Confucius Jane (18 page)

And then she saw the envelope. It was large and thick and covered in stamps, including one from U.S. Customs. The words L
UNDS
U
NIVERSITET
were stenciled along the bottom, next to the university's crest in the lower left corner. Her hands—the steady, surgeon's hands she had inherited from her father—became suddenly nerveless, and the envelope fell to the floor.

Jane bent to pick it up. “Here, you dropped—oh.” She held it out, wide eyes meeting Sutton's. “Is this…?”

Sutton nodded and swallowed hard. “One of the places I applied. Yes.” She hugged the envelope to her chest and took a deep breath, trying to get her body and mind back under control.

“I should go.” Jane took a step back. “Let me know what it says, okay? My fingers are crossed. You deserve it.”

“No.” Sutton blurted out the word before thinking. “I mean … could you stay?”

“Of course. Whatever you want.”

“I want to open this upstairs.” Sutton turned and slotted her key into the door. Her hands were steady now. The onslaught of adrenaline had passed, leaving her sharp-eyed and alert. The envelope was thick. That probably meant good news, but she refused to allow herself any more speculation than that.

She set a faster pace than usual up the stairs, and by the time she reached the third-floor landing, she was a little winded. Jane had kept up, and her silent closeness was a comfort as Sutton walked briskly down the corridor. Her apartment door stuck a little, as always, but she put her shoulder to it, and in another moment they were inside. She had one instant in which to feel thankful that she always kept her living space clean before the weight of the package in her hands burned all other thoughts from her brain. She shrugged out of her coat, dropped the rest of the mail on the table, and swiftly tore open the envelope. It contained a stack of printed materials, on top of which was a letter embossed with the university seal and addressed to “Dr. St. James.” Her title was still new enough to seem foreign, as though she had usurped it from her father. But no—it was hers by right. She was no imposter, and this letter had nothing to do with him.

Congratulations. The Lund Center for Stem Cell Biology and Cell Therapy has selected you as one of the recipients of a postdoctoral fellowship …

Sutton exhaled slowly as relief rushed in to fill the void vacated by her anxiety. She had done it. She had secured her top-choice postdoc. The waiting was finally over.

As she stared down at the letter, blinking back tears, a pair of arms slid gently around her waist. Jane. Sutton leaned back, accepting the gentle embrace. Jane's chin came to rest on her shoulder, and Sutton could tell exactly when she read the first lines of the letter by how Jane's arms tightened.

“You did it,” she murmured, her warm breath cascading across the shell of Sutton's ear. “Congratulations, Doctor Sutton. How do you feel?”

Needing to see Jane's expression, Sutton turned. It felt so natural to rest her hands on Jane's arms as she gazed up into her smiling face. Green and gold dominated in her swirling hazel eyes, and she looked so happy. All for her.

“I feel … amazing.” Sutton smoothed her palms along Jane's lean biceps and across her shoulders before letting her fingers tangle in the short hairs at the back of her neck. Every touch sent a tiny jolt of electricity surging beneath her skin. For once, the sensation didn't frighten her. For once, she wanted to embrace it.

After so many years of rigorous study and laserlike focus, her plans were finally coming to fruition. For the first time since graduating college, she wanted to slow down. To take a deep breath and pause to rest, just for a little while, on her laurels. To take the time to stop and feel her own emotions, instead of pushing them aside in the name of her career. But what she wanted most of all in this moment was to feel Jane's mouth on hers. To know—to finally know—how they would fit together, and whether their connection was real or all in her head.

“You feel amazing, too,” she whispered as she rose up onto her toes and pressed their lips together.

Softness. Heat. Sutton lost herself in the sensations as Jane's mouth moved over hers with tender purpose. Instinctively, Sutton pressed closer and felt Jane's hands tighten against her lower back. When the very tip of Jane's tongue lightly touched hers, Sutton gasped into her mouth.

A heartbeat later, Jane pulled away. Her breaths were quick and shallow, her eyes dark and slightly unfocused. Discontent with the space between them, Sutton stroked her thumb across Jane's mouth. Jane caught her wrist, freezing her hand in place so she could kiss the sensitive pad. When she scraped her teeth across it, Sutton shivered.

“Why did you stop?” she asked.

With one last kiss to her fingertip, Jane released her. “I wanted to make sure it was what you really wanted.”

Sutton intertwined her fingers behind Jane's neck. “Your logic could use some work. I initiated, remember?”

Jane's eyes darkened. “Now it's my turn.” Fluidly, she dipped her head, taking Sutton's mouth as though she'd done it a hundred times before instead of only once. But Sutton refused to let her keep the lead. Tugging at Jane's hair, she took advantage of her low moan to slip inside. Lost in the wet heat, Sutton felt the flames spreading, licking beneath her skin like wildfire. She wanted Jane's touch. Everywhere. The realization tore the air from her lungs, and this time she was the one to break their connection.

“You okay?” Jane sounded as breathless as she felt.

“Yes.” Sutton nodded, not trusting herself with anything more than the monosyllable.

“You … I've never…” Jane was clearly flustered, and the pressure in Sutton's chest eased a little. “You're an incredible kisser.”

“So are you.” Sutton stroked the taut planes of Jane's shoulders as she looked up into her eyes. She saw her own desire mirrored there, but also something more—a tenderness that was at once wonderful and terrifying. “I'm probably going to hurt you.” The words were out before she could rethink them.

But Jane's arms didn't fall and her gaze never wavered. “Well, I'm no masochist, so I hope not. But I'll take my chances.”

“I just mean that I can't start something serious right now.” Sutton watched Jane closely, needing to know she understood.

Jane lightly massaged her lower back. “Because you might be in Sweden in a matter of months.”

“Exactly.”

“Well,” Jane said, her hands never stopping their soft, comforting strokes, “until then, all I want is to spend as much time as possible with you. How does that sound?”

Somewhere deep in Sutton's brain, an alarm was blaring. She ignored it. Jane's touch felt so good. She was tired of resisting. Why shouldn't she have what she wanted? Just for a little while.

“That sounds perfect.”

“You have to leave soon, don't you—for your lecture? How much time do we have?”

“Enough.” Sutton licked her lips and pulled Jane's head back down. “Enough for one more.”

 

C
HAPTER
N
INE

S
UTTON'S FINGERS FLEW OVER
the keyboard as she transcribed her notes from afternoon rounds. Her eyes felt gritty from lack of sleep, and her shoulders ached from her hunched position over the small corner desk. A few chairs over, Travis had cornered one of the female third-years and was trying to impress her with his description of his interview at Barrow Neurological Institute. Match Day was only a few days away, and everyone's anxiety was at a fever pitch. Sutton kept her head down, not wanting to give him any excuse to pull her into the conversation.

As soon as she got through these notes, she could flee this place and take refuge in Noodle Treasure. Glancing down at her watch, she saw that it was nearly four o'clock. All day, people had been commenting on how fine the weather was. Sutton had yet to set foot out of the hospital, but if it was still nice by the time she left, perhaps she could convince Jane to go on a walk. A leisurely stroll sounded like just the thing to clear her head. They could hold hands and listen to the city, and perhaps she would even steal a kiss or two.

Quite suddenly, the persistent buzz of human conversation ceased, like birdsong in the jungle at the approach of a lion. Frowning, Sutton raised her head. Her attention was immediately diverted by the sight of Travis getting to his feet.

“Dr. St. James.” He was up and out of his seat before Sutton had even registered the fact that her father, immaculately dressed in a three-piece navy suit, was standing at the door to the cramped computer lab. Immediately, dread spiraled in her stomach. This was the first time he had ever visited her at the hospital, and she couldn't imagine it boded well. She watched as he shook Travis's hand and listened to his sycophantic praise with an indulgent expression. He didn't seem angry or upset, but then again, he had an audience.

“Hi, Dad,” she said, careful to keep her voice neutral.

“Hello, Sutton. I just stopped by for a brief chat. Do you have a moment?”

“Of course.” As she saved her work, logged out, and grabbed her notebook, Sutton racked her brains for what might have motivated his unprecedented visit. Had something happened to her mother? But he was taking his time saying his good-byes to Travis and the others, so surely whatever had brought him here wasn't overly urgent. Her mother was probably just fine—or whatever passed for that these days.

“This way,” he said, guiding her down the hallway to the right. “When I informed Rick that I needed to speak with you, he offered me his office.”

Sutton's anxiety surged again. If he hadn't come bearing bad news, then why did they need to speak privately in Dr. Buehler's office? “Is this about Mom?” she blurted, unable to hold back the question.

He frowned, but in another moment the expression had transformed into the broad, trademark smile he always used in front of the media. This time, it was aimed at one of the attending physicians who was walking down the hall toward them. “Denise, wonderful to see you.”

As soon as she had passed, the smile disappeared. He gripped Sutton's arm at the elbow and leaned in close. “No, this is not about your mother.”

The words were spoken with a quiet vehemence that made Sutton feel like the wayward child she had never been. Over the past few years, she had respected her mother's desire to keep her diagnosis a secret, even though she didn't like the implication that MS was something to be ashamed of. Sometimes, her father seemed even more obsessed with keeping the news away from the public. But perhaps he was just being protective.

Sutton accompanied him the rest of the way in silence. Once the door had closed, he walked across the shag carpet to the dark, oak-paneled desk. For a moment, Sutton wondered whether he would actually sit in Buehler's chair. And then he rounded on her, one finger pointed in accusation.

“Do you have any idea what you've done?”

For a moment, Sutton stood blinking at him in confusion, before epiphany dawned. Her article. The latest issue of
The Journal of Stem Cell Research & Therapy
must have come out today. She'd been so preoccupied with rounds that she hadn't even realized it.

“What on earth were you thinking?” he continued. “You've stirred up a hornet's nest and made me look like a fool. When the chairman of the Medical Ethics Committee called earlier to ask if my views on stem-cell research have changed, I had no idea what he was talking about. He had to send me a link to your damn article!”

Despite the layer of sweat she could feel on her palms, Sutton refused to be cowed. She had done nothing wrong. Squaring her shoulders, she looked her father in the eyes. “And what did you tell him?”

“That, as I have always said, the use of stem cells in medical research is not only unethical but deplorable. We do not play God, Sutton.”

Sutton could feel her temperature rising. Her father had never spoken to her like this before, and he had no right to do so now. She wasn't one of his political opponents or lackeys.

“I take it you didn't read one word then, did you? Because if you had, you might have realized why I published it. There's so much that stem-cell therapy might be able to do, if we study it properly.” She took a step closer to him. “It might be able to help Mom. It might be able to stop her deterioration, or cure her.”

“That's entirely beside the point if we are compromising—”

A red haze settled over Sutton's vision. “Beside the point? Healing is beside the point? You may not condone stem-cell research, but there are plenty of well-respected physicians and scientists who do. This is an issue of debate in the medical community, not a political platform. It deserves investigation. We're scientists, Dad. That's what we do!”

The longer she spoke, the more mottled his face became. By the time she had finished, his cheeks were nearly purple and his upraised hand was quivering with rage. But when he spoke, his voice was eerily quiet.

“Don't you dare presume to tell me what ‘we' do, Sutton. I've been a pillar of your ‘medical community' since before you were born. I've shaped the direction of medicine in this country for decades, and I'll be damned before I listen to my own flesh and blood preach to me about ‘what we do.' I've handed you your career on a silver platter, and this is how you show your gratitude?”

Sutton couldn't believe what she was hearing. The terrible insecurity crashed down on her, confirming her worst fears. In the space of a single sentence, he had erased her years of hard work, her struggles, her sacrifices. Nothing she had done—nothing she could ever do—would matter. All those times when she had believed herself to be in control? Illusions. He had made her, and now he could unmake her.

Despair loomed, and she wrapped her arms around her chest to ward off a shiver. The shreds of her pride demanded that she not fall apart in front of him. If only Jane were here to hold her, just as she had done as Sutton read and reread the letter from Lund.