving dinner I’d left behind were now demolished and gone. All I thought about was my work, my patients, and her.

Oui, mon cheri. It’s not easy doing what you do.

My knees were wobbly and my breath erratic as I made my way to a gas station across the road, trudging over the half-melted, dirty snow. I pushed the door to the small mini mart open. I bought a Coke for myself and a cake and drink for the old man manning the register, which he thanked me for. I poured myself out into the bone-cold November winter in Massachusetts, pressing the back of my head against the wall and taking a gulp of Coke.

Sometimes I hated what I did.

Most times, really.

But then I remembered Ms. B and how I failed her and convinced myself that I deserved it. My occupation. My choices.

Staring down at the Coke in my hand, listening to the faint hiss of fizz coming from the liquid, I suddenly burst into tears, sobbing uncontrollably as I dragged myself down the length of the wall, crouching to my feet and burying my face in my satin Givenchy dress.

“It’s not fair.” I shook my head, seeing the black splotches my mascara left on my gown through blurred tears. “Nothing about this is fair.”

“Tell me about it,” an edgy tone that could cut glass made me snap my head up.

Sam.

Sam wore a pea coat, looking like a dashing eighteenth century earl, and leaning on the wall opposite to the one I was sitting against, an unlit cigarette stuck between his gorgeous lips. Thank the lord he didn’t pull a Zoolander and light it up next to a gas station.

“Fair is where you get cotton candy. It has nothing to do with real life. Now, tell me how you found yourself in Westford as opposed to Brigham Hospital, where your ass should have been tonight.”

He’d been following me here.

But how?

And more importantly … why?

Because you got his attention, and now he is waiting to see what you’ll do with it. You burned his cash in front of his establishment, had anal sex with him in a wig and a hooker costume, and operated on his soldiers in an underground clinic. He just discovered you are a monster, too, and now wants to know how deep your darkness runs.

I quickly wiped the tears off my face, straightening my spine, and stood up.

“Shouldn’t you be playing cards with my brothers at Badlands right about now? Or are you missing Cook’s famous apple pie to be here?”

“Shouldn’t you be answering my fucking question?” he retorted.

“The answer is none of your business,” I bit out harshly.

“This old tune again.” He chuckled, looking sideways as he shook his head. “You are my business. My boss’ daughter. I should have kept tabs on you and tailed your ass earlier, but I didn’t. So here we are. Now let’s cut the bullshit, shall we? I checked everywhere worth checking and cross-examined my sources. You are not a resident at Brigham and Women’s Hospital.”