Chapter 2
Chapter two
Ben
Being an oncology consultant is a high-pressure job. Living with stress is something I’ve become accustomed to. Today’s stress, however, isn’t because of a patient with an inoperable tumor. My stress levels are through the roof because of the choices I’ve made. It’s my own fucking fault.
Sitting at my wide mahogany desk, drowning in patient files, I let my hands cradle my head as I rerun Saturday night. My slightly too-long hair flops over my forehead.
Even my hair is pissing me off today.
My friend Terry’s birthday always ends messily. Booze flows freely. The mood is always high. Usually, it’s a night I look forward to. One of the main events when I can let my hair down and be myself around the people I trust most.
This year, things were awkward enough as Kelsey had told me she wanted to separate only days before. It was made worse when she decided that we needed to go to the party together—to keep up appearances.
Our separation is private; no one needs to know.
That’s what she said. We are continuing to live together but apart.
To the outside world, nothing will change, but we aren’t together.
If we wanted to date, she told me we would do it discreetly behind locked doors.
She wants our life without the commitment of being husband and wife.
Memories of waking up in Bex’s bed on Sunday morning send a shiver of shame through my body.
I shouldn’t have let it happen. It was the actions of a man splitting from the inside, in need of comfort.
Although I’m single, it was too soon and even more complicated that it happened with her.
With the girl that got away, because I thought loyalty trumped love.
Bex isn’t conventionally pretty, but I’m crazy about her. She’s unique, stunning, and with a personality to match. I’ve been obsessed since our short time together all those years ago. Perfect to me inside and out, in all her messed-up glory. It only makes her more infatuating.
That red dress on Saturday, and my newfound freedom, didn’t help. Bex Corrigan is my weakness, an emotional pull we’ve both resisted for over a decade. We ignore it. But it’s there. And on Saturday night, we buckled. Even though we’ve been close before.
Kelsey had gone home after she was convinced no one suspected anything about our crumbling relationship.
She’d worked the room like a pro, laughing along with our friends like nothing had changed.
Like she hadn’t detonated our family from the inside only days before and laid her rules down firm: Play along or lose the kids.
Be the perfect husband from the outside, or expect to be taken to the cleaners.
Lost, broken, and cornered, I did the only thing I could to take control. That night, I lived out my fantasy. The one I’ve been wanting to re-live for years, with the woman I’ve missed every damn day since I walked away.
A strong rap on the door surprises me, interrupting my musings.
My valued colleague and friend, Dr. Eamon Reynolds, enters my office in his usual jocular manner ― a short man, stout with a rotund belly that hangs over his suit pants.
His green eyes are bright with mischief as he scans my office for any havoc he can create. I wait to find out.
“Well done, Jones! Sexiest Doctor Award! Really thought I had it this year.” He gestures with his free hand at the award on my desk; his other is clutching a coffee and a doughnut.
My eyes move to the award perched precariously.
It’s in the shape of a stethoscope wrapping around a heart, inscribed with Sexiest Doctor awarded to Dr. Benjamin Jones for giving us all something to look at.
My nursing team presented it to me during my rounds this morning.
“Did you fuck that witch, Staff Nurse Neilson, to win it?” Eamon raises his eyebrows and waggles them playfully. He wears a broad smile that can’t be seen because of a huge mustache overhanging his top lip. All his hair is on his face, not the top of his head.
“Sometimes we have to take one for the team,” I say with a grin. He erupts in a bellow of laughter.
On more than one occasion, Eamon came to my rescue with the voracious nursing staff.
As a young doctor, he was my mentor and allowed me no extra leeway for sexy smiles.
He rode me hard and manhandled me into the oncologist I am today.
I’m forever grateful for his unwavering support and regular verbal ass kicks.
Now we’re on the same team, heading up the specialist oncology unit at Royal London Hospital.
For many of our patients, we are their last resort.
When you deal every day with people who are facing death, it gives you a different perspective on life.
I live in the moment and grab opportunities with both hands.
The safe option just doesn’t seem so appealing.
And that’s certainly what I did over the weekend with Bex.
Eamon pulls something wrapped in foil from his breast pocket, throws it at my head, turns on his heel, and waddles off out the door without another word. Pulling back the wrapping, I find a cheese sandwich and a note in the familiar hand of his wife, Melissa. Or Aunty Mel, as my children know her.
She’s a wonderful woman—loyal, loving, and worships the ground her husband walks on.
A similar stature to her good man, with bulbous features, gives her a welcoming look with her graying hair and kind eyes.
They match perfectly. Slipping the note from its hiding place, I read it.
A smile splitting my lips like it always does when she treats me like the found family we are.
To our darling Ben and your beautiful family. We would love it if you could all join us for Sunday lunch. Come, stay, put your feet up. Allow us to look after you all.
My stomach growls hungrily at the thought of her roast dinners, and the day starts looking better. I refocus on the case file in front of me and push ahead, so I can head home to my kids soon.
***
Pulling to a stop outside our tranquil home, my girl purrs underneath me. I love my Mercedes. She was a gift to myself after my promotion. With her, I feel powerful and successful. It’s like wearing a badge stating I’ve made it, telling everyone that this guy has it all under control.
My focus drops to the luxurious leather, taking time to appreciate the slick surfaces surrounding me. Slung low, her sleek curves wrap around you as you travel. She’s impressive, filling the eye with her long body and elongated nose. People notice her. People stare.
My gaze flicks toward our little cottage.
I know Kelsey will be waiting for me. Six months pregnant and somehow still glowing amongst our chaos.
Pretending all is fine. Just like I’ve been since she ended us on Tuesday last week, well, until that night when I lost it and did whatever the hell I wanted.
Regret stings for a moment, and I push it down, ignoring the jab I need to deal with now.
Our little white house sits in a traditional English garden full of rosebushes and peonies. The thatched roof looks like something out of a fairy tale. When we first moved in, I expected a talking rabbit to pop his head in the door and welcome us to the area.
We live on the edge of a small village, about an hour’s drive from London on a good day.
It comes complete with a village green, a corner shop, and a customary English pub.
A family trip for the Sunday roast at The Stag a constant reminder that things are not good.
Not able to put off the inevitable any longer, I push open the car door and grab my leather briefcase embossed with my name. A previous birthday gift from my wife.
Making my way up the quaint little path and through the sage-green front door, I couldn’t walk any slower if I tried. My world has turned to slow motion since pulling up outside. Uncertainty of what I’m entering stirs in my chest. I’m nervous.
Kicking off my shoes, I place them in the carved wooden box at the door marked shoes, then hang up my work jacket on the wooden peg marked Daddy’s Jacket. The children are playing, chattering between themselves. The house sounds peaceful. I wonder how long that will last.
Though our home looks traditional from the road, we have spent a small fortune upgrading and modernizing the living space. High gloss cream cabinets are topped with sleek black marble, and every modern kitchen appliance known to man. Not that I use them.
When Kelsey agreed to become a stay-at-home parent so I could continue my career, this was the payoff. She fills the role with precision. There are always fresh meals on the table, clean clothes in the wardrobe, and cared for children.
Our family is happy. If you don’t look too closely.
Huge roof windows allow light to flow into the room. It has an expensive but lived-in feel, and there are a few children’s toys scattered around the floor. They’ve been playing with cars while their mother prepares the evening meal.