“Ah. Sounds like it’s time to get him on daily doses. Why don’t you put him in exam room three. I’ll meet you there in a minute,” Dr. Collins drawled, raking his eyes up and down her body, settling on her chest. Even when she wore loose scrubs, the man had the ability to make her feel naked.

“Okay, but right away.” She wanted to jam her fist down his throat, grab him by his goddamn phony Colonel Sanders vocal cords, and swing him around the room. It made her stomach roll to let him get away with his creep-ass behavior, but she only had to put up with the pig for a few more weeks. Once he signed off on her practicum, she planned to turn him into bacon.

Besides, he was the only one who could help her son right now. Keeping her lips pressed firmly together, Angel nodded and quickly retraced her steps to the waiting room.

Jose had been a healthy baby. Then, last year, he got pneumonia. Since then, he’d complained of an occasional tightening in his chest and start to wheeze. But a single puff from his inhaler had always solved it. Today is different. I need Dr. Collins to fix this. Through the open doors, she saw Jose sitting slumped in a chair. Her heart quailed. Even if that means selling my soul.

Gabriela was nowhere in sight. But there was a lanky man wearing sweats and a baseball cap, next to her son, talking to him. She hurried across the room.

“You like baseball, huh? You on a team?” The man’s voice was mellow, the brim of his cap angled low. He was around her age and vaguely familiar. Is he the water delivery guy?

“Yeah.” Jose sat up straighter as she approached, but his eyes were foggy, his voice rough and far away.

“What position do you play?”

“I like…” Jose took in a slow, agonizing breath, a tiny hand pressed against his chest, “shortstop.”

“Easy, buddy. In … out … good. Shortstop is a great position. Very important to the team. With those long arms, I bet you get a lot of those grounders, huh?” When he realized someone was standing over them, the man glanced up.

Angel startled. From under the bill of his baseball cap, he peered at her with sharp, translucent eyes, a surprising green against his warm mahogany skin. He had high cheekbones and his lips were sculpted perfection. Maybe I’ve seen him on a billboard?

He broke their locked gaze, furrowing his brow at Jose as he struggled to answer the man’s question.

The seven-year-old shut his eyes. “Yeah.” Big, shallow breath. “I’m mad fast.” Ragged cough.