Chapter 8 Damian
DAMIAN
One Month Later
I attend family brunches the way I attend minor surgeries—efficiently and without expectation of enjoyment.
The Baylock estate looks deceptively serene in daylight.
It’s late summer, so the bright green grass contrasts with the ivory stone exterior that towers over it.
Staff members move discreetly across the patio to set out champagne flutes and silver trays.
Preparation for the after-brunch gossip spell that always follows.
Jason insisted on hosting this one. A “new tradition,” he called it. I suspect Faith had more to do with that than he did. She clearly enjoys being the center of attention.
Inside, the dining room is loud in the way only family gatherings can be. My mother holds court near the head of the table, assessing linen choices as if they’re reflective of Faith’s moral decisions. Jason moves through the room with performative ease, arm wrapped around Faith’s waist.
He looks content. He also looks restless. That tracks.
I take a seat near the end of the table and accept coffee from one of the staff. My shift ended four hours ago, and I slept for exactly one of them.
Jason clinks a glass lightly. “Thanks for coming, everyone.”
I resist the urge to point out that attendance was less invitation and more summons.
Faith beams beside him, radiant in a pale sweater that makes her look softer than my son deserves. “We wanted something intimate. Just family.”
The conversation drifts toward wedding plans—venues, floral arrangements, guest lists that read like a donor registry for every charity imaginable.
I contribute to the conversation when required.
It’s not that I don’t care—of course I do.
But considering I doubt they’ll make it down the aisle, I’m not as invested as I could be.
I never am at these things, no matter the topic of conversation.
I care about my family, but our priorities don’t align.
I save lives. They save dinner parties.
Then someone darkens the entryway to the dining room. I don’t turn immediately. The house has been receiving guests all morning. But something shifts—subtle, like a current redirecting.
Jason’s posture changes.
Faith stiffens just slightly, then pastes on a forced smile.
There she is. Temperance Lawson. Perry.
She steps into the room as if she knows exactly the effect she has, though her expression is polite, almost demure. Dark hair is loose over her shoulders. She wears a flowered dress and a casual smile.
For a split second, I think I’m imagining it.
Then Faith crosses the room, smiling brightly now to cover her earlier expression. “Perry! You made it.” She turns to face the rest of us. “For anyone who doesn’t know, Perry is my older sister.”
The resemblance is clearer in daylight—shared bone structure, similar eyes. Faith is softer, gentler around the edges. Perry is sharpened by something else entirely.
And then it all clicks. Perry… I know the name because she’s Jason’s ex-girlfriend. I never met her when they were dating. Too busy at the hospital, and he never made it seem imperative. Said she was just someone he was casually dating.
That tracks even more, because of course he ends up engaged to her sister. My son and his wandering eyes. The last girl he was engaged to was his ex’s best friend.
What little hope I had for Jason and Faith’s wedding actually happening has now dwindled to zero. But my pulse ticks up once more, while Perry peruses the room. She sees me and pauses. Then her casual smile broadens ever so slightly as we lock eyes.
Brunch just became significantly more interesting.
Jason delivers the introduction like he’s presenting a former investment. “Dad, Perry,” he repeats, tone casual but not quite relaxed.
“We’ve met, briefly,” I say, extending a hand.
She takes it. “Dr. Baylock,” she says lightly.
“Ms. Lawson,” I reply.
“Perry,” she corrects.
I incline my head. “Damian, then.”
She hasn’t released my hand, and I’m inclined to keep hers. Jason shifts beside us, clearly unsure whether this is amusing or threatening. He’s always been territorial about things he doesn’t value properly.
“I didn’t know you two had met,” Faith says cheerfully.
“We hadn’t,” Perry answers smoothly as she finally releases me. “Not socially.”
I’ll never say where I know her from. HIPAA prevents such a thing, and I wouldn’t anyway. I sit again, studying her without appearing to. She looks composed. Unbothered, she takes the seat across from me.
Jason launches into a story about wedding caterers. I tune him out.
Instead, I focus on her.
She laughs at something my mother says, but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes. She sips her mimosa slowly. She doesn’t look tired, though she should. The first month postpartum is not forgiving.
No sign of the children, of course. They’re not here. Smart to keep them out of this.
“So,” I say quietly when the conversation fractures into smaller clusters, “how are you?”
She glances at me sidelong. “Recovering.”
“That’s expected. Medically speaking.”
“And you?”
I sigh and nod toward the other guests. “Another day, another brunch.”
She smiles wistfully, and there’s something magical in it. “What a life that must be.”
Jason excuses himself to take a call—timing impeccable as always.
Faith is pulled toward the kitchen by my mother.
For the first time since she entered, it feels like Perry and I are briefly alone at the table.
Or we would be, save for the other guests.
A wedding planner who’s hoping to get the job, a few cousins I don’t keep up with, an aunt who visits occasionally from the West Coast, and Mrs. Clancy, a socialite who wants desperately to be in my mother’s inner circle.
“Small town,” Perry says.
“Very.”
“Feels…inevitable that we’d run across each other,” she adds.
“I suppose so.”
There aren’t many physicians here. Not many social circles that don’t overlap. Dating a patient is technically discouraged. In practice, in a town like this, it’s nearly unavoidable. Provided care is no longer ongoing and boundaries are respected.
Her case was resolved. Clean. No complications. No reason not to try.
She meets my gaze directly. “You look surprised.”
“I am.”
“Why?”
“I didn’t expect to see you here.”
She tilts her head. “You didn’t expect me to exist outside a hospital bed?”
“I didn’t expect the connection. You and Faith, I mean.” You and Jason.
She studies me for a second longer than necessary. “And now that you know it?”
“Now,” I continue, holding her gaze, “I’m not especially concerned. Unless you’re worried about propriety or some such.”
Something flashes across her face—approval? Amusement? “You’re flirting.”
“I am.”
She smiles slowly. “Bold.”
I reach into my jacket pocket, retrieve my phone, and slide it across the table toward her. “In case brunch becomes intolerable again, you can text me.”
She enters her number, and Jason reenters the room just as she hands my phone back to me. His timing, as always, is a bitch. He returns to the table with forced cheer, the kind that never quite reaches his eyes. “Everything good?” he asks, glancing between us.
“Perfect.” I give him a tight smile. It’s the only one I have for a son who’s going to fuck up his engagement.
Perry’s expression is neutral. She’s composed in a way that suggests she enjoys the tension more than she’s bothered by it.
Jason sits, but he doesn’t relax. He keeps looking at us, even as Faith enters the room, followed by my mother. Even as everyone spreads out into their own conversations.
The rest of brunch unfolds predictably—wedding updates, financial projections masquerading as guest lists, my mother offering unsolicited advice with surgical precision.
Perry participates lightly, gracefully, as though she’s been rehearsing this social dance her entire life. No sign of strain. No sign of shared history with me beyond polite familiarity. She is either very disciplined or very practiced. Either way, it’s impressive.
I excuse myself halfway through dessert under the pretense of taking a call. In truth, I need air. There’s only so much family melodrama I can stomach, and the moment Faith said she wanted carnations, I thought my mother would have a conniption.
The patio doors open onto the terrace, sunlight cutting clean lines across the lawn. A moment later, they open again. Perry watches across the lawn, like she’s trying to see into the forest beyond. “Escaping?” she asks me.
“Strategically repositioning.”
She leans against the stone balustrade, arms folded loosely. In daylight, there’s nothing mysterious about her. She is simply striking. Younger than me by enough years that it should give me pause.
It doesn’t.
“You’re aware this is inappropriate,” she says calmly.
“In what sense?”
“You were my doctor.”
“Briefly.”
“That doesn’t make it better.”
I shrug. “You’re no longer under my care.”
She watches me closely. “That’s how you justify it?”
“I don’t need to justify it.”
Her lips curve slightly. “Confident.”
“Do I have a reason not to be?”
A breeze shifts her hair, and she tucks it behind her ear with an absent gesture that feels more intimate than it should. There’s tension here. “You always this direct?”
“Usually.”
“Dangerous habit.”
“I find ambiguity more dangerous.”
“Hmm.” She turns to face me, knocking me out with a single span of eye contact. I don’t know what it is about this woman, but I want to learn. Her voice is low, bordering on husky. “You don’t seem concerned about Jason.”
“My son,” I say evenly, “has always had a wandering eye. I imagine that played into your breakup.”
She stiffens almost imperceptibly.
“I’m not na?ve,” I continue. “Nor am I territorial about people he discarded.”
Her gaze sharpens at that. “And what if he didn’t just discard them? What if he let them walk in on him in bed with someone else? What if he learned that behavior from his parents, blamed it on genetics?”
“Parent, singular.” I meet her eyes. “I would never do such a thing.”
She bites her bottom lip. “That’s very good to know. If a man ever does that to me again, he will learn the true meaning of pain.”
I grin. “Sounds like you’ve got big plans for your future cheater. How will you kill him?”
“Kill him? And let him off that easily?” She snorts a laugh. “You can’t learn the true meaning of pain if you’re dead.”
She’s twisted. I like that. “Fair enough—”
From inside, I hear my mother’s voice rising toward impatience. Brunch is reaching its social expiration point.
Perry winces. “We should go back in before someone notices.”
I nod once, reaching for my phone and sending her a quick text so she has my number. “Text me.”
She holds my gaze for a fraction longer than good manners requires. “I might.” And then she’s gone.
Later, Amber corners me in the library.
She does it the way she does everything—quietly, without making a scene. The door shuts behind her with soft finality, sealing us in among shelves of inherited knowledge and unnecessary wealth.
“You’re flirting with our son’s ex,” she says without preamble.
I pour myself a glass of water from the sideboard. “Good afternoon to you as well.”
“Don’t deflect.”
“I’m not.”
She crosses her arms. Even in daylight, even in cashmere and pearls, she carries the same sharpened composure she always has. Beautiful and controlled. “She’s Faith’s sister too. Are you serious about this?”
“I’m aware of who she is.”
“According to Meron, she was also your patient.”
“Briefly. And telling you who my patient was is a HIPAA violation—”
Her mouth tightens as she ignores the laws that are inconvenient to her tirade. “Meron is going to have a fit.”
I take a slow sip of water before responding. “Meron does not get to choose who I flirt with, Amber.”
Her eyes flash at that. “He’s chief of the department.”
“And I am not violating any policy.”
“You don’t think this looks bad?” she presses.
“I think you’re unusually invested in the optics of your ex-husband’s dating life.”
She scoffs. “Someone has to be.”
I set the glass down. “Meron told me you’re engaged.”
“He likes the way it sounds.”
“That’s not a denial.”
“It doesn’t count until he buys me an obscenely large ring,” she says, half smiling.
“You always did prefer leverage over sentiment.”
“And you always preferred idealism over reality.”
We hold each other’s gaze for a long moment. There was a time this kind of exchange would’ve ended differently—sharper, louder, naked. Now it’s just…data points on a neutral chart.
“You’re not concerned about propriety,” she says finally.
“I’m not concerned about being seen speaking to a woman at brunch.”
“You know that’s not what I mean.”
“I know exactly what you mean.”
She studies me, searching for hesitation. She doesn’t find it. “You’re going to make this complicated, aren’t you?”
“I don’t believe I am.”
“You always underestimate fallout.”
“And you always overestimate scandal.”
A beat passes.
“She’s young,” Amber adds, almost casually.
“Is that the part that actually bothers you? That’s why you’re in here pestering me for no real reason? She’s younger than you, so she’s a problem in your mind?”
She sighs like she’s bored, then heads for the door. “For what it’s worth,” she says without looking back, “Meron doesn’t like losing.”
“I’m not playing games.”
That earns me a short, humorless laugh. “No. You never knew how.” She leaves.
I remain in the quiet library a moment longer, considering the morning. Jason is marrying his former girlfriend’s sister. Amber is engaged to my former best friend.
And then there’s the Perry of it all. Beautiful. New mom. Clever. I am drawn to this woman, and I barely know anything about her.
When I step back into the main hall as guests begin to filter out, Perry stands near the front door, poised to leave.
The brilliant midday sunlight shows just enough of the outline of her silhouette through the flowered, silken fabric of her dress.
I can’t really see anything indecent—just hints of her true shape. A tantalizing tease.
She glances up as I approach. There’s that half smile of hers again. Just a little crooked. “Damian.”
“Drive safe, Perry,” I say.
“You too,” she replies.
The door opens. Warm air sweeps in. She steps out into it without looking back. And for the first time in a long while, I find myself genuinely wondering what comes next.