Chapter 5 #2
“I get it.” We’ve had this talk before, with and without Dad in the room. My prognosis hasn’t changed since the first time I walked into his office, but the end of my career always seemed like a far off, abstract possibility, not a looming inevitability. I never expected it to get so bad, so fast.
“I’m sorry.” His voice sounds strained and low. “That was insensitive.”
The hand not holding my phone fists the sheets beneath me. “It wasn’t. It was honest. Is this a bad time? It’s late.”
“No. It’s not a bad time. Are you going to sleep soon?”
“I’m in bed.” It’s a completely innocent thing to say, and the truth, but heat still crawls up my neck.
He’s silent for so long, and I’m about to crack a joke about my insomnia to lighten the tension when Doctor Harrison clears his throat. “I am too.”
Oh god. I press my thighs together, my skin prickling with awareness as heat twists below my bellybutton.
How does the thought of this man just lying in bed make me horny?
My whole body hurts, I’m physically and emotionally drained, and surely there’s more pressing problems in my life than what my orthopedic surgeon wears to sleep in.
But I totally bet he’s a boxers and t-shirt kind of guy.
“Do you normally go to bed so late?” I ask, shifting restlessly beneath my blankets.
He laughs quietly. “No, actually. It’s my sister’s birthday. I was conned into babysitting, so she and her husband could go to dinner. They came home a full two hours later than they promised. What could I do? Scold her on her birthday?”
“Wow. Shameless.”
“I know. She’s out of control.” He clears his throat. “Do you, ah, like kids?” I can’t put my finger on why the flat, politely nonchalant tone he uses to ask isn’t quite convincing.
I bite my lip, considering. “Yeah, I do. A lot, actually. I’m sure you’ve heard my mom died when I was really young, so I have no idea if I’d be any good at it, but I think I’d like to be part of a real family.
Mom, Dad, kids, dogs, cats, the whole deal.
Someday.” I don’t remember my mother, but the few stories Bay has told me don’t paint a picture of a wonderful maternal figure.
Mara Ortiz-Jacobs might have been a beautiful woman, but she wasn’t a happy one.
He clears his throat. “You would be. Good at it, I mean.”
“You sound so sure.” I roll over, staring out at the cloudy night sky beyond my bedroom window.
We’ve lived in this house for as long as I can remember, but it’s not exactly homey, and there’s no comfort from the familiar view.
It’s in one of those gated neighborhoods that takes itself way too seriously and doesn’t let you decorate for anything other than Christmas.
Through the phone, bedding rustles and I close my eyes, imagining he’s doing the same thing I am. “I am sure.”
Something seems to warm inside me. “What about you? Happy being a cool uncle for the rest of your days?”
“I’m hardly the cool uncle.” Doctor Harrison chuckles darkly. “That title is reserved for my younger brother. He rides a motorcycle and brings them loud toys every time he visits.”
I giggle. “Oh wow, that is cool. How are you supposed to compete with that?”
“Oh, I can’t. I’m leaning into being the lame, responsible one. We did math homework tonight. They hate me.”
Talking to him has always been so easy, but this?
We’re miles apart. I can’t see him or touch him or smell him, but I’m positive I’ve never felt so whole just from hearing another person’s voice.
How am I supposed to go back to seeing him once every six weeks?
How am I supposed to go through a single day without talking to him now?
I’ve always been a bit worried that I fell in love with the idea of Brooks Harrison rather than the actual person, but now I know that’s wrong.
I love him .
Him, the man, not the surgeon .
Him, the friend, not the gorgeous, successful business owner.
Him.
“You didn’t answer the question,” I murmur, curling my free hand between my cheek and the pillow. I wish we were having this conversation in person, curled side by side in the same bed, peering at each other through the darkness. I’ve never wanted anything more.
It takes him a long time to respond. When he finally does, though, his voice is so quiet I strain to make out his voice over my own heartbeat. “I do, but I doubt I will.”
The pain in his voice sends a sharp pang of sorrow through me. “Why?”
“I have a knack for being alone. Sometimes I think I sabotage myself so I can stay that way. Alone is comfortable, easy , I suppose.” He’s killing me right now.
There’s nothing I wouldn’t do to make him see he could have that with another person, with me .
I realize I’ve been quiet for too long when he asks, “Are you still there?”
I roll over again onto my back, staring up at the ceiling fan rotating slowly above my bed. “I’m here.”
“Shouldn’t you be asleep?” His tone is determinately light despite the intensity of the conversation.
I should, but I don’t want this to end. It’s not like I’ve had a full night’s sleep for months anyway, and this is about a million times better than waking up drenched in sweat from yet another nightmare. “Probably. Shouldn’t you?”
“Probably.”
Neither of us hang up, and a tiny flame of hope kindles to life deep inside me as I lay listening to his breathing.
Where for years there was once only me reaching out, wanting him, now there’s something stretched tight between us.
I’m young and inexperienced and he’s so far out of my league it isn’t even funny, but I’m not imagining this. I’m not.
“Did you always want to be a doctor?”
“Pretty much.” I hear a smile in his voice.
“Let’s just say I wasn’t exactly what you’d call popular.
My parents used to beg me to go out and play with my siblings, but all I wanted to do was read.
Orthopedic surgeon wasn’t the plan, but I had a rotation during med school and fell in love.
” I smile to myself, thinking of what a cute kid he must have been with his floppy curls and serious face. “Did you always want to snowboard?”
“Pretty much,” I echo, turning slightly so I can see the shelves of trophies and medals arranged along my bedroom wall.
“I remember Dad putting me in a group class for little kids so he and my brothers could do the harder trails. They had to call him to come get me because I was faster than the instructors.” Doctor Harrison chuckles, and I smile too.
“I like snowboarding. It’s everything else I could do without.
The training and the competitions and the press— God, I hate the press stuff so much.
Every time I get a news alert for my name, I feel sick. ”
“I know you do. Why do you think I turned down that interview? I’m not going to bring more of that shit into your life.” He sounds disgruntled, and I feel my mouth fall open in surprise. He turned town a chance for free national publicity, because he knows I don’t like doing press stuff?
I press a hand to my chest, trying to steady the wild pounding of my heart, to no avail. “But it would be really good for you!” I gasp. “You said you were too busy!”
He clears his throat, and I for the first time since we started talking, there’s a shadow of tension. “It’s not a big deal,” he says at last, clearing this throat. “Listen, I don’t want you to worry about tomorrow, okay? Call the office, I’ll talk down River. I’ll—I’ll take care of it.”
My eyes squeeze shut as the real world slips back in. “Okay.” My voice sounds robotic, dead.
“Delta.” His voice is laced with so much regret it makes my heart ache, and I can’t bear to make him think he’s said the wrong thing again. “I didn’t mean to?—”
“It’s okay,” I rush to reassure him. “Really, I’m just exhausted. Long day.”
“Of course.” He clears his throat. “I’ll let you get some sleep. Goodnight, Delta.”
I sink deeper into my bed, exhaustion making the edges of my vision blur and the arm holding my phone sags. “Goodnight, Doc.”