not.” He shook his head clear, forced his focus where it belonged. “Your test results are excellent, Gene. You’re one of IDEA’s most astounding success stories.”
The old gray eyes that met his filled with tears. “You sure gave that clinic of yours the right name. Might be an acronym for integrated something—”
“Integrated Diagnostics through Experimental Analysis,” Oliver supplied.
“Whatever. The idea of IDEA is great. I don’t know how to thank you, Dr. Bradbury. And, of course, Dr. Mahesh. A year ago I couldn’t get out of bed, certain I’d been handed a death sentence. Yesterday I shot a seventy-nine. That’s remarkable, young man, I don’t care what you call it.”
“I call it remission, Gene.” Not a complete cure, but damn close. “And that’s what the research and medical team there calls our goal.” He added an easy smile. “And you know Raj isn’t going to be happy until you break seventy-five.”
Eugene laughed. “I’m just thrilled to be golfing. He’s a competitor, your partner, that’s for sure.”
“We both are, and we’re both enjoying a victory with your progress,” Oliver told him. “Best we’ve ever seen on a leukemia patient.” Oliver reached out his hand to shake Eugene’s hand, anxious to get back to Zoe and finish the conversation but unwilling to rush this patient, especially after Eugene had waited to see him.
Instantly, the other man took a step forward and held out his arms. “Hey, give me one of those guy hugs.”
Oliver complied, fighting a smile and that warm, welcome sense of satisfaction in his chest. He’d made the right choice in leaving hospital administration for the far less stable world of research medicine, partnering with Raj Mahesh, working with an incredibly talented team of researchers, and getting back to the rewarding business of saving lives.
The move may have cost him his marriage, his high-profile position in Chicago’s society, along with a steady—and monstrous—paycheck, but Gene Carlson’s hug was worth the fee.
Another set of footsteps padded in the hall, almost as fast as Evan’s and made by someone in sandals.
“I’ll see you in three months, Gene,” he said, trying not to rush out of the room even though his whole being wanted to make a mad dash to stop Zoe before she left.
But that would be like trying to stop the sun from rising. Trying to stop waves on the sand or a storm blowing in from the Gulf of Mexico. Nothing could stop the inevitable.
“By then I’ll have a new granddaughter,” Eugene said, dragging Oliver back to the moment.
“I’ll expect pictures, then.” Waiting a polite beat, he opened the door and headed into the hall as the door to the reception area clicked closed. He hustled forward, pulling the door open to nearly mow down his son.
“Evan, what are you doing out here? I told you to stay in the break room.” He looked over the child’s shoulder through the darkly tinted glass door in time to see a big white Jeep whip out of a parking spot, blond curls behind the steering wheel.
Not that he was surprised. But that didn’t change the needle-jab of disappointment right to his chest. “Damn it,” he murmured, an echo of a wound that had long ago stopped festering. Or so he’d thought.
Evan’s face mirrored how Oliver imagined his own looked. Deflated. “You should have hired her to be my sitter, Dad.”
Behind him, Johanna lifted a dubious brow. “I don’t think she’d have made a suitable nanny, Dr. Bradbury.”
Oliver sliced her with a cold look. “When I want your opinion, I’ll ask for it.”
“You want my opinion?” Evan asked. “I liked her. I thought she was funny.”
“You talked to her?”
“Yeah. She’s pretty, too.”
No kidding. “Did you tell her you’re my son?”
“Of course. Will she be back?”
Wasn’t that the million-dollar question? “I don’t know. She’s…enigmatic.” He opened the door to the offices and held it for his
The old gray eyes that met his filled with tears. “You sure gave that clinic of yours the right name. Might be an acronym for integrated something—”
“Integrated Diagnostics through Experimental Analysis,” Oliver supplied.
“Whatever. The idea of IDEA is great. I don’t know how to thank you, Dr. Bradbury. And, of course, Dr. Mahesh. A year ago I couldn’t get out of bed, certain I’d been handed a death sentence. Yesterday I shot a seventy-nine. That’s remarkable, young man, I don’t care what you call it.”
“I call it remission, Gene.” Not a complete cure, but damn close. “And that’s what the research and medical team there calls our goal.” He added an easy smile. “And you know Raj isn’t going to be happy until you break seventy-five.”
Eugene laughed. “I’m just thrilled to be golfing. He’s a competitor, your partner, that’s for sure.”
“We both are, and we’re both enjoying a victory with your progress,” Oliver told him. “Best we’ve ever seen on a leukemia patient.” Oliver reached out his hand to shake Eugene’s hand, anxious to get back to Zoe and finish the conversation but unwilling to rush this patient, especially after Eugene had waited to see him.
Instantly, the other man took a step forward and held out his arms. “Hey, give me one of those guy hugs.”
Oliver complied, fighting a smile and that warm, welcome sense of satisfaction in his chest. He’d made the right choice in leaving hospital administration for the far less stable world of research medicine, partnering with Raj Mahesh, working with an incredibly talented team of researchers, and getting back to the rewarding business of saving lives.
The move may have cost him his marriage, his high-profile position in Chicago’s society, along with a steady—and monstrous—paycheck, but Gene Carlson’s hug was worth the fee.
Another set of footsteps padded in the hall, almost as fast as Evan’s and made by someone in sandals.
“I’ll see you in three months, Gene,” he said, trying not to rush out of the room even though his whole being wanted to make a mad dash to stop Zoe before she left.
But that would be like trying to stop the sun from rising. Trying to stop waves on the sand or a storm blowing in from the Gulf of Mexico. Nothing could stop the inevitable.
“By then I’ll have a new granddaughter,” Eugene said, dragging Oliver back to the moment.
“I’ll expect pictures, then.” Waiting a polite beat, he opened the door and headed into the hall as the door to the reception area clicked closed. He hustled forward, pulling the door open to nearly mow down his son.
“Evan, what are you doing out here? I told you to stay in the break room.” He looked over the child’s shoulder through the darkly tinted glass door in time to see a big white Jeep whip out of a parking spot, blond curls behind the steering wheel.
Not that he was surprised. But that didn’t change the needle-jab of disappointment right to his chest. “Damn it,” he murmured, an echo of a wound that had long ago stopped festering. Or so he’d thought.
Evan’s face mirrored how Oliver imagined his own looked. Deflated. “You should have hired her to be my sitter, Dad.”
Behind him, Johanna lifted a dubious brow. “I don’t think she’d have made a suitable nanny, Dr. Bradbury.”
Oliver sliced her with a cold look. “When I want your opinion, I’ll ask for it.”
“You want my opinion?” Evan asked. “I liked her. I thought she was funny.”
“You talked to her?”
“Yeah. She’s pretty, too.”
No kidding. “Did you tell her you’re my son?”
“Of course. Will she be back?”
Wasn’t that the million-dollar question? “I don’t know. She’s…enigmatic.” He opened the door to the offices and held it for his
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