Page 29 of The Potter

“You want to start by showing me the worst scar?”

I like that he’s giving me the control here. It feels less like an exam and more like swapping scar stories with a friend. “Sure. It’s this one on my—”

The door wrenches open, and I quickly pull the gown back in place.

“What the fuck are you doing?”

I know the owner of those angry words before I can even lift my head, and by the grin on Duke’s face, so does he.

Oh no. “I was just—”

Vance’s gaze sears me where I sit, pointing harshly with one finger. “I’m not talking to you.”

Duke flashes me a wink and squares his shoulders, turning slowly to face his brother. “Dr. Potter, I’m with a patient. If you’ll wait in my office, I will be with you in a moment.”

My heart sinks when Vance pushes the door closed, the soft click of the latch being the only noise in the room. “Ms. Belle is my patient.” His voice is nothing but gravel as he steps up to his brother.

His fury doesn’t seem to do anything but amuse Dr. Duke as he cocks his head to the side. “I recall you declined to take her case.”

For a brief moment, Dr. Potter flicks his gaze to mine before he levels Duke with a glare that would have most grown men cowering in a corner.

“Did I mistake your note in the chart, Dr. Potter?”

Come on, Duke, don’t taunt him.

Vance’s jaw clenches, but he stays silent.

A silence that Duke clearly doesn’t heed. “There are two other surgeons in this office. Ms. Belle is entitled to have a second opinion.” The unspoken wordssince you declinedhang tensely in the air between the brothers. “Now, if you’ll wait in my office, I’ll be with you in a—”

“You’re not doing the revision.” Dr. Potter’s voice is thick, his throat pulsing as he struggles to keep himself in check.

Duke chuckles, seemingly enjoying this exchange with his brother, and takes a step forward, pushing into Vance’s chest. “You seem to have forgotten a few of those policies you hold on to closely.” He straightens Vance’s tie, mockingly. “Let me remind you that clause 3.1b says that if one surgeon declines a case, the patient is free to consult another in the same practice. Now,” he taps his chest, “brief me on my new patient.”

The two men stand nose to nose, neither saying a word until Duke adds, “Unless you’ve reconsidered Ms. Belle’s case.”

Without looking at me, Vance holds his brother’s gaze with a glare more severe than third-degree burns. “Patient is a twenty-three-year-old female with a crush injury post hit and run.”

Vance steps to the side and approaches the table. “Please lie back, Ms. Belle.”

Part of me would rather sprint from this room and drive back to Georgia, but then there’s this other part that is actually curious to see Dr. Potter in action. This is the furthest he’s ever gotten to an actual examination.

Lying back, the paper on the table crinkles beneath me as I focus on the ceiling, feeling Dr. Duke approach the other side of the table. I’m lying trapped between two warring brothers, who just so happen to be the best plastic surgeons in Texas. It’s a position Serena most certainly dreams of.

“I’m sorry, my hands are cold,” Vance mutters.

Pulling my gaze from the ceiling to where the pressure of his palms lie against my thigh, I grin. “Who knew the devil would have cold hands.”

Dr. Potter’s mouth twitches, but he never allows himself to smile. Instead, he holds my gaze as his fingers curl around the gown, dragging it up my leg to my hip, where the worst of the scars reside.

I gasp, the cool air hitting the space between my legs like an arctic wind. Lying here like a sacrifice, my body a mere exhibit for this man, I try not to focus on what he sees. Jagged, pink and white puffy skin that was stretched and stitched together like Frankenstein himself had his way with me.

Chancing a look at Vance, I’m met with horror as his throat works, his eyes pinched shut as if he can’t stand to look at me. His reaction shouldn’t bother me as much as it does, but I guess I expected more of a flat reaction from the infamous Dr. Potter. Surely, he’s seen worse, but his heavy breaths indicate otherwise.

“Your report, Dr. Potter,” Duke demands, his voice in full control.

Vance’s fingers tighten on the gown, and he takes a deep breath before his green eyes flash open. Like a switch was flipped, he begins rattling off a bunch of clinical jargon I don’t bother paying attention to. I’ve heard enough over the years. I don’t need to hear the man who’s disgusted by the mere sight of my body tell his brother what all is wrong with me.

Closing my eyes, I tune him out while Duke interrupts him with questions here and there. It isn’t until Duke laughs that I open my eyes and pay attention.

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