Ruin (Rhodes #1) by Rina Kent

                             Screw these bastards. Aaron appears like he took a trip to hell and came back. Why did they discharge him so soon? Aren’t they worried about him?

                             “He’s not my brother.” A strangled hoarse voice similar to Aaron’s pulls my attention. The words escape his lips with exhausted breaths. “He’s my cousin.”

                             I glance at Tristan then at Aaron. They’re not brothers? It’s hard to believe with all the similarities they share. They look as if they’ve been painted by the same veteran artist.

                             “My father adopted him.” Tristan smiles, throwing a side glare at Aaron. “He’s legally my brother.”

                             Oh. Tristan must be Alexander’s son. Nevertheless... “How could you let him out in this state?” I shout.

                             “He insisted.” Tristan uses his gentleman voice, both hands in his trousers’ pockets, seeming unaffected by my outburst. “There isn’t much they can do for him anymore. Nothing that he can’t do himself, anyway.”

                             I tap my foot on the ground. “Why not? It’s not like he’s a doctor.”

                             “He is.” Dylan smiles and, when he sees my perplexed expression, continues. “Aaron has his general practitioner degree and cut off in the midst of his trauma surgery residency.”

                             I stumble back two steps as I glance between the three men, probably looking like an idiot. Aaron is a doctor? Holy. Hell.

                             “Get out.” Despite the tiredness and hoarseness in his voice, the harshness of Aaron’s order still comes through.

                             Tristan nods once before leaving. Dylan, on the other hand, pierces Aaron with a stern gaze. “This isn’t over.”

                             Aaron glares at Dylan as the latter strolls out and closes the door behind him.

                             Except for Aaron’s ragged breaths, silence hugs the room in a tight embrace. It pulsates between us in a million unsaid words.

                             What should I do? Leave, too? But I don’t want to. Do I go to him? What do I say?

                             A wince escapes Aaron as he tries to remove his jacket. He grits his teeth until his jaw ticks, but he still can’t remove the piece of clothing. My feet move to him without thoughts.

                             A mixture of hospital smell and Aaron’s enticing cedar hits me as soon as I stand before him. I take a deep breath to calm my insides before helping him out of his jacket. God. He’s become so thin, pale, and... sick. He can’t breathe straight, his chest raises and falls in an irregular pace.

                             The idiot. He needs help. What type of doctor is he?

                             He swallows a few times, his hand moves to unbutton his shirt. I push it aside, harsher than intended, and take over the task. “You’re obviously not doing well. Why would you discharge yourself? Oh, God—” My voice breaks at the view of a large bandage covering his torso, blood soaking half of it.

                             “It’s dried.” Aaron heaves. “Can you hand me the box on the nightstand?”

                             I keep glancing at the bandage, half expecting the dry blood to transform into the pool that surrounded Aaron the day he was shot. Shaking my heard, I give him the white box.