Chapter 18 Rhys
Rhys
After a night that was a clusterfuck, the day starts like a sprint I never agreed to run.
Aortic valve replacement at six.
Post-op check at nine.
A department meeting at ten that devolves into a shouting match about budget allocations.
By noon, I’ve had three cups of coffee, no water, and a headache that feels like a steel band tightening around my skull.
By one, I’m running on fumes.
The cafeteria smells like burnt coffee and antiseptic. I grab a turkey sandwich I don’t want and a bottle of water I won’t drink. I sit by the window, watching an ambulance back into the bay, lights flashing red against the glass.
It’s the same rhythm every day: chaos, adrenaline, silence, repeat.
Things were getting better at home, but then I got cocky and slipped up again and again. Then I fucked up big time last night by losing my temper. Jayne has a right to be as pissed as she is. While I’m making excuses for dropping the ball, she’s the one who has to make it right.
What hurt the most and got my back up was her comment about Finn, that he’s protecting me from her.
Christ! I have turned into my father.
I used to do that, too. Not tell my mother things because then she’d get upset, they’d fight, my father would say hurtful shit, and my mother would cry.
My son is following in my footsteps, and it’s my fault.
Jayne and I barely spoke to each other this morning. I could tell she’d been crying. Her eyes were puffy, and I felt it deep inside of me. I wanted to say something, but my phone went off, and that was that.
Story of our lives.
The guilt’s there, sitting right behind my ribs, gnawing like acid. I want to do everything. I want to be the husband she deserves, the father my kids need, the surgeon my patients expect. But somewhere in trying to be everything, I’ve managed to fail at all of it.
Late afternoon, right before I think about going home early, I get Paul’s text: Need to lift or I’ll kill an intern. Join me.
When I get to the gym, I spot Claire sitting on a bench outside the locker room, her tablet balanced on her lap. She looks up and smiles when she sees me.
“Hey!” I lean down and brush my lips against her cheek and give her a quick hug. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”
“I’m saving Paul from himself.”
I grin. “Yeah, I got an SOS from him.”
“At least he’s pumping iron and not something else to relieve stress,” Clair jokes. “Come sit with me.”
I look at the door of the gym. “I should—”
“Sit with me,” she says sternly, cutting me off.
I narrow my eyes as I do as she asks. “What’s going on?”
This feels like a setup. Paul texting me and then having Claire here, seemingly, waiting for…me?
“Dr. Prescott. You look like you’ve been run over,” she remarks.
“Pretty sure I have been.” I arch an eyebrow. “Claire, what exactly are you doing here?”
She puts her tablet aside. “Waiting for you.”
I nod carefully. “Why?”
“Therapy session. Pro bono.”
I drag a hand down my face and groan. “You and Paul are ganging up on me now?”
“Only because we care.” Warmth flickers in her eyes. “Paul’s told me a little about what’s going on. Things are challenging for you.”
I lean forward, elbows on my knees. “Challenging is one word for it.”
“Want to pick a better one?”
I think about it. “Impossible.”
She hums. “So, what’s impossible exactly? The work? The marriage? The balance?”
“All of it,” I admit. “I’m trying to be everywhere at once. I’m afraid to mess up at home, and I’m afraid to mess up here. I’m constantly disappointing someone.”
Claire studies me quietly for a moment. “You know, guilt can feel a lot like control.”
I frown. “What does that mean?”
She tilts her head. “It means if you feel guilty, at least you feel responsible. And if you feel responsible, you can convince yourself you’re still in charge.”
I look down at my hands. “But I’m not in charge,” I murmur wearily. “In fact, Claire, I don’t even know who’s running this show anymore.”
“Then stop pretending it’s you.” A spark of humor softens her tone. I turn to look at her. “You can’t keep doing all of this without breaking something. Maybe it’s time you stop trying to carry the whole load alone.”
“That’s what Jayne says…that she’s carrying it all alone.”
Claire nods. “You’re both driving hard and in different directions. It makes sense she feels the way you do—like she’s falling short everywhere. Home, work, marriage. She hears herself nagging you, and she probably hates it.”
I frown. “Have you been talking to Jayne?”
She laughs. “No, Rhys. I’m an experienced psychologist, and what you’re going through, as hard as it is, is not unusual.”
I give Claire an unimpressed glare. “That makes me feel better.”
“I’m glad I could help,” she says cheekily and then adds, “I’d like to help, Rhys.”
I dip my head in acknowledgement. “It feels like we’re in a pressure cooker, and eventually there will be an implosion or explosion. I don’t know how to stop it.”
She releases a long exhale. “If Jayne were here, what would she say?”
I pause for a long moment and say sadly, “That she has to do everything at home because I have a God complex.” I tilt my head back and let out a noise of pure frustration. “And she’s not wrong. I told her to quit her job and stay home and….”
“Rhys,” Claire gasps. “She loves her work.”
“I know,” I rasp. “But the logistics are driving her nuts, and I’m…well, I’m here.”
“If she just stayed home, all this would get sorted, right?” Claire says sarcastically.
A dry, cutting chuckle slips past my lips. “I thought you psychologists weren’t supposed to be judgmental.”
“This isn’t a formal session, and you’re not a patient, you’re a friend, one whose ass I want to kick.”
That makes me smile. “Jayne wants to kick it, too.”
“Can you blame her?”
I shake my head solemnly. “We’re drowning, Claire.”
“Then one of you has to stop thrashing around long enough to find a raft,” Claire says gently. “If she gives up her job, you’ll lose her piece by piece. Don’t let her do that to save you.”
I swallow hard, throat tight. “So, what the hell do I do?”
Her expression turned sympathetic. “You and Paul are very different people, but you’re alike in one way.
Your identity is wrapped up in being surgeons.
You find validation at work. You both had lousy fathers who messed up your self-esteem, and you need your work to make you feel good about yourself. ”
“Truer words have not been said,” I agree.
Her hand settles on my shoulder. “Here’s my honest read.
If things keep heading down this path, one of you is going to look for something—anything—to numb what you’re both feeling about the marriage.
Alcohol, work, substances, affairs…humans are incredibly resourceful when it comes to avoiding the real pain. ”
I think about Tory and wonder if I might have slipped, even by accident. Instinctively, everything in me screams no. But here’s the part I can’t ignore. If our marriage stays the way it is, there won’t be a wife to step out on.
“I love Jayne.”
“I know.”
“I can’t…breathe without her, so it’s a wonder how much I keep fucking up.” I shake my head in self-recrimination and tell her about our conversation from last night.
“You want to save your marriage?” she asks bluntly.
I don’t have to think about it. The answer is there, strong and clear. “More than anything else.”
“Then be brave enough to be the one who steps back,” she says simply.
I gape at her. “You mean…?”
She nods. “Yes, that’s what I mean. I don’t know Jayne well, but what I do know tells me she’s going to want to quit her job, stay home, and save your sorry ass. Hasn’t she made enough sacrifices for the family, for you, already?”
She has.
Jayne gave up her dreams of becoming a lawyer to become a paralegal so we would have an income while I went to medical school. She kept the household running while I worked and built my career, and she did it all while keeping her job and paying the bills.
Before I can answer, Paul comes out of the gym, his hair wet from a shower. He smiles wide when he sees his wife, and she all but leaps up to hug him.
Jayne and I used to be like that. Genuinely thrilled to be with each other, see one another. Now, it was a shit show at home, and I knew it was my doing.
Paul smirks and gives me a questioning look. “She fixed you?”
“She tried.” I rise and eye the couple with gratitude. They were the best friends a man could have. People who went above and beyond to help.
“He’s a tough nut,” Claire teases, “but I think I’ve gotten my message across.”
“You have, Claire,” I concede. “And I am grateful.”
Paul gives me a measured look. “So, what’s next?”
Claire’s expression brightens. “Now, Rhys is going to do something that scares him.”
A puzzled crease forms between her husband’s eyebrows. “And what’s that?”
“I’m going to stop running,” I say easily, knowing in my heart that this is the only way forward.