He saw Peter and grinned at the boy.
“Girls,” he said at last. “We have two girls. They’re so beautiful. Perfect. I don’t know how I got so lucky. First you and now these girls—Adelina Crystal and Rosabel Dana, in honor of Keith and Crystal Danes. Our friends will live on in our daughters.”
As one, everyone stood and rushed toward him. There were cheers and hugs and calls of congratulation. Montana made sure her mom was with Peter, then slipped out of the room. It would be a while before anyone could see Pia or the babies. She wanted to check on Simon.
She made her way to surgery and stopped at the nurses’ station. The older woman there glanced up from her computer screen.
“How can I help you?” she asked pleasantly.
“I’m checking on Dr. Bradley. He’s in surgery. Do you know how long he’s going to be?”
The nurse’s smile faded. “He’s not in surgery this evening. Would you like me to page him?”
Montana opened her mouth, then closed it. Not in surgery? But he’d said…
She swallowed. “No, thank you.”
She turned away. Heaviness settled on her chest.
Simon had lied. She couldn’t believe it, except there was no other explanation. Obviously he’d had second thoughts. He’d changed his mind about sleeping with her, but rather than tell her, he’d made up some stupid story.
Her eyes burned, but she refused to cry. It was bad enough that she’d been willing to give herself to him without even the hint of a relationship. She wasn’t going to make it worse by wasting tears on him.
She turned to leave, then shook her head. No. She wasn’t simply going to walk away. Dr. Stick-Up-the-Butt might think his behavior was okay, but she was going to let him know it wasn’t. She might not be sophisticated or elegant or whatever it was he usually went for, but she wasn’t going to let him treat her like this. Not without telling him exactly what she thought of him.
CHAPTER NINE
MONTANA FOUND SIMON on the burn ward. He stood outside of Kalinda’s room, the door slightly open. He didn’t look up as Montana approached.
“Fay went home to shower and get some clean clothes,” he said quietly, studying the sleeping girl. “There will be another surgery in a couple of days. She’s healing well.”
Montana stared at him. “That’s it?” she asked, keeping her voice low so as not to wake the girl.
Kalinda and the other patients were the only reason she wasn’t screaming. And possibly hitting. Ethan and Kent had made sure she and her sisters knew exactly how to punch so that it hurt.
Simon glanced at her, frowning slightly. “What else did you want me to say?” he asked. “She’s—”
He swore under his breath. “You came to check on me.”
“No,” she said, firmly. “I came because a friend is having a baby. Then I decided to check on you.”
“It’s not what you think. I didn’t change my mind. There was a patient—”
She put her hands on her hips and put as much energy into the glare as possible. In a perfect world he would turn to mush and melt right there on the hospital floor.
“I wasn’t in surgery because I didn’t get the chance to operate. He died before I started.”
Montana opened her mouth, then closed it. Her mind went blank, which was probably better than the guilt she was going to feel any second.
Simon took her hand and pulled her down the corridor. He drew her into an empty room.
“I’m sorry,” she said, facing him. “I shouldn’t have assumed the worst.”
“Why not? You don’t know me well enough to think otherwise.”
The room was dark, the hospital bed stripped of sheets, the blinds on the window open to the night. His forgiveness unnerved her. She’d thought he would get angry, rather than understand.
“I’m sorry,” she repeated. “Losing him like that must be hard.”
He shrugged. “I never saw him. He died before I got started. Sometimes it happens like that. It’s not always my job to save them from death. I’m there to make them look as normal as possible. There are limits to what it means to fit in.”
Although he was looking at her, she had a feeling he didn’t see her. He was staring at something else—something from his past.
Was he talking about himself when he mentioned fitting in? Yet he wore his scars like a badge of honor. Or were they a reminder?
She raised her hand and rested her fingers on his cheek. The spiraling marks were raised and hard. He pressed his hand on top of hers, as if holding her in place.
“They’re not just here,” he said, his gaze more intense. “They go down my neck and across my chest. There are a few on my back and my arm.”
She didn’t know what to say, what he needed from her. Telling him she wouldn’t have minded didn’t seem to be enough.
“You don’t have to worry,” he continued. “You wouldn’t have seen them. If we’d made love tonight, I would have kept on a T-shirt. It’s easier.”
“Easier for who?”