“I know I messed up, but I really would like the chance to take you out.” He angled his body, forcing her to take a step back, and her left shoulder hit the wall. “Please? Would you give me a chance to get to know you, and show you I really am a nice guy?”

Lauren felt a little like she was caged in, and she didn’t like it. She tried to step to the right, but he blocked her. He put a hand against the wall near her head, his thick, veiny forearm at eye level.

“There’s something between us,” he said in a low voice. He reached up with his other hand and rubbed a section of her hair between his thumb and forefinger. Nausea swirled in her stomach. “There’s no way I’m the only one who feels it.”

Lauren straightened her spine and batted his hand away. “I’m sorry, Gavin, but there’s nothing here. I’m not playing games with you, I’m just not interested.” Lauren tried to keep her voice firm, but her pitch kept rising, which happened when she was nervous or uncomfortable.

“But we’d be so good together,” Gavin continued, crowding even closer to her.

Lauren looked him right in the eye. “Gavin, you’re the one being unprofessional. Please move and don’t ask me out again.”

A new voice came from the end of the hallway. “You heard her. Back the fuck up before I put you on the ground.”

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Eighteen

Gavin twisted around and Lauren’s head jerked to the end of the hallway, where Andrew stood with his legs planted, one slightly in front of the other, his arms at his sides. He took a deep breath and tried to stay calm, but one wrong move on that asshole’s part and Andrew would lose his shit.

He and Jeni had been headed to Mandi’s section for his treatment. Andrew had to stop in the restroom, and on his way back through the infusion center, he thought he heard Lauren’s voice. His heart had leapt because he’d missed her this morning, and he wanted to see her.

When he’d turned down the short hallway in the back corner of the infusion center, the scene in front of him had made him see red. The woman he loved stood with her back against the wall, her beautiful face pale and her posture tense. A man hovered over her, one arm appearing to block her exit, the other touching her hair, and his head bent close to hers.

Too damn close.

Images of Isla’s injuries flashed through his mind—photographs of bruises and lacerations, proof of the things a man could do to a woman when he wanted control and possession.