Chapter 20 Lexie
When Theo pulls up to the Urgent Clinic connected to his office, I have my seatbelt off and bolt from the car before he even comes to a complete stop.
He tells me he’ll park the car, consult with the doctor on duty, and be in as quick as he can, but his words barely register.
The next few moments are a blur as I rush to the triage nurse, show ID, and someone escorts me to an exam room.
When I step inside, I inhale a sharp breath. “Mom?” I can see the five or six stitches covering the bright red area of her left temple.
“Nope.” My mom flickers open her eyes. “You don’t need to fuss. I told them not to call you, but they said they had to because I hit my head. I told them it was no big deal and that maybe it was a gift to knock some sense into me.”
She’s trying to be strong, but the tiredness in her voice tells me otherwise. I slide a chair next to the bed and grab her thin, pale hands. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine, honey. It’s these damn dizzy spells. But they’re going to fix me up and send me on my way.” She pats my hand. “How did you make it here so fast? This is clear across town for you.”
I entertain the idea of not telling her. I’ll say I was with a client who happens to be a doctor here, and pray when he comes inside, he doesn’t identify himself. But my mom’s not an idiot. She’ll figure it out soon enough.
“My client works here, and we had a meeting nearby. He’s going to check you out now, and I’ll make a follow-up appointment for you with him. He said he’s not going to bill you,” I say with a heavy swallow. “It’s, ah, Dr. Astor.”
Her head snaps at me. “The professor?”
I brace myself because the name Theo Astor has haunted us for years. Heat floods my cheeks and I shake my head. “No… Dr. Theo Astor.”
My mom’s eyes widen as the reality lands of the person I just mentioned. I’m pretty sure if she had more energy she’d leap from the bed. But instead, she crosses her arms. “Those dirty fucking Astors—”
“Mom, stop.” How do I explain this? That I know this man—who we’ve hated for years—well enough to know that he’s surely unfaithful to his fiancée, that he’s hiding something, that he ruined my life in Boston, and yet I implicitly trust him enough to care for the most important person to me in the world?
“He’s a doctor. And he promised me that he’d take care of you. ”
“Absolutely not.” Angry red stripes fan her neck. “Take me home right this second. There ain’t no way in hell after what he did to you I’ll let that man touch me.”
A few months ago, I would’ve agreed. Now everything feels off-balance and it doesn’t make any sense. I’m fighting it all the time, but I can’t deny the pull I feel towards him. Who in their right mind actively starts to feel something for the engaged man who once ruined their life?
Or at least I thought he’d ruined my life.
But the tiniest piece of me wonders if maybe I miscalculated something back then if he doesn’t even remember who I am.
“Listen to me,” I plead, laying a gentle hand on her arm.
“Seven years have passed and I’m not in college anymore.
I still don’t exactly know how I came to be expelled, but it’s a long time ago.
And maybe… maybe I misunderstood something back then.
” I hesitate, then say it anyway. “What happened at the school… I don’t think he did it. ”
The words land with the weight of a fallen skyscraper, crushing my chest. I’m lying to her because she needs to allow Theo to exam her.
But the thought worms its way in anyway.
What if there’s more to what happened than what I remember?
I was so angry back then—frantic, desperate, grasping at anything that might save my scholarship.
In that state, I decided Theo had stolen my university badge, hacked into his father’s computer, and accessed my student account—all because of a smile. With no clear motive.
Is it possible I got this wrong? Maybe there was a crime ring or something, and I was an easy target to blame because I didn’t have the resources to fight back.
What if I wrongly accused him, just like I was wrongly accused?
A gross, tacky sickness weaves through my stomach.
And if that’s the case, then I have no justification whatsoever to ruin his wedding.
As I hold my mom’s hand, I explain that I’ve been working with Theo for months and how wonderful his bride, Annabelle, is.
My heart sinks with those words.
“And he’s going to see me after hours? For free?” she asks, arching her eyebrow.
I swallow a lodged boulder in my throat. “He’s… a really good client.”
“Gemma.”
The use of my birth name snaps me to attention.
Before I can respond, a tap sounds at the door, and a white-coat, stethoscope-slinging Theo comes in, and my heart skips.
“Hi Lexie,” he says with a perfectly professional nod.
But that’s the only recognition he gives me as he focuses entirely on my mother.
Please, please be good.
“Hi, Mrs. Welch, I’m Dr. Astor,” he says as he takes a seat on the spinning chair.
My mom purses her lips. “I know who you are.”
And… we’re off to an amazing start.
“Excellent, then we can just skip past the introductions,” Theo says without even so much as a bristle at the hostile tone. “Would you like your daughter to leave the room so we can talk in private?”
Mom sighs and releases the fierce, rod-like tension in her back. “No, she can stay.”
“If you change your mind at any time, we can ask her to leave.” Instead of facing the computer, or glancing at notes, he looks only at her. “I spoke to the doctor on duty and got up to speed, but I’d like to know what’s been happening these last several months that have led up to this.”
She looks at me sideways, and exhales resignedly.
Then she dives in about being fatigued, which she attributes to the dreary winter, but became concerned when she’d fall asleep right after dinner and not wake up again until morning.
She describes the dizziness, frequency, what time of day.
As she continues, I pay attention to what she’s saying, of course, but my gaze keeps shifting to Theo.
He’s attentive, kind, and precise—asking probing questions while never once crossing a professional line.
He removes his stethoscope from his neck.
“Is it okay if I listen to your heart?” When she nods, he listens to her heart, then lungs.
He asks her to breathe, he checks her eyes, her mouth, feels along her neck.
He presses his fingers into her stomach, asking over and over, “Is this tender? Does this hurt?”
I’m invisible. He focuses on her completely—careful, thorough—and my heart lurches, small, unwelcome, at his tenderness.
It starts racing when he coaxes a smile out of her, casually bonding over The Bachelorette playing in the background, which happens to be my mom’s favorite show.
My mouth drops when Theo admits he’s never missed an episode.
All the while he keeps working, seamlessly checking her eyes, skin, performing what I assume is a more in-depth concussion exam, as they commiserate over one particular season, where the Bachelorette apparently chose the wrong winner.
“Who do you think she should’ve picked?” Mom asks as he guides her to standing and checks her balance.
“Runner-up four,” he says with a grin. “Hands down.”
“Yes! I thought the same.” She gives him a squeeze on the forearm. “The one she ended up with was an asshat. I bet they’re divorced by now.”
He chuckles, nodding his agreement, and continues his exam.
Tears well in my eyes and I blink them down. He’s showing my mom respect. A woman who deserves it more than anyone I know but doesn’t always get it. He’s not treating her like some hotel housekeeper from Queens with scuffed shoes and a decade-old work uniform.
He’s treating her as an equal.
“Lexie,” he says, “I’ve finished here. I’m going to run down to the lab and see if I can pull in a favor to get her tests expedited.”
“Okay, I’ll stay here and wait.”
He shakes his head, a faint frown forming. “No, your mom needs her rest. There’s nothing more we can do right now, and she seems to be recovering well.”
“Yes, sweetie,” my mom adds gently. “Go home. I’m in good hands, thanks to Dr. Astor. I’ll be just fine.” At her insistence, I nod.
“If you want to say goodbye now, I’ll have one of the nurses bring you to my office and you can wait until I’m back. Okay?”
I don’t want to leave my mom, but trust that they’re both doing what’s best for her. After I hug my mom goodbye, I follow the nurse into the adjoining building and in the direction of Theo’s office. The wine buzz is long gone, my stomach knotted, and my heart unsteady.
Jesus Christ what a day.
But the relief is tremendous that my mom will be okay.
“Dr. Astor said to make yourself comfortable,” the nurse says as she unlocks Theo’s office door and holds it open for me. “He’s got snacks in the lower right drawer, and bottles of electrolytes in the mini fridge behind his desk.” I thank her, step inside and close the door.
Reality hits me hard. This isn’t my world. I’ve never belonged in this world. Yes, obviously I know Theo is a doctor. But being here now, seeing how he spends his days, unsettles me. I feel like a kid at the grown-up table, trying not to say or do anything stupid.
I peer around the room. The office is much smaller than I thought it’d be.
Only the size of maybe two exam rooms, but it feels like him.
Cherrywood-framed degrees hang on his wall alongside a framed picture of him and his staff, and a beautiful abstract painting that probably cost as much as my yearly rent.
He’s only got two chairs, the cushy leather one behind his u-shaped desk and the wooden one in front that’s clearly there as a means of punishment.
It feels weird, like I’m invading his space, but I sink into the leather one and rest my head on his desk.