Fifteen minutes later, Paige texted me that she was here. I met her in the hall and guided her back to the on-call room, where I pulled her onto the bed with me. It was still warm when we lay down.

“Cannon? Are you okay?”

I closed my eyes and felt her fingertips brushing through my hair.

Locked in Paige’s arms, I let out the breath I felt like I’d been holding since our patient took his last. If I thought it was hard to watch a patient pass over, nothing could have prepared me for when Dr. Ramirez and I brought his wife and daughter into the conference room and told them that Dave had suffered a stroke on the table and stopped breathing. Their agony gutted me, and the bloodcurdling screams from his wife as she collapsed to the floor were heart wrenching.

“I don’t know if I can do this,” I murmured.

“Did something happen?” Her voice was soft and timid, as if she knew the answer already.

“Yeah,” I said, my voice cracking. “We lost a patient today.” Even saying it out loud was difficult.

Paige was quiet for a long time. Then she shifted in my arms, and I felt her breath on my neck. “Of course you can,” she whispered. “You’ll come back tomorrow, and the next day, and the next day. You’ll save many, many more lives than you’ll ever lose. You’re a great man, Cannon Roth. The world needs more men like you.”

It reminded me of what Dr. Ramirez had said as I left the OR.

“What do we do now?” I’d asked him.

“Go home. Tomorrow, we’ll come back as better doctors.”

I exhaled and tightened my hold around Paige. Maybe she was right; maybe I could come back tomorrow and try again. But for now, having her here, warm and solid in my arms, was the only thing my fragmented brain could focus on. It was enough.

Hell, it was everything.

Chapter Twenty-One

Paige

Watching Cannon suffer today had been agony. Watching him lie on the narrow bed, his body clutching at mine like I was the only thing that could ease the pain, it did something to me.

I’d stroked his hair and murmured encouraging things, but I had no idea if it helped. He wasn’t afraid to make himself vulnerable, wasn’t afraid to admit that he needed me. It was everything. But then an hour later, his pager had gone off and he rushed out to attend to a patient, saying he’d see me at home. He left without even a backward glance.

I couldn’t imagine a job like his. I worked in an office where the worst thing that happened in my day was if the printer ran out of toner. He’d watched a man die today, and worse than that, he felt responsible. He had blood on his hands, literally. I didn’t know what would happen next, didn’t know how you bounced back from something like that. I knew over the course of Cannon’s career, of course he would face death. But your first? Maybe it changed you for good. Maybe he’d never be quite the man he was before. I wasn’t sure, and it scared me.

Checking the clock on the stove again, I wondered what time he’d be home from work. Surely the trauma he’d experienced today allowed him a pass to skip out early. Though if I knew Cannon, he wouldn’t take advantage like that. Hard work and loyalty ran through his veins. After stirring the pot of homemade chicken noodle soup for a final time, I set the ladle on a saucer and poured two short glasses of whiskey.

I had no idea what might happen between us tonight, and part of me was hoping for something deeper than just sex. As great as that was between us, I craved more of a connection. I’d never taken into account how difficult it would be to have a secret relationship and not be able to tell my best friend about it. I needed advice, needed someone to talk to, to vent to, but there was no way Allie could be that person.

The empty, hollow feeling taking up residence in my chest was foreign. I’d lived so many years alone and had been just fine. So to have someone here, and not just someone, but Cannon, who was big and masculine and smart and sexy and tempting? It was slightly maddening.

The front door opened with a click, and Enchilada went running toward it.

“Hey,” Cannon offered when I stepped into the living room. He shrugged off his laptop bag and removed his shoes. His expression was neutral, and anyone else would never guess the traumatic day he’d just lived through.

“Hi.” I handed him one of the glasses of whiskey. “I thought you could use one of these.”

His mouth lifted in a slight smile and he accepted the glass, clinking it against mine. “Thank you. Fuck yes, I could.”

He took a small sip as I watched him, checking for any lingering signs of trauma. His throat moved as he swallowed one small sip, then another. Outwardly, he didn’t look as if he’d fallen apart today. He was as tall and commanding as ever. Gorgeous and perfect.

I took a sip of my own, letting the liquor warm a path in my chest, then said, “I made chicken noodle soup. My grandma’s recipe.”

He smiled warmly at me. “Thank you.”

There was a reason it was called comfort food. I hoped it lived up to the name tonight and put Cannon’s mind at ease.

“It’s just about ready,” I said, leading the way toward the kitchen.

“I’m going to take a shower first. Is that okay?”

“Of course. I’ll just heat up a loaf of bread in the oven. Take your time.”

I knew I shouldn’t have turned and watched Cannon’s tight ass flex as he moved down the hall, but damn, it was becoming increasingly difficult to live with a man I was so attracted to.