Free The Good Doctor by Karen Rose Smith

that to Peter. He already had his mind made up.
    Finally that Fortune pride of hers made her say as she had last night, “It was just a kiss, Peter.”
    His gaze roamed hers for a long, silent moment, then he agreed, “It was just a kiss.”
    Before Violet could respond, the office door opened and a woman wearing a smock and carrying a large manila envelope came inside and went to the receptionist’s office.
    â€œLet’s go for that walk,” Peter urged, and Violet knew any personal conversation between them was now over. They would make small talk, converse about Texas and New York and Ryan. They’d ignore the electricity sparking between them because that was the safest route to take.
    Violet wasn’t sure the safe route felt like the right one any longer.
    Â 
    By the time Ryan’s MRI was finished, tension between Peter and Violet was off the charts. Peter drove them to a small, quiet restaurant near their motel, not exactly knowing what to say or how to act with the pretty doctor. That kiss last night had practically untied his wingtips, not to mention revved him up enough that primitive caveman tendencies had almost taken over. He’d handled the kiss, the aftermath andViolet poorly. The simple truth was—he wasn’t used to a woman giving him insomnia. He wasn’t used to a woman making his world tilt. He wasn’t used to a woman making him feel as if his control had slipped. On top of that, his gut told him what that MRI was going to say.
    He parked in a space around the corner from the restaurant door. None of them spoke until they were seated at a table inside and a waitress had brought them menus.
    Ryan glanced at his, closed it and laid it down on the place mat. “I’m not hungry.”
    â€œNo matter what the results are of that MRI,” Violet insisted, “you have to take care of yourself.”
    Peter noticed the deepening lines around Ryan’s eyes and over his brows. “Do you still have a headache?”
    â€œIt was made ten times worse by the banging in that machine. Or by the dye they injected into me,” Ryan grumbled.
    â€œAfter we finish here, we can check in at the motel. I made arrangements for an early check-in so you can rest until our appointment with Dr. Grimaldi.”
    â€œWhat I need is some fine bourbon.”
    After lunch, Peter, Violet and Ryan went to their separate rooms. At three-thirty, they met in the lobby to return to the hospital. When they reached Dr. Grimaldi’s office, the receptionist told them he’d be with them in a few minutes.
    Ten minutes later, when Dr. Grimaldi came into the waiting area, his gaze fell on Ryan. “Do you want this to be private, or do you want Dr. Clark and Dr. Fortune to be present also?”
    Ryan stood. “I want them there.”
    Grimaldi motioned to them to follow him.
    After Peter and Violet flanked Ryan in the chairs sitting before Grimaldi’s desk, the neurosurgeon steepled his fingers on the blotter. Then his eyes met Ryan’s.
    Ryan said, “Keep this simple, Doc. I want to be able to understand it.”
    Dr. Grimaldi’s attention went to Peter and then to Violet. “Ryan has a glioblastoma multiforme. The tumor is located deep in the brain and across the midline.” His focus went back to Ryan. “In simple terms you have an inoperable brain tumor. The symptoms you’re having now—headaches, some numbness in the left arm, coordination problems—will increase in severity, eventually including speech impairment, confusion and finally a coma. The statistics say you’ll have three to six months.”
    â€œInoperable?” Ryan repeated as if that were the only word he’d heard.
    Although the diagnosis wasn’t unexpected, Peter felt like he’d received a blow to the gut. Clasping Ryan’s arm, he insisted, “It might be inoperable, but that doesn’t preclude experimental