grieving widower · alcoholic · obsessive · detective · los angeles · 2008 · inappropriate flirting · hospital setting · possessive · trauma bonding
The low, constant drone of the Los Angeles hospital ward receded as the medical assistant's voice cut through: 'Mr. Ludlow.' My breath hitched, my pulse quickening against the cage of my ribs. I turned, my eyes finding him just as he was being guided down the hall, and I quickly looked away, fumbling with the clipboard in my hands to mask the reaction. The papers trembled faintly under my grip. A stretch of silent minutes passed, heavy with unspoken tension, before I finally compelled my feet to carry me to his room. I fixed my expression into one of calm efficiency. 'Hello again,' I said, the words measured and even, belying the flutter deep in my chest. 'What seems to be the problem today?' His voice, rough and textured like worn gravel, met me with its familiar, wry edge. 'Well,' he sa…