Chapter 11
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Five Years Earlier
Cassie hustled from room to room, inspecting every surface.
The house was clean, and not a single animal hair had followed her home from work.
She frowned at the taupe throw pillows on the couch.
Neutral. Beige. Quietly expensive. It was the same with their clothes and cars.
Her childhood bedroom had been petal pink, then lilac, then sunshine yellow.
Her mother was compelled to redecorate every couple of years.
What she would do for a bit of color in here. But Dave didn’t like color.
Dinner was warming in the oven—baked chicken breast with asparagus and brown rice. Nothing that should set him off. Hopefully.
She sipped from a cup of coffee. It was after ten p.m., and she had already put in twelve hours on her residency shift. She was exhausted, body, mind, and soul, but Dave hated to have dinner alone. And besides, they were celebrating.
Hopefully this promotion was the one. Hopefully it would be enough to finally satisfy him.
She walked over to the mirror in the foyer and made sure everything was just right—her hair was pulled back into a neat bun, she was wearing a dress, and the pearls her mother-in-law had given her for their wedding rested against her collarbones.
The door opened, and her posture went rigid.
“Hi,” he said.
She released a breath. He didn’t sound annoyed. Must’ve been a good day at work. Thank god.
“Hi. Good day?” She was careful to keep her tone light and neutral.
He nodded, then shrugged out of his Harvard sweatshirt and handed it to her. “You look good. I told you this was the right color.”
“You were right.” She brushed a hand over the deep navy dress that her sister had said made her look washed-out and matronly. But questioning Dave’s judgment wasn’t something she did lightly. “Of course. Hungry?”
She turned away from him to hang up his sweatshirt on the coat tree.
“Starving. How was your shift today?”
“It was exhausting, but really good. I got to assist on a hernia surgery for a Siberian—”
“Did I ever tell you the story of my first hernia surgery?” Dave interrupted. “I was still a resident. The youngest ever to take the lead on a hiatal. Before I specialized, of course.”
The story evaporated from her tongue. Dave didn’t actually want any details about her day. He had only asked to open the door for his own tales of heroism.
“Wow,” she said. “That’s really impressive. How was your day? You had two surgeries scheduled, right?”
“An emergency came in.”
“Oh?” She walked over to the wet bar and poured Dave two fingers of Irish whiskey.
He took a long sip and launched into a story about a quadruple bypass and how he had clawed his patient back from the brink of death.
“That sounds really scary.”
Dave made a face. “It wasn’t scary. I’ve done a hundred of these procedures.”
“Right. Of course. It’s just the thought of holding a person’s life in your hands.”
“It is a little more high stakes than a lion with arthritis.”
She bit her lip but kept her thoughts to herself. She busied herself pulling serving dishes from the oven and plating their dinners.
He caught her hand as she went to add a second scoop of rice to her plate. His grip was strong. “I think that’s enough. Don’t you?”
Anxiety bloomed hot and fast. She put the spoon down without comment and picked up their plates.
He followed her to the dining room, switching into a story about an aortic aneurysm that would have “blown any day” as she set the table.
“Saint John’s is really lucky to have you as the new head of cardiothoracics,” she said as she straightened the plates.
He scoffed. “The place is a dump. If the kickbacks from Mason Industries weren’t covering our Mediterranean cruise this year, it wouldn’t be worth it at all. Give it a couple years. Cedars-Sinai will come calling. You better be ready to move to Los Angeles.”
She faltered. He always talked a big talk.
But if this ever actually happened, she would never have a chance to be a staff veterinarian at the San Diego Zoo.
LA’s zoos weren’t as prestigious, and she didn’t know anyone there to get her foot in the door.
Her best chance to make a career in exotics was staying right here.
But, as Dave constantly reminded her, her residency salary was a minuscule drop in the bucket compared to his department director income.
He made ten times more than her, and he had paid off her student loans and supported her.
Her job was to work and keep up the house. He paid the bills, he called the shots.
Her future was in his hands. She couldn’t make it in San Diego on her salary alone, even if there was an alternate universe where she was brave enough to leave him.
They sat down to eat, and she tugged at the high neckline of her dress. Her throat was tight. She could barely choke down the chicken and rice.
She glanced at Dave over the table. He was virtually unrecognizable from the man she’d met four years ago at her father’s award ceremony.
That Dave had been fun-loving, doting, endlessly attentive.
She’d never been treated so well by a man before.
He had said “I love you” two weeks after their first date, and they were engaged six months later.
It was impossible not to be swept up in him.
But this Dave was different. It was like he had swapped out with an evil twin after their wedding. Gone were the days of fun weekend trips, romantic ocean-side dinners, and fun activities.
Occasionally she still saw glimpses of the old Dave. Sometimes after a really cruel couple of days, he would bring home flowers, tell her how much he loved her, and give her a foot massage.
Her parents had been so thrilled when she married him.
Handsome, a surgeon, from a great family—he ticked all their boxes.
She had only tried to talk to her mother about his behavior once.
Meredith had “helped” by launching into a rant about being a doctor’s wife and how Cassie had no idea the sacrifices it required.
She’d blamed the tension on Cassie’s job and heavily hinted that she should find more ways to focus on supporting her husband, like becoming a housewife.
But that wasn’t the life Cassie wanted. She wanted—needed—something of her own. And the animals needed her.
“Do I smell coffee?”
She sat bolt upright. She had almost forgotten Dave was there.
Warmth rushed into her cheeks. “I just needed a little boost to get me through till bed. It was a long day.”
“You know you’re not supposed to be drinking caffeine.” His voice was calm, steady, and as dangerous as the eye of a hurricane.
For fuck’s sake. Now he was going to criticize her caffeine intake? What was left to criticize? Maybe she had too many eyebrow hairs, or her voice was too pitchy.
“The reproductive endocrinologist said a little bit was fine—”
He slammed his hands on the table, rattling the silverware.
She jumped and shrank back.
“I’m a doctor. You think I don’t know how to take care of my own wife?”
“No, of course. You’re right.”
He wiped his mouth on a napkin and stood up. His gaze zeroed in on the still mostly full coffee cup she had tucked between the toaster and the wall in the kitchen.
“Dump it.”
“Okay.”
It was easier to just do what he said. She rose with shaking hands.
He followed her to the kitchen and stood behind her as she tipped the mug over the sink. The deep brown liquid swirled down the drain.
He gripped her shoulder. “Good girl. Come back to the table.”
She nodded and followed, ordering herself not to cry. Something needed to change.