Chapter Twelve
Dallas
“Good morning.” Greeting Beatrice seemed to be a feat in itself. I just wanted to find a nice dark hole, crawl in it, and live there.
But life doesn’t give a shit what mood you’re in or if your world is caving in. Its demands are never-ending, and you have no choice but to get through it—ready or not. I’d already learned that the hard way.
“What happened?” Her tone was cautious, unlike the happy-go-lucky pain-in-the-ass confrontational voice she usually used. Her concern put me on edge.
“Nothing,” I said defiantly, refusing to entertain that my newest breakup should affect my life in any way. Concern clear in her features, she gave me an encouraging smile. My eyes narrowed.
That son of a bitch.
“So, he calls you now to keep an eye on me? I suppose he told you everything?”
“Dallas—”
“Dr. Whitaker. You’re not to ask me about anything else, do you hear me? This is a professional relationship. He crossed the line by telling you anything. Don’t ever address me personally again.”
I was instantly sorry. In my few years with Beatrice, I’d never seen her so hurt. The fact that I was the cause was too much to bear. Walking away, I grabbed my tablet and got to work. I had no more time for personal matters. I was done with personal.
Dean texted throughout the day, but I ignored him. Apparently, he didn’t intend to be silent while he waited.
DEAN: Remember the drive-in with Brittney Sharp and Henry Rice? Fuck that was awful.
I couldn’t help but grin. It was one of the nights Dean had a date in high school and brought me along. Little did he know that my date happened to have just broken up with his, and we spent the whole night listening to them go back and forth over whose fault it was. We tried to end the night early, but they insisted they could handle it but were fighting again minutes later. Dean and I ended up hanging out while they fought it out.
I didn’t acknowledge Dean or his attempt to make me remember. Less than ten minutes later, I got another text.
DEAN: You were wearing a yellow skirt and a light blue top. I wanted to kiss you so badly. You wore that damn strawberry lip gloss. I can still remember the way it smelled. I went to bed that night thinking about your lips. I got no sleep.
An hour later, I got another text.
DEAN: Remember when Ralph went missing? I took him. Paul paid me to do it to torture you.
I burst out laughing at his confession. Ralph was my pet fish. He mysteriously disappeared one night only to show up two days later. I asked my family for years who did it, and no one ever fessed up.
I went throughout the day as Dean sent me text after text, talking to me about anything and everything.
My next text came at noon the next day.
DEAN: Please don’t ever pour hot wax on your vagina. Hire a professional. I will pay for it—just a little vag man advice. I miss you…and your perfect vagina.
I spit out my Diet Coke as I read that one. I couldn’t even imagine what situation he was dealing with at the moment.
I made it home and managed to wait a few hours before checking my phone. As much as I wanted to engage Dean, I was humiliated that he knew the truth. I couldn’t understand why he was still interested after he heard what a complete wreck I’d been after our breakup. Cammie had called me non-stop since yesterday, and I refused her calls as well. No matter what she had to endure, she’d betrayed years of friendship in mere minutes. I knew I would forgive her eventually, but I couldn’t see it happening anytime soon.
I didn’t need old drama unfolding in the hospital. This wasn’t high school, and I damn sure hadn’t been acting my age since the minute Dean made his appearance. The hospital was the one place I felt genuinely safe—the thing I could control the most. My career was my focus. It was the one thing that had truly been my saving grace. I poured over cases and treatments, ignoring the obvious tug in my chest and vibrating phone. Hours after I had landed on my couch, my curiosity got the best of me. I had missed two texts.
6:00 P.M.
DEAN: I’m eating spaghetti. Do you still hate it?
5 minutes ago…
DEAN: Sweet Home Alabama is on channel 8.
My heart squeezed. He knew it was my favorite movie. I quickly scrambled to find my remote and turned it on. He knew I’d always thought of him watching it. I’d told him once that his eyes were the exact color of one of the male leads. Ironically, it was about two people who met when they were kids, only to painfully break up and get back together years later. It was all about kismet and soul mates, a subject eerily familiar. I settled in to watch when my phone vibrated again.
DEAN: You’re watching it now, aren’t you? I’ll watch it with you.
Damn him. I regretted dumping my tequila and settled for a glass of wine. Two hours later, I got a text.
DEAN: Ironic. Isn’t it? Goodnight, Dally.
7:00 A.M.
DEAN: I wish I could wake you up the way I did last week, buried inside you with my thumb in your mouth .
I groaned as my pussy clenched. That had been the hottest morning sex I’d ever had. I wasn’t sure if I was imagining him on top of me until the world shook with the strongest orgasm I’d had in years. I begged him to take me again right after, and he did. Twice.
As of today, my vagina was no longer speaking to me.
Work, Dallas.
I walked up to Beatrice cautiously and got a smile.
“Don’t bother, baby. I knew that wasn’t you talking.” She picked up the phone, ignoring my attempt to apologize. I waited for her to get off the line, but I could tell she was giving me the brush-off. I felt terrible.
Just become a nun. You can be a doctor nun. A nun doctor. You will be married to the Lord, have renewed virginity, and your precious guilt. A catholic nun doctor…a new dream.
“Dr. Whitaker, a moment.” I looked to see Dr. Nichols addressing me. I grabbed my tablet and followed him quickly.
“I’m sorry to have to tell you this at the beginning of your shift, but Mrs. Tanner passed last night.”
“What?” I took a step back. “Why wasn’t I paged?”
Ted Nichols was head of oncology. He was one of the best doctors in the state of Texas. I admired him from afar and was excited about working with him. Upon my arrival, he’d taken an interest in my training that thrilled me to no end.
“I was here,” he said smugly.
I was thrilled about working with him—until that very moment.
“That was my patient. I wasn’t aware you’d taken the case.” Confrontation was clear in my tone.
“It was late, and there was nothing you could’ve done,” he remarked, finishing the conversation and heading for the door.
“Excuse me,” I said defiantly. “I was her doctor. She was my patient. I’m thankful for your consideration regarding my R & R, but I insist on being contacted when the condition of one of my patients worsens and needs to be addressed.”
“Lighten up, Dallas. It’s going to happen a lot.”
“Not with me,” I said as I took a step forward.
“Mighty aggressive this morning, Whitaker, but you’re going to need that R & R.” He left the room without another word as I fumed in the corner. I made my rounds to both day and night shift nurses, letting them know exactly how I felt about being informed. If my patients so much as sneezed and shit, I wanted to know.
I took a much-needed break around 2:00 P.M. and went downstairs to stare mindlessly at the large, triple-tiered fountain in the lobby. Water had a way of soothing me, and I could feel a headache coming on. My pocket vibrated, and I ignored it, taking a bite of my apple. When it vibrated a second time, I pulled it out to silence it and saw a text from Rose.
ROSE: I’m coming over tonight. This is bullshit. I miss my sister.
I quickly texted back.
DALLAS: I second that. I need you too.
ROSE: See you soon.
DALLAS: I’ll order a trough of food just for you.
ROSE: You do that, BIG D!
DALLAS: Kiss my ass, Rosie.
My sister ate like she was training for the Olympics and never gained an ounce of weight. If I ate one donut, I could practically hear my scale tick up. My phone vibrated again.
DEAN: Beatrice just felt me up. Where are you ?
He was looking for me. When it came to patience, this man had none, but that was one of the things I loved most about him. Every single piece of me wanted to go save him from Beatrice’s clutches—wanted to answer his texts. I just wanted to be near him.
Years ago, I would have jumped at any sign of his attention. Now I was purposefully avoiding it.
I spent months curled up in my dorm room, listening to any song that held me prisoner on repeat. No amount of prompting from Cammie or anyone else could shake me out of the funk I was in. I’d bought a Columbia onesie when I found out I was pregnant and had planned to give it to him when I told him about the baby. The way I’d planned it—the vast number of scenarios that I’d imagined—would never have had me clutching that fucking onesie years later with no baby and no Dean.
I fell down.
Circling the drain had taken me so far away from the Dallas he’d left. I’d almost lost my scholarship at Austin. Then my first year of medical school, I became dependent on Adderall. I became an uncontrollable menace and got even more problematic—though my grades were soaring. I had no issues with my daily activities. It was the not sleeping at all and the consistent inevitable crash that brought me to the emergency room a record number of times during my second year of medical school. When I finally kicked the super pill to the curb my second year and was forced to work my load stimulant-free, I decided recreational sex was the best way to relieve the tension and never-ending heartache. However, true to my hedonistic nature, I didn’t limit my party to just one partner. I had laughed in the face of two of the guys I had been juggling when they confessed their love to me—quickly replacing them with two more.
I got sad, I got mad, and then I got disgusted—with myself .
So I got back up.
Jesus, poor Cammie.
I would have to make it a point to forgive her sooner rather than later.
The day I graduated from Austin might’ve been the worst day of my life because of Dean’s broken promise and my inability to let go—but the day I graduated from medical school was one of the best days.
I had been through hell, and though most of it was self-induced hell, I had done it. And my little sister looked at me the way I’d always hoped she would.
For a brief moment in time, I was my little sister’s hero, and Dean was no longer mine.
Maybe Dean didn’t know the exact details of how I mourned him or the loss of our baby, but I knew them. I was ashamed of them, and judging by Cammie’s reaction to our relationship, I was in the right to think it was impossible to start it up again. Loving Dean made me a train wreck. Maybe I was a stronger woman now, and maybe I could actually handle the way I felt a little less drastically. Being out of control like that could completely change your outlook. And while every single piece of my heart belonged to Dean—even the broken ones he’d asked for—my head still belonged to me. I’d fought for that control for years, and it was a well-earned victory.
I looked at my phone only to realize I’d been staring at the fountain for an hour. I quickly made my way back to my shift.
And this is precisely why you don’t go there. Work, focus, career…You have a practice to build!