2. Patrick
Patrick
Iknew the chances were slim, but I’d held out hope anyway. It was a fool’s hope.
Cain Michael Rosemont stands in front of me, looking like the perfect male specimen he’s always been. And his attractiveness pisses me off.
Every atom in the space around us buzzes with his arrival, like the universe is hanging on his every breath, just waiting to do his bidding.
That was me once upon a time, too.
His hair remains as black as his soul, whereas mine is lighter and dotted with gray. His face was always too perfect to hide behind facial hair, and his square jaw is just as strong as it was all those years ago.
His suit is no doubt custom-tailored, and the navy-blue fabric hugs the muscles of a body I once worshipped with my own, causing the breath to get stuck in my lungs.
I’ve suffered a lot in the last few years. Between the death of my wife, the painful breakup with my boyfriend that was entirely my fault, watching that same boyfriend end up with someone else, and almost losing my son over a stupid lie, has my stress finally taking its toll.
An irregular EKG, chest pains, and fainting spells landed me with orders to make an appointment with Dr. Rosemont. The best cardiothoracic surgeon in the country.
When I finally speak, it’s a name I used to whisper as a prayer.
“Cain.”
For fuck’s sake, I’m not the simpering, lovestruck fool that used to fall at his feet back in college. Unfortunately, there’s always been a short fuse between him and me, and it seems twenty-five years and twelve hundred miles haven’t done us any favors.
At least not on my end.
“Mr. Miller,” he says, calling me by my last name as if I were any other patient. As if we’d never met. As if, in a different life, I didn’t give this man everything from my body to my self-respect until he bled me dry and left me a shell of the man I once was. “You can call me Dr. Rosemont.”
This asshole.
“I don’t plan to call you anything because this isn’t going to work,” I say, rising from my chair.
Cain steps in front of the door, blocking my exit.
“Sit down,” he orders calmly…always in control.
“Cain, I’m not—” I don’t get to finish my statement because he holds up a hand, silencing me. It’s always been an effective gesture from him, and I absolutely hate myself right now for falling back in line.
Keeping his gaze on me, he nods toward my recently vacated chair, and it’s only when I resume my seat that he begins speaking.
“In this office, you will address me as Dr. Rosemont. That is professional courtesy and expected of all my patients. I’ve read your scans.
You have a large aortic aneurysm, and if it’s left untreated, it will rupture, and you will bleed to death.
Due to the size, it has most likely weakened the wall of your aorta as well, so we need to be prepared for the possibility that I’ll have to sew in a graft while I’m fixing everything else.
We’re talking major open-heart surgery here, Patrick.
There is no one else who can do this procedure as well as I can. ”
I try to let his words sink in, but being back in this man’s presence has short-circuited my system. All I can think is that this is my penance for hurting Taylor the way I did, and as always, thoughts of Taylor make my chest ache. Absentmindedly, I rub circles over my sternum.
When I finally look back up at Cain, he’s watching me with a clenched jaw.
“We’re wasting valuable time,” he says, beginning to write things down on the paper he brought in with him, as if he wasn’t fifteen minutes late to this appointment in the first place.
“You’re a ticking time bomb. I’m scheduling you for surgery in two days.
My nurse will be in to go over pre-op instructions with you. ”
He moves to the door.
“Wait,” I say quickly. “I…I don’t live here. I’m staying in a hotel. I need to call my son. I have no one to help me after surgery.”
Stupidly, I’d thought this was just going to be the initial visit and then if I’d needed surgery, maybe we could schedule it in a few weeks or so, and I’d have time to prepare.
At the mention of Liam, Cain’s brows furrow for the briefest of seconds as though he wants to ask questions, but he quickly schools his features and asks only one.
“Can he get here in two days?”
“I doubt it. He runs a small bed-and-breakfast, and this is their busy season.”
“Then it really doesn’t matter if you call him or not,” he says callously. “I’ll write inpatient orders, and you’ll be transferred to our rehab unit as soon as you’re medically stable.”
“I can’t afford a two-month hospital stay, Cain!” I shout.
“You need to calm down before your heart explodes in my office. I’m good, but I’m afraid not even I could open you up and repair the damage quickly enough to save you if that were to happen.”
That’s ironic, since you had no problem opening me up and causing the damage that started this downward spiral in the first place.
“Please,” I beg, hating myself for it. I hate myself a lot where Cain Rosemont is concerned. “I just need to fly home and get a few things in order. One week.”
“You don’t have one week, and getting on another plane is absolutely out of the question. You’re lucky you survived the flight here. My nurse will be in momentarily.”
And then he’s gone.