Chapter 24: The Ick

••~~MADDISON~~••

Oh come on, Maddison… this is Corian’s doctor. How could that give you the ick?

My eyes trailed where he was looking. Corian had art on basically every wall.... bold, moody pieces that looked like they’d been through some shit. One canvas behind him grabbed me; all shadows, messy smudges, and these deep, bleeding reds. His art made this huge, cold billionaire house feel a little less like a museum and a little more like… somebody actually lived here. Like somebody actually felt stuff.

With this much art around, he was either a hardcore collector… or he had one hell of a plug.

“I’m Avi Grosche. You must be….” The doctor extended a hand I felt weirdly obligated to take.

Tearing my eyes away from the art pieces, “Maddison Summers.”

His hand was soft. Cold. Weird.

“Nice to meet you,” I offered, even though something about his aura made my gut twitch.

“Let’s use the den,” he said, gesturing. “It’s where I see most of Corian’s women.”

Wait. What?

My smile froze.

He said women.

He chuckled, raising both hands. “Don’t worry, I don’t bite.”

Yeah. That’s exactly what a biter would say.

I followed him, mostly because I didn’t want to stand there asking dumb questions. But my stomach was knotting. Why did the phrase Corian’s women make me feel like I’d just licked battery acid?

I’m a freaking escort. Temporary entertainment. Rent-a-girlfriend. Corian could have a whole harem and it shouldn’t matter.

And yet; jealousy, that uninvited bitch, just barged right in.... just like it did with that Shawny lady.

I swallowed the bile of jealousy down or atleast I tried to.

Avi clearly knew his way around the house. He led me into the den, dark wood walls, black leather chairs, a pool table and a giant canvas on the far side that looked an awful lot like something I would’ve painted in one of my 3 a.m. spirals.

My eyes were stuck for couple seconds; a dark, bleeding expressionist piece. I hadn’t noticed it when Ausley gave me the tour.

It looked very different from the rest of the paintings in Corian’s house.

It looked like mine.

If I didn’t know for sure I didn’t paint that I could have sworn I did.

“Have a seat, Maddison.” Avi motioned toward one of the black leather chairs.

I tore my eyes off the painting and sat, watching him unzip a tiny cooler bag and lay out his tools like he was setting up brunch. Latex gloves. Alcohol swab. Syringe. All neat. All clinical.

“It’s a quick one,” he said, snapping on the gloves. “Just a little pinch in the hip. Hopefully you’re not pain-shy.”

I let out a small snort. “Not lately. Not ever, really,” I muttered under my breath, almost like I was just having an honest conversation with myself.

He gave a soft chuckle, like he’d caught the part I didn’t actually mean to share.

Mind slipping your jeans down a little? Just enough to get to your hip,” he said gently.

I shifted in the chair, suddenly a little self-aware, my fingers hooking into my waistband as I tugged my jeans down just enough to bare the curve of my hip.

He crouched beside me, syringe in hand, moving calmly like this was nothing new for him.... like he’d done it a million times.

Something about his smile reminded me of John, mom’s doctor ex-boyfriend. He had a sweet face but a jackass heart. He once pumped mom full of sedatives just so his two-timing ass could go suck face with the neighbor’s daughter.

“You mind if I ask… how’d you and Corian meet?” The words yanked me straight outta my memory, right from Mom’s sedated slump to this guy crouched beside me with a loaded syringe.

I narrowed my eyes, one brow lifting. “I don’t think Corian would want me talking about that.”

“Mmm.” He smiled, tapping the syringe like he was keeping beat. “Just making conversation, Maddison.”

“I’d rather not say,” I muttered, shifting slightly in the chair.

He smiled again. That sweet smile. But I saw it now; something under that sweet little face. Something else.

Really, Maddison? Psyching out a man Corian’s probably trusted for years? His doctor, for God’s sake. He literally sticks needles in him for a living, and here you are playing off-brand Elena Holmes.

Still... can you blame me? When you grow up checking your mom’s pulse more times than your own, paranoia stops being a flaw. It becomes instinct.

He swabbed my hip. The alcohol was cold. Tingly. The shot came fast. No warning. I winced. He didn’t blink. Just pressed the bandage and smiled again. “All done.”

I was already tugging my jeans back up when the words just… slipped.

“So you do this for all his… women?”

Like... what? A hundred? A thousand? Corian’s Women Incorporated?

He shrugged. “Corian calls, I show up. Though lately… I think he’s being very reckless. Given his condition.”

My head whipped to him. My heart pinched with the thought. The image of his funeral arrangement papers sneaking into my head.

“Given his health condition… he should be more careful,” he added.

Okay, and now we’re oversharing? Because if Avi knew Corian as well as he claimed to, he should also know the golden rule: shut your damn mouth. But here he was, flapping. Freely.

And not that I was complaining... not entirely. Because Corian wouldn’t talk about it. And for some dumb, dangerous reason… I cared.

“About that,” I pushed gently. “His condition… how bad is it?”

“I don’t think he’d want me talking about that with you.”

Right. Of course.

But I didn’t shut up. Because I couldn’t. The fixer part of me just couldn’t.

“When you say reckless... what exactly do you mean?”

He peeled the gloves off slowly, his eyes flicking to mine. “Missing appointments. Not consistent with his pills.”

Oh shit.

“What?” he asked, eyes catching mine.

I looked down. “I… might’ve accidentally dumped his bottle in the sink. It fell. I didn’t realize….”

He blinked. “How long ago was this?”

“A couple days ago.”

He cursed under his breath, tight-jawed. The first real crack in his calm. “Great,” he muttered. “Just… perfect.”

He zipped up his kit with a little too much force.

I stood. “I wish there was something I could do.”

“There is,” he said flatly, slipping the gloves into his bag. “I brought a new bottle. But he’s being stubborn about it.”

Then he paused, looked me over a little too long. Like I was suddenly very useful.

“You could make him it.”

“Make him?” I laughed, but it came out stiff. “I can’t make Corian Van Halen do anything.”

He cocked his head, giving me that not-so-sweet smile. “Well… seeing that you dumped his pills… you encouraged the behavior. Seems fair you balance it out. After all you are his new…,” his eyes did that thing; drifted down and back up, “woman, and since you’re clearly enjoying the perks… it’s only fair you handle the mess, don’t you think?”

God, the throwaway tone.

I froze. Then blinked. Once. Twice.

I stood, arms crossing, heat rising up my throat. “Excuse me, but I’m not going to let you judge me. You don’t even know me.”

“I’m sorry if you feel that way.” He zipped his bag, stepping back. “But his condition is pretty serious and unless you want Mr. Van Halen to die on you… you’ll make sure he takes those pills.”

God, was I making Corian worse? Was I literally killing him with just that one reckless mistake?

It chilled me.

I stared at him. He stared back.

Then he turned and walked toward the door, turned back again like he forgot to say something.

“I’m truly sorry if I overstepped. I just really care about him. I don’t expect you to understand. It’s not like you are supposed to care about him. It’s not like you’ll be here for long anyway.”

And just like that, he was gone.

I stood frozen. I watched the door close and felt it: a coil of unease tightening in me, impossible to ignore.

Was I just being paranoid?

Or was something about Avi Grosche… deeply off?

Is Corian’s trusted doctor hiding something?..... and does it have something to do with Corian?