8. Dr. Beckett
Dr. Beckett
My old truck has served me well, and I’ve never felt a pang of embarrassment about being a doctor who drives something most people would consider a beater—until this moment.
I pull the truck into the circle drive by the main doors and do a quick scan of the floor. There’s only one receipt from the grocery store languishing on the mat. I scoop it up and shove it into my scrubs pocket. I don’t know why I care, but suddenly I really want Brooke to like being in my truck.
That thought stops me cold.
No . No, Beck. You don’t do this. Remember, you got burned so bad last time you cared you needed an emotional heart transplant.
I hop out of the truck, roll my shoulders a few times, and then walk through the hospital doors. Peony is chatting with June, and Brooke is … snoring softly.
It’s not that much, but she’s asleep, and her head lolls to the side. Her pink pajamas match the pink in her hair cascading over her shoulder.
My mouth goes dry.
June cackles. “If you’re interested, I give you my blessing.”
My eyes snap to June, whose eyes sparkle. Peony’s slightly raised eyebrows are even more concerning.
“I think I shouldn’t be the one to wake her up,” I say, trying to play it off like I was staring at Brooke because I couldn’t figure out how to wake her up, not because she’s so beautiful it hurts my heart.
“I can wake her, Dr. Whistler,” Peony replies with a tight-lipped smile. “You get Miss June in the car.”
I give a curt nod, because that’s all I can manage under Peony’s scrutiny, and take over wheeling June out to my truck.
June reaches a hand behind her and rests it on my own.
“You know, Brooke needs a strong man. I worry about her. Men these days are just not what they used to be. I know she wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for her dating troubles. ”
“Dating troubles?” The question flies out of my mouth before I can stop it.
June hums in response. “Yes, her mother told me all about it. A string of bad boyfriends. Thank goodness she broke it off with the last one.”
June’s words somersault through my mind, but we’ve reached the truck. “I’m going to pick you up and help you into the back bench. You can ride with your feet elevated that way.”
I hate that I’m instructing her to ride improperly as an E.R. doctor, but there’s no way she can sit comfortably with her cast in the tiny space behind the front seats.
I help June into the cab, and when she smiles at me, I’m filled with an odd sense of gratitude for the eccentric woman who is my neighbor and had to bake cookies in the middle of the night and bring her granddaughter with her to the E.R.
It doesn’t hurt that June just told me her granddaughter is single.
I turn and watch Peony walk with Brooke to my truck. The two women are similar in height and stature, but my eyes are drawn to Brooke. Pink pajamas and fuzzy slippers do not do great things for my pulse.
“Take care, Brooke,” Peony says as she grabs the wheelchair handles and takes it back into the hospital.
“Thanks, Peony,” Brooke replies before meeting my gaze. She shifts uncomfortably and looks at the ground. “Thanks for giving us a ride home. We came in the ambulance.”
In a normal world, where Beck Whistler is functioning as a normal human being and not someone whose fiancée left him at the altar, he would say something like ‘no problem,’ or ‘happy to help,’ or ‘anytime.’ Instead, because this is the world where Beck Whistler does not function like a normal human being around women after being left at the altar, he says nothing.
Suave.
I motion for her to climb into the truck before I shut the half door to the backseats, then her door.
When I climb into the driver’s seat, I’m aware of how close Brooke is. I’m also aware of how she’s taking in every little detail of her surroundings as I drive to our houses.
“So,” she says through a yawn. “I thought doctors liked the finer things in life—fancy houses, fancy cars, all that.”
I grunt.
“I take it you do not. Unless you’re hiding something. Like a mega yacht.”
“Some things are finer than stuff.” I retort. Brooke is silent for a moment, and I take the opportunity to change the subject. “I guess you were tired.”
She says nothing, and awkward silence builds.
That was the wrong thing to say.
Finally, she breaks it. “Meemaw.” She turns in her seat and addresses June. “Did you hear from Matt? He hasn’t called in a while.”
Alarm bells ring out CAUTION in my brain, but I am tired, and I just finished my shift, but didn’t June just say she broke up with him?
“I thought you broke up with him,” I blurt.
If the silence was awkward before, now it is palpably painful.
“Broke up with Matt?” Brooke asks, enunciating each syllable. “Why on earth would I do that?”
“He seemed like a loser. Didn’t even kiss you goodbye.”
I chance a quick look at Brooke. Her brow is furrowed, and her eyes blink slowly.
“Why on earth would I break up with and— ewww, gross — KISS my twin brother? And who told you I broke up with anyone?”
I’m an idiot.
Brooke turns and stares daggers at her grandmother. I keep my eyes on the road, glad that her glare isn’t directed at me.
“Meemaw.” She draws out the aw . “You don’t need to discuss my personal life with strangers.”
“He’s not a stranger, he’s a neighbor, and one who wants to get to know you better. I’m just helping.”
“Is that what we’re calling two a.m. trips to the E.R. now? Helping?” she quips.
“Well, you two certainly aren’t doing anything about what’s obvious to everyone else.”
“I don’t need your help, Meemaw. I’m here to help you ,” Brooke huffs and faces forward before turning to stare out her window.
I can’t think of anything to say, so I finish the drive home in silence. When I pull into the driveway, I park as close to Miss June’s house as I can. I’ll have to help her out and carry her up the front porch stairs.
Brooke flings the door open and stomps up the walkway in her fluffy pink slippers, leaving me with June.
“I’ve never seen her mad before,” June murmurs as I exit the car and walk around to her side.
“Somehow, I think you haven’t spent a lot of time with her lately,” I respond as I lift my arms up to help June down from the truck. I’ve seen Brooke mad on at least three occasions. The fact that these three occasions have been times when I’ve directly interacted with her doesn’t escape my notice.
June shakes her head, chagrined. “That’s true.” Her beady blue eyes bore into my own. “I love my granddaughter, and she needs someone with a fire to match her own. So when are you going to take her out?”
“What?” I sputter, dropping my arms to my sides. “I don’t know her. I don’t date.”
“Why not?” June’s eyes widen. “You don’t date ? I didn’t ask you to date her . These days, that just means sleeping together with no commitment at all. I asked you to take her out. And then you marry her.”
“Woah.” My hands fly up into a defensive position. “Miss June. It’s not the 1800s. You can’t just tell me to marry your granddaughter.”
“Pshaw, boy. It’s clearer than the sky on a sunny day that you like her goods.”
I sigh and scrub a hand along my jawline. Miss June is right. I do think Brooke is attractive, but I don’t know her well enough to ask her out on a date. And then there’s the whole left-at-the-altar mess. I don’t touch dating with a ten-foot pole, and I am not about to explain all that to June.
“Miss June, I’ll carry you into your house, but you have to promise you’ll be good and not cause any more harm to your ankles.”
I scoop her into my arms. She’s light, and I’m not sure how someone can have such a substantial personality in such a small body.
“If that’s the definition of good these days, boy, I think my generation had a lot more fun.” She hooks an arm around my neck and pinches my cheek.