Dani gave Edna her cane, then opened the office door. “Nurse Jenny? Can you call County and let them know Mr. Jenkins is coming in?” She squeezed Tommy’s hand. “Be nice to the hospital nurses, okay? They can make or break you.”

Scarlett took hold of the wheelchair handles and pushed Tommy into the waiting room. And stopped short.

“Diesel?” Scarlett asked. “What brings you here?”

Dani sucked in a startled breath. Diesel. He’s here. Oh God. He’s here.

She closed her eyes for the briefest of moments, calming her racing heart and schooling her features into the mask she always wore around him. The one that said she didn’t notice him. That she didn’t care. That she didn’t want him.

Because she did care, and she did want him. She really did. But she didn’t want him to know. Didn’t want to give him hope.

Because he did hope. Still. It was common knowledge among their circle of friends that Diesel Kennedy had been head over heels for her for a long, long time. They thought she didn’t see it. But she saw. She’d seen from the very beginning.

From that first moment when he’d walked into her clinic eighteen months ago—six feet, six inches and two hundred seventy-five pounds of solid muscle—she’d known. He’d stopped short, dark brown eyes going wide, skin abruptly paling so that his magnificent tattoos had stood out in stark contrast. He’d staggered backward out of the door that day, never saying a word. But there’d been want in his eyes, want that she’d understood, because she’d wanted him, too, just as suddenly. And so very much.

He was everything she’d ever desired. Big. Built. Bald. Tats covering his skin. She’d wanted to touch them that day. And every day thereafter.

But that was an impossibility.

She’d tried to let him down easy, with as much of the truth as she was able—or willing—to tell. She’d tried the “it’s not you, it’s me” speech, except she’d let him believe that she meant her positive status and not that she’d poisoned the only other relationship she’d had. The memory of her final moments with Adrian intruded, leaving her shaken and bitter. She wasn’t going to hurt Diesel the way she’d hurt Adrian. She couldn’t.

So she’d told him a partial truth, cited her status, tried to convince him that any kind of relationship was hopeless. He hadn’t cursed or whined or stomped off. He’d just looked her in the eye and nodded with that quiet reserve he wore so well.

He hadn’t gone on to someone else.

She wished he would. And was perversely glad he hadn’t.