Page 91 of Hearts on the Table
“Lainey?” He reached for me, looking concerned. For good reason. He was watching the woman he loved throw her years-long dreams out the window. Poof. Gone. At least I thought—I hoped—I was the woman he loved.
“Say it back.”
Sam huffed out a laugh. “I’ve been in love with you for years. I don’t have anything to prove.” His head turned. One of the board members shifted closer. They all watched us, eagle-eyed, except Sturmond, who was chortling about something. “Listen, I appreciate the gesture, but let’s just get this interview over with, then we can talk—”
“It’s not a gesture. I’m in love with you. And I can’t work under a board that compromises clinical care and blackmails its staff.” I speared a pointed look at Sturmond, whose mouth popped open. Whispers erupted around the conference table. I ignored them, giving my attention to Sam. “I’m taking that job at Mercy.”
“Mercy?!” someone inside the room hissed. Sam must have seen the writing on the wall. He let the door close behind him.
“Just take a second to think about this.” He smoothed his hand over my hair before settling it low on my back. He nudged me down the hallway. The weight that had pressed me down for weeks was gone. I felt like I could move again; breathe again. I wanted to prance around and throw glitter.
“You’re right. We need to think about this. We’re going to make some changes. Your garage is full of workout equipment.”
“Obviously, your car takes priority over my weight rack.”
Together, we sidestepped Nate, who was still glued to his chair, and Jones, whose eyes were bugging out of his head. Maybe his mouth was hanging open, too. I wasn’t sure. My only concern was the quiet surgeon marching me down the hall.
“Lainey, I’m so sorry about—” he started, but I cut him off. We could do apologies later. I was tired of not being on the same page as him.
“And I want kids, but not right away.”
Sam flicked his eyes sideways at me, hesitating, before he gave a short nod. “I’ll give you three years. Or as soon as you get the Golden Heart. Whichever comes first.”
I laughed again, practically floating when he steered me around a corner to another hallway, less infested with my ex and smarmy fellows. I didn’t know which was crazier, talking about having Sam’s kids, doing it in front of my dreaded ex, or his casual, convicted belief that I could win one of the most prestigious awards in our specialty.
“I want two kids.”
A wince crossed his face as he slowed to a stop in the dead-end of the deserted hall. He looked almost apologetic when his hands skimmed down my arms. “I’m going to talk you up to three.”
I considered it for a moment. Nodded. “Fine, but I’m not giving up my career, and our kids won’t be raised by strangers, so we’re going to have to work that out.”
“Are you forgetting about Gammy June?”
“I love Gammy June.” I sighed. Grasped his shirt. “I’m taking that job at Mercy.”
“Sweetheart, I have an open offer at Mercy. If one of us needs to leave to save face, I’ll go. They’re giving Garcia the program director position. There’s nothing keeping me here.” His fingertips were rough against my jaw. Feeling him touch me again seemed to open up some floodgates I didn’t realize I’d been squeezing closed.
“No,” I choked out. Thumbs stroked my cheeks and there might have been tears there. I wasn’t sure and didn’t care. “Garcia’s not going to do crap. They’ll need you here more than ever, continuing to be the unofficial resident mom. I’ll go to Mercy and take all the cases Cedar is too paranoid to approve.”
Our foreheads were pressed together, and I loved everything about it. There was something comforting about pushing my face as close to his as I could get it. Almost as close as I could get, at least. I glanced down at his mouth.
“This is a big step. You sure about it?”
“Mercy’s offering me three days off a week,” I hummed, shifting closer. “It’s a dream.”
His mouth hooked to the side, deepening at one corner. I couldn’t believe I’d lived without seeing that look for a full week. It revived something inside me that had withered up.
“I meant us,” he whispered.
I took his face in my hands. His beard wasn’t as neatly trimmed as he usually kept it, and it rasped against my palms. “You’re my monster truck, Sam.”
His brow furrowed. “I’m—my mom told you the fucking monster truck story? God dammit.”
I laughed, rubbing my nose against his. I wanted to roll my whole body in him like catnip. “I love that story, Samuel Reese. And I love you. You’re the gift I never saw coming and most definitely don’t deserve. Even in my wildest dreams, I couldn’t have imagined someone being as gentle and kind and patient with me as you have been, without asking for anything in return. Let me be your monster truck, too.”
He sighed my name, tilting my head closer, pressing his lips against mine in the most chaste kiss in the history of the world.
I gripped his hair, pulling him back an inch. “But you. Can. Not. Keep stuff from me again.” I punctuated each word with a kiss. He shook his head, tilting to get better access to my mouth.
