He had been the best version of himself during his time with her. It hadn’t been anything she had done or said, it had been all the things she hadn’t done that had made him feel a sense of freedom and a willingness to give of himself that he had never experienced. She’d had no expectations or demands of him and had never pushed for more than he’d offered.
It was that part of Kate that was driving his need to personally defend her, not his guilt, he told himself. She seemed to take in his answer, an internal debate apparent in the emotions that crossed her face before she let the matter drop.
He took her cue and refocused on the case. “Kate, I want you to think back to that night and the interactions you had with Mr. Weber and his family. Can you think of anything you said or did that would make the Webers believe there was negligence involved in his death?”
She was silent across the table, but her nonverbal cues made up for the lack of words. She tangled her hair into a knot, pulling it from her face as her perfect posture slouched in defeat. “Yes.”
“What happened?” He knew the answer. He rarely asked a question without knowing the answer but he needed to hear it from her, even though he knew it would kill her to say it.
“I cried.” No emotion was in her words, just a statement of fact. But the look on her face told a different story.
“When did you cry, Kate?” Memories of the two times he had ever seen Kate cry revolved in his mind. Both instances had been extreme, when she had been pushed to her limit.
“When I was talking to Mrs. Weber after her husband died.” Still no elaboration. He hated this. Hated that his job was to force her to discuss something she had no desire to share with him. It went against everything they had once been.
“I need you to tell me exactly what happened.” She stared at him and he couldn’t tell what she was thinking. Minutes went by and he started to worry she would refuse him. Not for the first time he reconsidered whether he should be representing Kate, or whether the past between them was too much to overcome.
Finally she sighed, obviously resigning herself to the situation. “After Mr. Weber died, Tate, as the attending surgeon, went to talk to Mrs. Weber to disclose his death. When he was done I joined her in the operating room’s family room. I had met her earlier in the night and felt compelled to see her. She already knew her husband was dead and was crying alone in the room when I got there. When she saw me she reached for me and I let her embrace me, and she didn’t let go. The more she cried, the harder she held me. Eventually I started to cry too and I told her I was sorry.”
“What were you sorry for, Kate?”
“I was sorry that she had lost the love of her life. That she was going to have to go on by herself and try to make a life without the one person she was meant to be with.”
“Do you think it’s possible that she misinterpreted your empathy as guilt?”
“Given that we are talking about it, I would say yes, wouldn’t you?” Her derision was very clearly focused on herself, despite the sarcasm in her response.
Yes, he would. Kate crying and saying she was sorry would definitely raise suspicions when reflected on after the fact.
“Are there any other patients, nurses, or colleagues that would speak for a pattern of behavior? That you frequently empathize with your patients and their emotions?”
“No. That was the first and only time I have lost my composure at work.”
“Is there anyone else in your life who can testify to your emotional nature?” He was reaching, looking for some way to get her out of a situation that now seemed partially her own making.
Her face changed. Gone was the steely armor and replacing it was the same softness he recognized from the past. “You.”
“Me what, Kate?”
“You are the only person who has ever seen me cry.” Her words were a painful confession, but the information was just the opposite. It highlighted to him what he had always known. They had been something different, something special, something he should have held onto at all costs. He couldn’t let those thoughts take over; he needed to keep his focus. He knew bringing up the past would be a sure way to make Kate retreat and he wasn’t willing to lose another minute with the real her.
“What was different about that night?”
“I’m not sure.” She raked her hand back through her hair and looked down at the table as if she would find the answer she was looking for in the grain of the wood. “She really loved him and he loved her. I saw it between them in the emergency department, true love. Then within hours it was gone and I couldn’t put together what would happen next. She was so lost without him already and all I could remember was what it felt like to lose the person you love. I remembered that feeling and knew that my love and pain were only a tenth of what she was experiencing, and I didn’t know how to help her.”
The most remarkable woman he had ever met looked defeated and it was enough to break his resolve. He didn’t stop to question whether she was referring to her mother, him, or Tate Reed in her memories of pain and loss. He rose from his chair and crossed around to her, the drive to hold her in his arms breaking through his common sense. She looked up as he drew her up from her chair, her lips parting in shock. He didn’t mean to kiss her, his intent, brief as it had been, had been to comfort and hold her, but one look into the depths of her eyes and the sweet fullness of her lips was enough to change his mind.
It was an experience in contrasts. The softness of her lips to the hardness of his mouth; the surprise in her reaction to the deliberate intent that drove him; the sweetness within her to the ruthlessness of the man he had become. She didn’t pull away and the small surrender drove him harder. He explored her, reminding his mind and body of the places he had once been and had never forgotten. His tongue teased hers while his hands roamed her body in his embrace. Her hands clung to him, grabbing handfuls of the fabric of his shirt until the moment was broken and he felt her step back from the kiss and push him away.
She was staring at him, her eyes wide. “You want me.”
His arms were still holding her and he was unwilling to let her move further away. He also wanted to make it clear to her who she was with and who was responsible for the dilation of her pupils, her parted moist lips, and the points of her nipples, which were pressing against the fabric of her long-sleeved cotton shirt.
“Why?” she whispered, the word coming at the end of a gasp to find her breath.
“Why what?” His brain had been robbed of its blood supply and his ability to comprehend her question was inhibited by the physical desire he was struggling to restrain.
“Why are you really back?” It was the question that had been in the background of their every interaction and had remained unasked and unanswered between them.
“Code Orange. Code Orange, Emergency Department. All available personnel.” The hospital intercom sounded within the room, the intrusion startling both of them. His arms dropped and she moved away. He had no idea what the announcement meant, but as he watched her face change from the intimacy of her question to immediate business, he realized it was serious.
“That’s a mass casualty code. I need to go.” She went back to her spot at the table, shoved her textbook into her shoulder bag and then left without another look at him.
He was torn between anger at the interruption and relief that he didn’t have to answer the question he didn’t have an answer for.
He