Scythe & Sparrow (The Ruinous Love Trilogy, #3)(9)

I shrug and give José a smile, but when I sniffle, his expression draws tight with regret. “Yeah, it’s cool. I get it,” I say as I clear my throat and push myself up a little higher, trying not to wince when my leg jostles in the foam block that keeps it suspended off the mattress. “I’ll be fine. I’ll catch up when I can.”

José gives me a smile, one that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. They might even be a little glassy, and that splits the cracks in my heart even wider. “Jim set your RV up at the Prairie Princess Campground just outside of town.”

“Sounds like a classy joint,” I deadpan.

“There’s a hookup there but we filled the generator with gas, just in case.”

I nod, unwilling to trust my voice to make words.

José takes a breath, probably preparing to launch into the thousand reasons why this unexpected time off is a “good thing,” and how maybe I’m overdue for some time off, but he’s cut off when Dr. Kane strides into the room.

And oh holy fuck, but he’s ten times hotter than I remember from the first time we met. He’s so pretty that it almost shocks me out of the burning ache in my chest at the circus leaving me behind. At least until I realize I probably look about as appealing as a bag of dicks. I think it actually makes my leg hurt less just to look at him with all his doctory seriousness and his stethoscope and his ridiculous good looks. His rich brown hair is swept into place. His sapphire eyes catch the afternoon sun that filters through the blinds. No activewear today, but I can still make out the athletic build beneath his white coat and pressed blue shirt and camel-colored pants. He glances from the tablet he clutches to me, then to José, then to José’s hand where it rests on my ankle.

His eyes narrow for just a heartbeat before his expression smooths. “I’m sorry to interrupt. I’m Dr. Kane,” he says as he extends a hand to José.

“José Silveria. Thank you for taking such good care of my Rose.” Dr. Kane’s expression is unreadable as he gives José a single nod. But José? I already know what he’s about to say. The delight is written all over his face. “Rose is my peque?o gorrión. My little sparrow. One of my best performers.”

“At the circus,” I say flatly. “I work at the circus.”

“Oh. That’s—”

“Tell me, are you married, Dr. Kane?”

I suppress a groan. Dr. Kane clears his throat, clearly thrown off, though I find it hard to believe he hasn’t heard overbearing questions like this before. “To my work,” he answers.

José chuckles and shakes his head. “I know how that goes. I used to be the same.”

“You’re still the same,” I say. “Speaking of which, don’t you have somewhere to be? You should be getting out of here or you’ll be setting up in the dark tonight.”




Part of me doesn’t want him to go. I wish more than anything that he’d pull up a seat and tell me stories of his younger years growing up in the circus, how he inherited a dying show and made it into a spectacle. I wish he’d tell me a lullaby of memories. That I’d wake up in my own bed, and that the last few days were nothing more than a dream that will be forgotten. But I also want to rip the Band-Aid from the wound. The longer José stays, the more likely I am to feel it, that hole in my chest that I don’t think will ever truly be filled, no matter how much I try to shore up its crumbling edges.

There’s not much I can get past José. He pushes between Dr. Kane and the bed to come to my side and press a kiss to my cheek. When he straightens, his eyes soften, the wrinkles that fan from their corners deepening with his smile. My nose stings, but I force the rising tears into submission. “Take care of yourself, peque?o gorrión. Give yourself some time. As much as you need.” I give him a jerk of a nod, and then José turns, extending a hand to Dr. Kane. “Thank you for your help, Dr. Kane.”

The doctor accepts the offered handshake, though he seems unsure, like he’s caught on José’s words. Before I can decode his expression, José draws him into a back-clapping hug. He whispers something to Dr. Kane, and the doctor’s eyes land on me, a blue that cuts through my layers to land somewhere deep and dark, where that hole seems to crumble a little more along its edges. Dr. Kane gives a slight nod in reply, then José gives him a final clap and lets him go. He turns at the threshold and gives me a wink. And then that’s it. José is gone, the wound left behind a little too fresh to cover beneath an apathetic mask.

Dr. Kane watches the door for a long moment, the tablet still clutched in his hands, his analytical stare locked on the space José just occupied. Then he turns to me, and the ache of abandonment I feel must linger in my face, because he immediately flashes me a smile that’s supposed to be reassuring but comes off as anything but.

“Is my leg going to fall off, Doc?”

A crease appears between his brows. “What? No.”

“You look like you’re going to tell me it’s rotting and about to fall off.”

“It’s going to be fine,” he says, nodding to my leg where it’s splinted and suspended on a foam block. “We put pearls in it.”

“Pearls?” I snort a laugh. “You’re into pearling? No offense, but you don’t strike me as the type, Doc.”