Montana and Natasha were inseparable. Until the day they weren't.
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Montana Belmonte-Rowe sees her acceptance into Harvard as a fresh start. Still haunted by the tragic death of...
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CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
IF I COULD MELT YOUR HEART
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HAYDEN IS KIND ENOUGH TO LEAVE HIS TENT TO GO DRINK COFFEE WITH ME. Truthfully, I didn't really know how much I needed it until the hot drink caressed my chapped lips and warmed up the inside of my mouth and throat. I also realize I needed him here, especially after the conversation I had with Veronica this morning and the text messages Avery and I have just exchanged, so it really is a blessing to have him sit in front of me, stirring his cappuccino.
Nevertheless, my ears are scorching hot, even after I took off my beanie, which is never a good sign. I'm certain Hayden notices something is up, as he's trained to notice micro expressions and decipher them, but he also knows me better than plenty of other people in my life; while I can fool them every once in a while, as it still makes me a bit uncomfortable to, you know, dump my problems onto them, I know I can't fool him.
So, when he asks me what's going on, I'm not surprised, just like I'm aware there's no room for lying around him.
"I think my boyfriend is a lot sicker than he claims to be," I confess, and Hayden leans forward across the table, with his medical instincts instantly kicking in, while I stare at the waves of steam leaving my cup. "He fell sick with a cold, like, back in December, but he hasn't gotten any better since then. He keeps shrugging it off, but I know I'm not the only person worrying something else might be up—something serious. He thinks there's not a valid reason why he should go see a doctor, but you're a doctor, right? You can talk to him and—"
"You know my words are pretty much worthless when I'm not in my office, right?" he retorts, and I sink even lower into my seat, just in time to see Luke step inside the café when the bell by the door chimes. He doesn't see me, however, as he's staring down at his phone's screen while standing on the line to order. "Besides, respiratory tract illnesses really don't belong in my area of expertise."
"Right." I sigh. "Sorry for thinking you'd be willing to help me."
"Montana"—he pinches his nose bridge—"you can't possibly think this is me not wanting to help you. When have I stepped away after you asked me for help?" I grit my teeth, hating how everything is always so rationally solved and argued when it comes to Hayden Logan, who's the textbook definition of a psychiatrist but also manages to find a way of escaping the norm at the same time. "All I'm trying to tell you is that a psychiatrist's opinion won't have any value in a situation like this; I can try to talk to him and blabber about medical facts if you want, but I doubt he'll give a damn."
