Page 35 of Wolfgang

Wolfe poured the wine with all the flair of a fine restaurant’s best sommelier. “So. Why do you feel you need to work? Because if it’s a matter of money, we have enough.”

Eric tried to think, to find the words. He came up miserably short. “It’s just…what I do?”

“And they can’t survive without you for a few days? If it’s a matter of not losing your position long-term, it’s simple enough to compel whomever necessary into giving you short-term medical leave.”

Eric was having trouble focusing. Wolfe was here with him, and it was better than when he wasn’t, but it still wasn’t quite right. He shook his head, frustrated. “No, no. They can survive. It’s not like I’m the best.” He gave a bitter laugh. “Far from it.”

“Are you a terrible doctor, then?” Wolfe asked the question mildly, like it didn’t matter one way or another to him what Eric’s answer was.

But Eric couldn’t answer him. He was thinking maybe he should be in Wolfe’s lap. That would be better, right? Then he could nuzzle his head right there, at the crook of Wolfe’s neck, where that stupid suit stopped covering his skin, and breathe him in properly.

But that would be crazy. He had at least an inch and probably forty pounds on the guy; Eric couldn’t just ask to be held like a little baby.

“CanIholdyourhand?” The question fell out of his mouth before he could stop it, all jumbled up into a single word. But it was hard to be embarrassed when fierce satisfaction gleamed red in Wolfe’s eyes at the request.

“Of course, darling.” Wolfe turned the hand closest to Eric palm up in invitation. “You can touch me whenever and however you like.”

Eric grabbed at the offered hand. Took a deep breath. Scooted closer to Wolfe after all.

It wasn’t perfect, but it was better. His head felt infinitesimally clearer.

Wolfe took a slow sip of his wine with his free hand. “So you’re a bad doctor.” Again, he said it so mildly.

“No.” Eric swayed a little toward Wolfe, righted himself back up immediately. “I’m just not very good.”

“I see.” Wolfe offered the other glass to Eric, set it back down when he shook his head in refusal. “Do you lose an above average number of patients?”

“No.”

“Get an unusual number of complaints from your nurses?”

“No.”

“You’re not advancing in your career as you should?”

“I just don’t…care enough,” Eric concluded, fully pathetic.

“Pardon?” For the first time that afternoon, Wolfe sounded genuinely surprised.

“I don’t care like I should. I only went into all this because it’s what my parents steered me toward. I’ve seen some doctors—like King, he can get really worked up after losing a patient. Really despondent. I never get that way. I just—I shake it off. I don’t think about them afterward. I don’t beat myself up. And I fuckinghatecomforting the families. I just feel like a fake, unfeeling asshole.”

“Most of that sounds like healthy compartmentalization to me. I’d say it’s more likely your Dr. Kingman puts himself at risk for burnout.” Wolfe took another sip of his wine. “Makes him the worse doctor in my opinion.”

Eric laughed in surprise. “You can’t say that.”

“Why not?”

“Everyone loves King. He’s very…” Eric waved his free hand in the air, trying to find the word. “Likable.”

Wolfe set his wine glass aside, huffing dismissively. “I don’t see anything very special about him.”

Meaning Wolfe saw something special about Eric? Or did the fact that they were fated make him special enough, no matter what he was like underneath? The thought should piss Eric off, but it was weirdly comforting. He didn’t have to be good, or perfect, or friendly, or nice. His existence was enough for Wolfe.

How strangely freeing.

He sighed, placing their joined hands on his lap, toying with Wolfe’s long, elegant fingers. If it didn’t matter what he was like—if Wolfe was going to accept him no matter what—he might as well get it all out. “I was a really shitty doctor today, probably, but all I can seem to care about is my own shit. And when Danny first told me I had to drink human blood, I didn’t even think about killing people. I was only thinking about myself. I think something’s wrong with me. Like I lack an empathy chip.”

“Mm.” Wolfe seemed to take that in without judgment, as he did everything Eric said. Then he smirked. “Do you think I sit around fretting over my lack of empathy?”

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