I grab my bag out of the back and cross the parking lot when I see smoke billowing from the gazebo next to the door. It doesn’t surprise me when I recognize the dark eyes watching me.

I pick up my pace, not wanting to deal with him and the sudden frequency we're seeing in each other lately. This better not be a habit.

Then, Ezra’s words echo in my mind. It would be so easy for you to do it. You could learn so much, and he would trust you.

I didn’t want revenge on Rafe then, but tonight I’m feeling bitter. Anger courses through my veins. Work does that to me sometimes, especially when I lose a young patient...someone younger than me who shouldn’t have to watch what it does to their loved ones. Life is just so fucking unfair sometimes, that I suddenly realize that if I can serve a little bit of justice in this life, I’m going to.

I pause near where he is sitting. He still looks just as handsome as he did when we were teens, if not more. He has dark hair and dark eyes, but there’s a bright smile hidden under all the scowling that balances his features just right. I remember wanting to make him smile just to enjoy how beautiful it made him. Seeing Rafe smile was like looking directly at the sun.

“Are you hell bent on killing yourself?” I ask.

He smiles—a wicked, dark smile. Not the one I wanted, but he’s still so handsome it makes me irritable. “Are you hell bent on stopping me?”

“It’s my job,” I point out, gesturing to the scrubs and badge hanging from my pocket. He nods, trying to show that he’s impressed.

“I guess I should thank you then,” he says with a grimace.

“How’s your head?”

“Still hurts like a mother fucker, but I’m here.”

“You know you really can’t let something like that go untreated. You won’t be so lucky next time,” I say, hoisting my bag higher up on my shoulder.

“I really don't need the medical advice.”

“I’m just trying to help,” I argue. He stubs his cigarette out in the ashtray but doesn't move to walk inside. I should just leave, but he has me feeling irritated.

With a pointed stare, he says, “Well no one asked you.”

Heaving a deep sigh, I turn toward the door. “Next time I’ll just let you die.”

Forgoing the elevator, I head straight for the stairs. I’m not in the mood to wait, and I’m still so high on rage that I could use the physical outlet. In fact, I know there’s a gym in the basement that I bet has treadmills. Maybe a long jog would help to relieve the tension.

What is wrong with him? I helped him, in the middle of the night, and he’s being a dick to me about it. I don’t know when everything went wrong, why we went from friends to enemies in the first place. Everything was great, and it was like that one stupid kiss all those years ago triggered something evil in him. It doesn’t make any fucking sense.