I pulled out my compact and put some concealer underneath my eyes. My mascara had run at the service, and I didn’t want Dr. Fisher to pounce on me for crying. “They didn’t have to say it. Of course it had something to do with Li Na. Otherwise they wouldn’t have been looking at each other like that, and then they ran out of there—” 

Wes sighed. “Just because Gabe and Lauren had to leave before we could ask them what happened does not mean it’s about Li Na. Not necessarily.”

I stared at him until he gave in.

“Okay, something’s definitely up, but we’ll talk to them tonight, okay? We don’t need to drive ourselves crazy right now.”

I snapped my compact shut. “Crazy. That’s the perfect word choice.”

Wes put his hand over mine. “Having a panic attack doesn’t make you crazy. With everything that’s happened, it’d be crazier if you didn’t have one.”

“You haven’t had one.”

“I was unconscious while you were kidnapped. Trust me, I would’ve had a panic attack if I’d known, if not worse.”

I twisted my ponytail, nervous about seeing Dr. Fisher. The driver pulled up alongside the curb in front of her practice, and I frowned. “She’s going to say ‘I told you so.’ I know it.”

“Why?” Wes asked.

“Never mind.” I shook my head. “I’m just babbling.”

Wes looked like he wanted to ask more, but he bit his questions back as we went inside to wait. When the nurse came out to the waiting room, she said, “Dr. Fisher is ready for you. She’d like to speak with both of you, actually.”

Wes didn’t look at me, probably knowing I’d object. We followed the nurse into an exam room, and Dr. Fisher came in a moment later. She introduced herself to Wesley and then turned to me. “I read the report in your file—I’m sorry you went through that. The good news is, your labs came back normal. That’s great.” 

“Good.” In the back of my overactive-imagination-prone mind, I’d been worried I had some rare form of cancer that manifested itself in panic attacks.

She began examining me, listening to my heart and taking my blood pressure as Wes watched carefully.

“What’s her blood pressure?” he asked. 

Dr. Fisher smiled. “One-ten over sixty. It’s perfect.”

“Good.” Wes sounded relieved. He seemed to know a lot more about medicine than I did, even though I devoutly watched Grey’s Anatomy and had previously believed that qualified me as somewhat of an expert.

“Does everything look okay?” he asked Dr. Fisher once she’d finished checking my pulse and staring into my eyes with an annoying light.

She smiled again—apparently, she liked Wes and his never-ending list of medical questions. “Her vitals are completely normal.” 

Wes grinned. “That’s a relief.”

Dr. Fisher wrote down some notes. When she turned around, she said, “Why don’t you both come to my office? I have some things I’d like to discuss with you.”

I stiffened. “Um, no offense, Dr. Fisher, but isn’t having Wesley in my appointment a HIPAA violation?” 

“You recently listed him as your emergency contact,” she reminded me. 

She was getting on my nerves again. “Is this an emergency?”

“Not yet. But what happened to you last night qualifies as one.” She gave me a long look. “Would you agree to grant him permission to join us?” 

I glanced at Wes. “I guess so.” 

After Dr. Fisher left, I stood and grabbed my things, waiting for Wesley to excuse himself from my appointment. When he didn’t, I put my hands on my hips. “Why are you in here?”

He looked down at his shoes. “I…called the doctor this morning. And asked if we could both meet with her.”

“Wes. Look at me.”

He looked up, but his expression wasn’t as guilty as I’d hoped.

“I’m worried about you, and since you’re not sharing details, I thought it would be a good idea if I met with Dr. Fisher.” His chin was set stubbornly. “I need to hear what she has to say about this—if you need help, I want to give it to you.” 

“That’s sweet, but you don’t have the right—”

“I’m asking you for the right. Begging, actually.” He came over and wrapped his arms around my waist. “I’m not trying to get all in your business or be controlling. I just want you to be safe.”

He kissed the top of my head, and I groaned. I didn’t want him here, but I felt good in his arms—safe, secure, and utterly protected. I wanted to argue with him, but I felt too loved.

It was official: I was getting spoiled, all soft and spongy because he kept taking care of me and being all hot, sexy, and protective.

Where’s my damned checklist?

“Fine. But I think you should have asked my permission before you crashed my appointment.”

“Would you have let me come?”

“No,” I admitted.

“If it gets too personal and you want me to leave, I promise I will. But if she wants to talk about precautions we can take to prevent anxiety and panic attacks, and things we need to look out for, I want to be part of the conversation. Do I have permission for that?”

He leaned down and kissed me, and I had that feeling again. Safe. Warm. Worshipped. I should be pushing him away right now, punishing him for overstepping boundaries, but I just wanted to pull him closer. Grr. 

“Okay. But let’s get this over with.”

---

WES

Hannah wouldn’t look at me as the driver took us across town to my appointment at El Camino. 

I put my hand gently over hers. “Going to couples’ therapy is not the end of the world, you know.”

“Maybe not, but the fact that Lauren called Dr. Fisher and asked her to refer us to a therapist? That might be the end of the world.” Hannah shook her head. “Just wait till I get my hands on her.”

“She’s worried about you—she’s just trying to help.” I remembered Lauren’s words again from this morning and my stomach turned, but I ignored it. 

“Butting in on my business—our business—is not helping.”

“Hannah?” I waited until she turned to me. “I told Lauren it was okay. She asked me if I thought it was a good idea this morning. I said I didn’t know, but that if it would help, we should try.”

“I’m tired of you all ganging up on me.” She tilted her chin, looking extremely annoyed. “I’m fine. I feel like I should just get a T-shirt that says that, so you’ll all leave me be.” She shook her head and went back to staring out the window.

I had a strong sense of déjà vu when, twenty minutes later, Dr. Kim’s nurse asked Hannah to join my appointment. Hannah looked pleased as she settled herself onto a chair in the examination room, watching as the nurse asked me routine questions and took my vitals.

When she’d finished doing intake, the nurse grabbed her laptop and headed for the door. “Dr. Kim will be in in just a minute.”

“I didn’t call him,” Hannah said as soon as we were alone. 

I grimaced. “Maybe your sister did.”

That made her smile. “Maybe.”

Dr. Kim came in. “Hello, Hannah.” His face split into a grin when he saw me. “Good morning. Wesley, you look good!”

“Thank you, Dr. Kim. I’ve been working hard.”

Dr. Kim flipped through my file, reviewing some notes. “That’s what your physical therapist says.” 

“She’s tough. Did she actually say something nice about me? Because I thought she might be trying to kill me.”

“She said you’re handling therapy well.” He laughed, then did a quick inventory of the room. “No wheelchair today?”

I looked at Hannah and quickly turned away. “I haven’t been using it for the past couple of days. I don’t think I need it anymore.”

Dr. Kim folded his long, lean runner’s body down to sit on a rolling stool. He tapped his chin with his pen, considering me. “Did your physical therapist tell you it was okay to go without the wheelchair?”

I could feel Hannah staring at me. “Not exactly.”

“Did the cardiologist clear you to walk?”

I scratched my head.

“Your orthopedic doctor?”

I coughed. 

Dr. Kim tapped his pen. “So, you just decided to take matters into your own hands?” 

“It was time. I felt strong enough, and I haven’t had any issues. Have I, honey?”

Hannah scowled at me, her arms crossed against her chest.

Dr. Kim turned to her. “Has he been getting around okay, Hannah?” 

“He’s doing better than I expected,” she admitted.

“Well, let’s run some tests,” Dr. Kim said. “If everything checks out cognitively, you might very well graduate today.”

“Graduate to what?” I sounded hopeful to my own ears. 

Dr. Kim held up his hand. “I’m not making any promises. Let’s see how you’re doing first.”

“I’m ready to go back to work,” I insisted as Dr. Kim came toward me with his annoying light to shine in my eyes.

“Listen to the doctor,” Hannah insisted.

Right before the light got shoved into my eyes, I looked at her. “Only if you listen to yours.”

She rolled her eyes. “Fine.”

“Fine.” But if Dr. Kim said no work, I wasn’t going to be fine. Not for much longer. The icing on the cake was Hannah’s panic attack last night, followed by Jim Pace’s funeral this morning.

I was done with the waiting.