Tracking You. Kelly Moran

and jerked his chin at the cup.

      She scooped a spoonful and focused on the TV. Two bites in, she set the cup aside and changed the channel from some gushy girl drama on Lifetime to the Discovery Channel. If reading material or television viewing had any kind of romance or feelings, she was typically all over it.

      Which made him eye her suspiciously.

      She looked at him. “What?” He lifted his brows and tilted his head toward the wall-mounted set. “You prefer Deadliest Catch to bawl-your-eyes-out anything.”

      See? There was the problem right there. He’d bet she wasn’t even consciously aware she’d changed the channel until he’d pointed it out. Hell. She was the one in the damn hospital.

      He grabbed the remote, switched the station back, and tucked the controller out of her reach. His balls shriveled from all the estrogen on the screen. Ignoring her attempts to get his attention, he shoved gelatin in his mouth. His guilty gut rejected the stuff, but he ate it, anyway.

      An hour passed before a doctor strode in. Young, possibly thirty, the guy looked like he’d walked off the set of Grey’s Anatomy. Which Flynn only knew because Gabby liked the show. Doc’s bright blue eyes zeroed in on Gabby. He flashed her a charming grin that made Flynn want to growl.

      His chest rumbled, and when Gabby shot wide eyes at him, he realized he had growled. Out loud. Oops.

      Doc’s gaze drifted back to her. “How are you feeling?”

      She set her megawatt smile to blinding. “Good. See? I ate.”

      Dr. Pain-in-the-Ass dropped a hand on her shoulder and inspected her arm. He eyed the monitor. “I think you’re good to go home today. Let’s have you finish this I. first. I’ll write you a script for some oral antibiotics. You’ll need to come back in seven days to have the stitches out.”

      Stitches? What stitches?

      “If you develop a fever, get right back here. Do you need a work excuse for the next couple days?”

      She shook her head. “That’s my boss.”

      Boss. Not friend. He tried not to get insulted because she was just weeding out the unnecessary, but his temples throbbed at the title.

      Dr. Needs-to-Leave-Now laughed and squeezed her shoulder. “Gotcha. Okay, you feel better soon.”

      Flynn narrowed his eyes on her when the guy left. “What stitches?”

      She held up her hurt arm, showing him three black sutures on the fleshy part of her underarm. “They put in a drainage tube last night and removed it this morning.”

      What to the what? A drainage tube meant she had been worse off than she’d indicated. The excess fluid in her arm, barely swollen now, must’ve been massive when she’d arrived. Christ, another hour and she could’ve wound up with the infection in her bloodstream.

      “Breathe.”

      “What?”

      “You’re not breathing. I’m fine. So breathe.”

      Obliging when he wanted to throttle her, he sucked in a lungful of air and pulled her clothes out of the room cubby. Two hours later, he had her home in a recliner, tucked under a blanket with hot cocoa and soup on the table next to her, and the remote in her hand.

      He ignored her adorably confused expression, plus her invitation to stay, and hauled ass out the door to start putting that much-needed distance between them.

      Today.

      Chapter 6

      Two days without Gabby at work and Flynn was rethinking the distance thing. It had become blatantly obvious that he’d taken her for granted.

      Brent was no idiot, and he was damn good at his job. Yet, he’d been primarily Cade’s tech for years and knew those patients better. He and Gabby alternated as Drake’s surgery assistant when needed, too. But working with Flynn was a far cry from working with his brothers.

      Most of the time, Flynn didn’t get down on himself or hope for things that could never be. Such as ears that worked. However, the past forty-eight hours had stretched his patience thin and had him wishing to be normal.

      Because damn. Brent wasn’t Gabby, and the situation only forced him to realize his wayward…attraction to her had to stop. He could not go another day like the last two and avoid a homicide charge. And if he gave in to the urge to make a move, to shove them over the friendship line, everything as he knew it would fly to Kingdom Come.

      While on the road yesterday, his schedule had the senior citizen complex on the agenda. Flynn had to remind Brent to interpret sign language for the clients in order for Flynn to ask routine questions. Brent was also unaccustomed to listening to bowel sounds, lungs, and heartbeat, as Cade typically did that in his exams. Even routine vaccinations and nail trims had been a clusterfuck of complicated. Brent hadn’t known where to find supplies in Gabby’s travel bag, and spent too much time digging through it to acquire what he’d needed. What should’ve been a six-hour day had turned into nine.

      If he hadn’t watched the tech struggle so much, Flynn would’ve sworn Brent had done the disconcerted routine on purpose just to mess with him.

      This morning had been significantly smoother, but nowhere near as fluent as when Gabby was with him. He guessed he’d just never noticed the little things. How she always automatically signed so he could follow along, how she knew to use the stethoscope to listen while he did the physical part of exams to calm the animals and distract, knew the clients and what questions to ask.

      Mostly, she knew him. She could interpret his signals, deduce what he needed, and act without hesitation. She was irreplaceable. And that was just the work aspect of their life.

      Personally, spending forty-eight hours not seeing her was akin to withdrawal. He’d had to force himself not to head to her place after work to check in on her. Resorting to pacing, bad TV, and scrolling the Internet, he’d hoped she had enough sense to call him if she needed anything. So, he’d not visited. The much-needed boundaries were never going to hold if he didn’t stand his ground.

      Then again, all this might be some screwed-up fantasy in his head. Gabby had never shown any signs of sexual interest in him before. Just because he was losing his marbles didn’t mean she was.

      Brent waved to get his attention in the small exam room. That was a problem, too. Flynn’s head hadn’t been in the game. He kept drifting out of focus at odd intervals. If he didn’t start paying attention, he might hurt one of the animals.

      And, of course—of course—today had to be the day Mixey was scheduled for her yearly visit at the clinic. The German Shepherd was not fond of Flynn and seemed to like Brent even less. Even as a pup, the dog had been skittish. She kept darting her how-could-you-do-this-to-me eyes between Flynn and Brent, her body language giving Flynn pause with every move. She didn’t have a red flag in her chart, meaning she’d never bitten anyone, but after today, Flynn figured that was just a matter of time.

      Two minutes before, he’d asked the owner to leave the room in order to get the shots over with. The dog appeared more anxious with her owner there, and this was going to suck donkey balls just getting Mixey to hold still long enough to inject her. The poor dog kept looking at the door like she expected Gabby to walk through.

      Because the dog loved Gabby. Who didn’t?

      Flynn sighed and looked at Zoe, who he’d asked to come into the exam room for an extra set of hands. “We need to do this fast. Brent, you lift her onto the table. Zoe, help hold. I’ll inject. In and out.”

      They nodded, and Flynn moved to the counter to draw the syringe, keeping his back to Mixey so she couldn’t see. He quickly capped the needle, dropped it in his pocket, and nodded to Brent and Zoe. They sprung into action.

      Hell broke loose.

      * * * *

      Gabby