Jamie Brodie 01 - Cited to Death

skittish, like a deer in a clearing. Because I don't want to lose what relationship we do have, because friends with benefits is better than nothing. Because..." He stopped, and looked up, right into my eyes. "Because I love you. I always have. Since I first got to know you. And I'm afraid that you won't ever reciprocate that because you're so stuck in your past and so determined to prove that you’re self-sufficient. You're convinced that every guy you get involved with is going to leave you, so you never trust anyone, and they do leave you. It's a downward spiral, like this vortex you're stuck in. And I'm reaching out to you, to drag you into the boat, and you won't take my hand. It breaks my heart."
    I felt paralyzed. "Pete, I don't...don't you see? If we did get together, and it didn't work out, it would be so much worse than any of those other guys. And you'd be hurt, and it would be my fault, and I couldn't stand that."
    Pete shook his head and looked back at his feet. He said very quietly, "That's rationalization, and you know it." His face twisted, and he bit his lip to regain control. It didn't work. He turned away from me, put his hands on the counter, and leaned into them. He laughed, but his shoulders were sagging. "It's ironic, I guess. I've been wishing and hoping that we could get back together one day, and now you’re here, but you don't want to stay."
    Fuck . "Pete, it's not -"
    He snapped his left hand up at me, elbow straight, traffic-cop style. Stop, in the name of love . "No."
    I didn't move. I couldn't. Pete dropped his hand, straightened up, and walked past me to the stairs without looking at me. "Shower time." He started climbing.
    I sat still. It was quiet here. Peaceful. I could hear muted bird chatter and a few rumbles of traffic from Wilshire. Pete's footsteps were muffled above me. Then I heard the faint hiss of the shower.
    Shit, shit, shit.
    The shower cut off, but Pete didn’t come back down. I cut all the tags off of my new clothes and washed two loads, dried and folded all of it, then put everything back in the Target bags and carried them upstairs. I opened my new flow meter and checked my peak flow; it was at 82% of baseline. Not much better, but over the crucial 80% line. I readied my clothes for the following day, gathered up my laptop, and went to the living room.
    I sat on the sofa with my laptop, Cheez-its, and Coke close at hand and checked my email. Mostly routine stuff, but there was one that froze me in place. It was from the director of medical records at the hospital.
    Dear Dr. Brodie,
    At 3:30 am today, our automated system recorded an unauthorized access of your medical records. Unfortunately, some of your medical information may have been temporarily exposed before the system closed the breach.
    We are working to determine the source of the access. In the meantime, we wanted you to be aware of this. We apologize for the problem. We have been able to determine that the access came from within the UCLA network.
    If you have any questions, please do not hesitate to contact me.
    Sincerely,
    Gloria Silveira, Director of Medical Records, Ronald Reagan UCLA Medical Center
    Shit . I emailed her back and cc’ed Detective Blake.
    Ms. Silveira, thank you for informing me of this. I have been having problems with my office PC, and the computer crimes detective at the UCLA police is already investigating. I’m copying him on this so he can contact you to coordinate your investigations, which I feel must be related.
    If you need any more information from me, please let me know.
    I sat back. It was official.
    My life was going to hell in a greased handbasket.

Wednesday June 6
    The next morning, Pete and I tiptoed around each other politely. We didn’t talk about anything from last night. We did figure out an approach to our visit with Dr. Oliver; Pete would claim to be looking for a fertility lab to fund. I told him he’d better dress rich.
    He blanched. “I don’t have anything rich.”
    “Well, just wear your best suit, then. Or you could go with the tweedy academic look…”
    He went with tweedy academic.
    Fertility Research was on the third floor of a medical office building a block from Cedars. We parked close to the building this time. Pete turned off the engine and looked at me before we got out of the car. "You still think this is a good idea."
    "Yeah, I do. We won't be here long or ask any questions that will give anything away. It will just give me a glimpse