56
AIDAN
THREE WEEKS LATER
In my line of work,I was the one who made people’s skin crawl. But Dr. Donald Davis, for all that he knew how to handle a scalpel, had the bedside manner of Chucky. That he could freak me out was a feat in its fucking self.
"Your knee has healed like a champ. Now, that doesn’t mean go run a marathon," he told me with a chuckle as I pulled my pants on and began to step off the exam table.
The fact that I could move around without my knee buckling was proof that the man knew what he was doing. Liking him wasn’t a necessity.
"After the farce of the last knee replacement, and what happened beyond that, I didn’t think I’d feel good ever again. I have you to thank for that."
He looked up at me with a smile, one that told me he knew his worth, before he returned to his notes.
When he’d finished, he set his computer onto the counter and asked, "How’s your exquisite wife doing? Be sure to say hello from me."
Every possessive bone in my body cringed at his mention of Savannah, but she was how I knew of this guy—Dagger was an ex-patient.
Though unease throttled me at his mention of her, I said, "She’s good, and I will."
It was only because of Savannah that I was standing here today. That I was clean. That I was goddamn whole again. But Davis had played a massive part in that too. I barely had any pain anymore. Even after this last couple disastrous months, the once weak joint had held up.
"It’s crazy how time flies," he was saying, shaking his head as he continued, "Never could get Dagger to listen to me about jumping off the stage."
"You should have spoken to Lorelei. You know she’s the only one who can make Dagger Daniels listen," I drawled as I reached out to shake his hand. When he took it, a slight pissing contest went down between us, but upon his concession, I let my gratitude toward him overflow as I told him, "You need anything, you let me know."
In my world, you didn’t say shit like that easily, and it was clear to see that he knew what I was offering—a favor. But he deserved one. I didn’t have time to be on my ass, resting my knee, and he’d spared me from that.
Still, he stunned me by crying. I expected many things out of people when I was offering them a favor, but not tears. Not unless I was torturing them, at any rate. "There is something I’m actually concerned about, well, terrified, to be frank."
Frowning, I asked, "How can I help?"
"My daughter." He sighed and looked up at the ceiling. "The reason I dye my hair is because of her. She’s like her mother. I barely survived losing her. I don’t think I can survive another loss. I just can’t lose hope.
"We all deal with grief differently and Isabelle, that’s my daughter, is delicate. Her mind’s fragile, which is why I need her back, so at least I can make sure she takes her medication."
Until this moment in our professional relationship, Davis had been a man of few words. I’d appreciated that about him. This flowery turn of phrase set me on edge, but…
"You know where she is?" I queried calmly, slipping my hands into my pockets as I straightened to my full height, something that was only possible because of his skills.
If it weren’t for him, I’d still be limping, would still be relying on drugs to manage my pain—I owed him.
When he closed his eyes, warily, I questioned, "Dr. Davis?"
They darted open.Weird. "Yes, sorry."
I frowned and placed a hand on his shoulder. "You know my reputation, doctor. Familyiseverything to the O’Donnellys. You don’t need to apologize for worrying about your daughter."
He nodded. "I was going to retire but, to be honest, work has kept me sane."
"Well, I’m grateful you didn’t. Where would I be without you?" I squeezed his shoulder. "Where is she?"
"She’s gotten caught up with some motorcycle gang in Los Angeles."
I quirked a brow. "Which club?"
"The Disciples."