The Girl Who Always Wins (Soulless Book 13)

by Victoria Quinn

  He slowly turned to look at me, his dark eyes focused like they were at the office.

  “And to counteract that…you prescribe an anti-inflammatory.”

  “That sounds like a reach—”

  “Did you check to see if there are inflammatory markers in their blood?”

  “They don’t have autoimmune diseases, so there’s no reason to check—”

  “Check. Just in case. Because if there are and they don’t have a disease, then there’s something going on.”

  The door opened, and Dr. Jamil stepped inside.

  Atlas immediately forgot our topic of discussion and sat up straight. “Dr. Jamil.” He shook his hand. “Atlas Beaumont.”

  “It’s nice to meet you.” Dr. Jamil took a seat with my chart in hand. “Just going to do some standard blood work to see what’s going on. An ultrasound. Just a routine check-up.”

  Atlas gave a nod, his eyes showing his fear.

  “Hop on.” Dr. Jamil moved to the table and helped me into position.

  Atlas stayed in his seat instead of joining me, like he was too weak to get up.

  My belly was revealed, the lights were flicked off, and then the ultrasound began.

  In silence, Dr. Jamil moved the probe over my stomach, searching for the fetus inside me. After a couple minutes, he found it, taking a couple pictures. “Here’s your baby.” He pointed at the screen. “You see this coloration and these lines?”

  I stared, seeing it before he even pointed it out. “Yeah…”

  “Looks like you’re about six weeks. Everything looks normal.”

  Atlas stared at the floor.

  I turned to look at him. “Atlas?”

  He clenched his jaw slightly, like he wanted to have a blowup but wouldn’t do it in front of the doctor.

  Dr. Jamil excused himself. “I’ll give you two a minute…” He peeled off his gloves and walked out.

  Atlas stayed in his chair, eyes still on the floor.

  “Come here,” I whispered.

  He shook his head.

  “Atlas…”

  “I’ve done this before… I can’t do it again.” His eyes were coated with a film, angry tears behind his eyes.

  “This time could be different—”

  “What if it’s not?”

  “Then you should still take a look with me.”

  He gave a shake of his head.

  “Atlas.”

  When he blinked, a tear dropped and moved down his cheek.

  “There’s a chance this will be different. And if it is, you’re going to regret staying in that chair.”

  He leaned forward, his joined hands coming together at his mouth, and after a breath, he got to his feet and joined me. His hand moved to mine, and he stared at the screen.

  “Right there…” I pointed at the screen.

  He swallowed. “Yeah…I see him.”

  21

  Atlas

  It was hard to be on my game like I was before.

  Distracted.

  Every time Daisy called me, I was afraid the phone would carry her sobs. She would deliver the bad news that I’d been dreading since the moment she’d told me she was pregnant. I prepared myself for it to make it easier, but I knew there was no amount of preparation that would make the loss less difficult.

  None.

  She was two and a half months along now. We spent that time focused on work, doing our walks together in the evenings, living normal lives. We didn’t buy baby clothes or diapers, and no one gifted us those things either.

  Because they all knew.

  I’d made that mistake before, and after the first time, my ex-wife and I never bought anything again.

  “I just saw these orders in the same system.” Deacon sat in the chair beside me, holding a couple charts. “Why are you running these markers?”

  I snapped back into the moment. Before that, I’d just been staring at the screen. “The inflammatory markers?”

  “Yes.”

  “Just want to check if they have those markers.”

  “We already know none of them has an autoimmune disease.”

  “Yeah, but I just want to see something.”

  “Is this about the B cells?”

  “Yes.”

  His eyes narrowed. “Atlas, we need to move on from that. Insanity is repeating the same experiment twice and expecting different results. We need to keep looking—”

  “I’m exploring every piece of data I come across. I’m not focused on this, but I have to see it through.”

  He was a calm colleague most of the time, but whenever he felt like we were wasting time or doing the patients wrong, he got angry. He looked at the screen and released a sigh. “Fine. But if they’re negative, enough of this.”

  “I’m looking into the other panels, and I have a few other ideas.”

  “Then make it happen. Because every moment you waste on the wrong thing…is another patient we lose.”

  Geez, way to lay it on me. “I promise you, I’m doing everything I possibly can.” I couldn’t get mad at him, not just because he was my father-in-law, not just because he was my boss, but because I knew his anger stemmed from a good place. He just cared. A lot.

  He pulled the charts in front of him and made a few notes.

  I ignored the tension the best I could.

  “How’s Daisy doing?”

  “Starting to show a bit.”

  “That’s wonderful.”

  “Yeah…” These next weeks would be the longest and shortest of my life. The closer the second trimester came, the more the deadline approached. She’d be hit with nausea that wasn’t morning sickness—and we’d know. Her body would struggle to process the miscarriage, and the pain and emotional turbulence would leave her in bed for days.

  Deacon looked at me, his hostility gone. “So far, so good, right?”

  I gave a nod.

  “Any wedding plans?”

  “Honestly, we haven’t even talked about it. All we’ve been focused on is…that.”

  His hand went to my shoulder, and he gave me a squeeze. “You’ll know in a couple weeks.”

  “Yeah.”

  “She tells me you’re doing your best to be supportive, but she can see you struggle.”

  “I’ve never been a good liar.”

  “Then don’t lie. Believe.”

  “You’ve never lost a child. You can’t make it sound so easy. Every time you went to your wife’s ultrasounds and saw that beating heart on the screen, it was a joyous moment…not a taunt. Not torture.”

  “You’re right,” he said calmly. “But you have to believe anyway.”

  When I came home, I smelled dinner. “What smells good?”

  “Mexican food.”

  “You made Mexican food?” I dropped my bag on the couch and moved into the kitchen.

  “Sorta…”

  “How do you sorta make something?”

  “Well, I ordered it. Does that count?” She held up the plates where the food was dished up, the to-go containers behind her.

  I smiled before I kissed her. “Sure, baby.”

  We moved to the dining table and ate across from each other.

  “What’s going on at the hospital?” she asked.

  “I ordered those labs. Your dad got mad.”

  “Mad?” she asked incredulously. “Why?”

  “Thinks it’s a waste of time.”

  She sliced her fork into her enchilada and took a bite. “He can be really intense sometimes.”

  “Yes, I’ve learned that.”

  “When my mom had cancer, Derek tried to bring her ice cream, and Dad acted like he was trying to kill her. He just gets really intense in dire situations. He’s racing the clock, seeing more patients pass away than he wants, and he’s on edge. My mom said he’s been a shithead at home.”

  “A shithead?” I asked with a laugh. “I can’t think of another word to describe him less.”

  “Then you don’t know him th
at well.” She fished her hand into the bag of chips and scooped one into her cheese.

  “Define shithead.”

  “Moody. Untalkative. Brooding. She’ll talk to him, and it’s like he can’t hear a word she’s saying. It’s really striking because he’s normally really attentive to my mom and gives her all of his focus once he walks in the door. But now, his mind is still at the hospital even when he gets home.”

  I had the opposite problem. I’d be at work, but my mind would be on her, thinking about the person trying to survive inside of her.

  “And shame on him for not exploring. That’s what you’re supposed to do.”

  “He just doesn’t want me to waste time.”

  “Exploring is never wasting time. Ignore him.”

  “He’s my boss…kinda hard to do.”

  “He’s not your boss. You work with him. Not for him.”

  It was hard to see it that way. “How was your day?”

  “I have this little girl who’s been having these constant seizures. And when I say constant, I meant literally every couple minutes. She can’t ride a bike, go on a slide, nothing. So, her doctors said they want to remove the part of her brain responsible for the seizures, but obviously—”

  “She’ll be intellectually and physically disabled for the rest of her life.”

  “Exactly. So, I’m trying to figure out if there’s something else going on because it’s possible she could have an infection in her spinal cord and brain. I had another patient who had all these serious symptoms, but they took too long to figure out what it was, and by the time they realized it was Lyme disease, it couldn’t be cured, just treated. So, if she does have an infection, it may take a long time to address it.”

  “Better than losing part of her brain.”

  “Yeah. So, let’s hope that’s what it is.” She continued to eat, the two of us swapping stories like we still worked together. Didn’t have to resort to weather talk and celebrity scandals.

  “Your dad asked about a wedding… Have you given it any thought?”

  “Lately, no. But I know exactly what I want, if that’s what you’re asking.”

  “Alright. What do you want?”

  “A big-ass wedding, of course. At the Hamptons. On the beach. A dress that’s slutty but also tasteful.”

  “Well, I only know like a dozen people, so it won’t be that big on my side.”

  “That’s fine. I just meant I don’t want it to be only family.”

  “When do you want to do that?”

  She shrugged and looked down at her food. “Not sure…with everything going on. I don’t want to get married after we have a kid. Not because having a kid out of wedlock bothers me, but…I want to be married when it’s still just the two of us. So…I don’t know. Maybe we can do something small. As long as I wear a sexy-ass wedding dress, I’m happy.”

  She talked about our baby like it was a done deal, like they would arrive with no hiccups, planning our wedding around it. I wouldn’t shatter her hopes and dreams, so I gave the response every man gives. “I’m happy to do whatever you want. Just tell me when to show up. I’ll be there.”

  “You don’t have any opinion at all?”

  I shook my head. “As long as you’re wearing a sexy-ass wedding dress, I’m happy.”

  “What the…?” The labs were in my hand, and I stared at the figures I’d been anticipating.

  They had the markers.

  I flipped to the next patient.

  Markers.

  And the next…markers.

  I wandered mindlessly to the desk, looking at the paperwork in my hands, unable to believe the data staring me right in the face. Were these markers present before the trial? Or did they pop up after the medication was given?

  Was this really the reason why some patients didn’t get better?

  And if I fixed it…would they all get better?

  The elevator doors opened, and Deacon emerged, in his blue scrubs with an open jacket on top. His bag was over his shoulder, and with a shadow over his face and bags under his eyes, he walked to the desk.

  I stared at him, unsure what to say, how to tell him this.

  He set his bag on the counter and pulled out his things without looking at me.

  “Deacon?”

  “Hmm?” He sat down and sighed. “Just tired.” He got to work.

  The labs were still in my hand. “I have some good news.”

  He swiveled in his chair toward me.

  I held out the papers to him. “They have inflammatory markers…every single one of them.”

  His gaze was locked with mine for several seconds before he looked at the papers I’d extended. He grabbed them then flipped through them, wearing that same intense expression. He took out his pen and marked each one with a check mark. When he set everything down and looked at me, there was a new look in his eyes. He wasn’t the brooding, pissed-off guy anymore. “Holy fucking shit…”

  “I’m in shock too.”

  “The medication is putting them in an inflammatory state. The patients that already have diabetes were already in this state prior to treatment…and that’s why it’s working.”

  “So, if we counter the inflammation, it should work for all of them. That can’t be possible, right? That just sounds too good to be true. I mean…that would mean we would have discovered a way to treat lung cancer…like a UTI or something.”

  He must have been rendered speechless because he didn’t know what to say.

  The greatest achievement of my career happened at the scariest time of my life because Daisy never left the back of my mind, our baby still inside her, still with us at this moment. But any day, that could be over.

  Maybe that was why I couldn’t process this.

  “I…I don’t know what to do.”

  Deacon relaxed into the chair, his entire body sinking into the material. It took him a moment to gather his thoughts. “We treat the inflammation…and save all our patients.”

  When I walked in the door, she was already home.

  She was on the couch in my t-shirt. She wore less sexy stuff around the house and opted for baggier clothing to hide her stomach. There wasn’t much of a stomach at all, but her clothes fit uncomfortably now, and if she continued to get bigger, she would need maternity clothes.

  If.

  All my excitement disappeared when I saw her because this was my reality.

  Tomorrow would be the three-month mark.

  Any moment, it could happen…and we would grieve forever.

  She looked up from her computer on her lap. “Hey. I ordered Chinese.”

  I came to the couch and set my bag down. I wasn’t thrilled about eating out more often, but I’d been so busy at the hospital that I didn’t have time to cook like I used to, and Daisy was terrible at it. “How are you doing?” I sat on the coffee table and faced her.

  “Fine,” she said. “No changes.”

  We had a doctor’s appointment tomorrow, and I was afraid what the ultrasound would reveal. Maybe she’d already had a miscarriage and didn’t even realize it yet.

  She brushed off my concern. “How was work?”

  “Um…” I released a laugh because I was still in disbelief.

  “Um?” she asked. “That’s an odd response.”

  “Because I’m in disbelief right now.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “Atlas, what happened?”

  “I tested for the inflammation markers…”

  She pushed her laptop aside and sat up straighter. “Oh. My. God.”

  “And they had it. Every single one.”

  She threw her arms down on her thighs. “Bitch, you lie.”

  “Nope. So, your father and I put them all on steroids. Now we just have to wait—”

  “It’s going to work.”

  “Fuck…I can’t even bring myself to think that.”

  “It’s going to work.”

  I shook my head.

  “This is one of the biggest advancemen
ts in medicine in…a decade.”

  “We don’t know that yet—”

  “Come on. Yes, we do. Dude, you’re going to win a Nobel!”

  “Dude?”

  “I’m sorry. I’m just so freakin’ excited right now. My dad must be…psycho.”

  “He’s overwhelmed.”

  “Oh my god, my dad is going to have two Nobel Prizes.”

  “We’re getting ahead of ourselves here—”

  “No other research or advancement is bigger than cancer, Atlas.”

  “We aren’t curing cancer. We’re controlling it. Like HIV or—”

  “What once was a death sentence is now a bump in the road.”

  I dropped my gaze and stared at my hands in disbelief.

  “I’m so proud of you.” Her hands reached out to mine and squeezed them.

  I squeezed them back, my heart beating so fast, it was like an iron fist banging on a door. I was so early in my career, and while I had high ambitions, I’d never expected to reach them—at least, not so quickly. All I wanted to do was make the world a better place, to help people, to give hope. To think I’d succeeded…was hard to believe. “I wish my parents were alive to see this…”

  Our research findings were forgotten the next day.

  When I had to take her to the obstetrician.

  There was nothing to do at the hospital since we had to wait to see how the medications were working, and there was no reason to be at the lab either because I was confident that this was the answer we’d been searching for.

  So, I stayed home.

  And waited.

  To keep myself busy, I picked up some groceries and prepped a couple meals. I made snacks for the house because I wasn’t a fan of takeout, but I didn’t have the time to change that. If I weren’t a physician, I would probably be a chef. But I already washed enough beakers in the lab. Couldn’t imagine doing all those dishes all the time.

  When the alarm went off on my phone, I knew it was time.

  I left our penthouse and went to her office.

  She was behind her desk in the office that had once belonged to me, looking over a mountain of paperwork that used to be my problem. She seemed to have forgotten the time because she didn’t look ready to leave.