You Loved Me Once

by Corinne Michaels

  You Loved Me Once

  Corinne Michaels

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Epilogue

  Books by Corinne Michaels

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  You Loved Me Once

  Copyright © 2021 Corinne Michaels

  All rights reserved.

  ISBN—paperback: 978-1-942834-65-6

  ISBN—ebook: 978-1-942834-09-0

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means including electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise without the prior written consent of the author.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of the author or publisher.

  Editing: Nancy Smay

  Proofreading: Julia Griffis

  Cover Design: Sommer Stein, Perfect Pear Creative

  Cover photo © Regina Wamba

  The women who make brave choices each day.

  Chapter 1

  Today has been a remarkable day. It’s the kind that every doctor lives for. I kicked ass today. All of my surgeries went perfectly, no big surprises or complications. Two chemo patients got to ring the bell, indicating they’re done with treatment, and I only had to deliver bad news to one person.

  That is a good day. Being a gynecological oncologist doesn’t grant me many of them, but this . . . this was one.

  “We have another surgery lined up in about an hour. I’m going to check on another patient and then I’ll see you back down here,” I explain.

  Martina gives me the look that says I’m micromanaging again. “We’re prepping the room now. Don’t worry, we’re on top of it.”

  “Good. I would hate to have to find a new nurse.”

  She laughs. “You will never get rid of me.”

  “Lucky me.”

  “I agree, you’re lucky I love you enough to deal with your crazy!” Martina yells as I’m walking away.

  “Feeling is mutual!” I reply over my shoulder.

  She is truly the best nurse I’ve ever worked with. Her patients come first, and she isn’t afraid to piss people off to get things done. Which is pretty much how I live. My patients are my world. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do to help a patient fight this horrible disease.

  I enter my favorite patient, Mrs. Whitley’s, room.

  “Well, I thought you weren’t going to stop by this morning.” Her smile is bright and warm.

  Mrs. Whitley has become almost like a second mother to me in the last four years. Since she moved to inpatient care this month, I have begun coming here each morning to catch up with her and tell her more than I should. Today, though, I couldn’t get here as early as I normally do.

  “I had an emergency.”

  She scoffs. “Oh, please. I know you’re a busy doctor and don’t have time to sit with a dying woman.”

  “You’re not dying today. You’re too ornery to drift off peacefully.”

  She’s the patient that med school professors warn you about—the ones you grow attached to and start to look at as something more than just a number.

  I’ve done my best to keep her at a distance, but she’s warm, funny, kind, and very alone. I see myself in her more than I care to admit most days. The way she’s pushed her family and friends away when she lost the love of her life. How she struggles with forgiving herself for not doing enough.

  But most of all, she reminds me of my mother. Which is really the worst part. “Now, tell me about your doctor beau.”

  I roll my eyes because most patients want to talk about themselves, but not her. She got wind of the gossip a few months ago and hasn’t let up since.

  “Westin is good.”

  “Just good? Then the boy isn’t doing it right.”

  I laugh. “He’s wonderful, but you know I’m not going to get serious about anyone, least of all another doctor who is far too busy for a relationship. Whether he thinks he is or not.”

  This earns me a pointed finger. “Now, you listen, Serenity, you are not immune to love because you have a career. My Leo was a great businessman, but he had room for me and our son.”

  She is also the only patient I allow to call me by my first name.

  I never correct her and I can’t help but smile at how just the mention of her beloved husband causes her eyes to go soft. Leo died of a heart attack about five years ago. All the signs were there, but he pretended everything was fine, like my mother.

  I knew better and if I had pushed her harder, maybe she would’ve lived.

  I shake that off because I can’t get wrapped up in nostalgia today, I have surgeries, and then tomorrow . . .

  “I know that look . . .”

  “What look?” I ask.

  “The one where you’re thinking about what tomorrow is and not the man we were discussing. Don’t think I don’t hear the gossip, missy. I know it’s your big day and you’re refusing to talk about it to anyone. Superstitions aren’t a good thing.”

  “I’m not superstitious, I’m being cautious. Big difference, and aren’t you supposed to be on my side?”

  She shakes her head. “I wouldn’t be doing my part if I agreed with you. Besides, you have a handsome doctor who I’m sure does that.”

  Back to Westin again. She’s nothing if not persistent. “I assure you, he loves to argue with me.”

  “All men do, but do let him win once in a while, it helps the fragile male ego,” Mrs. Whitley’s voice drops to a whisper on that last part.

  “I’ll do my best.”

  Then she laughs. “I doubt that, but still. I wonder if John will stop by for a visit today.”

  My heart breaks for her just a bit.

  Years ago, when I asked what kept her fighting the cancer, she told me she was fighting for more time to try to make amends with her son. She wanted him to love her again. She told me how after Leo’s death, she had a hard time being a mother. She loved her child, but he was a constant reminder of her husband. By the time she pulled herself back together, it was too late. His anger had taken root and grown.

  But she fought, and still fights for him to come back around. A mother’s love is the strongest bond in the world. My mother would’ve done anything for her kids.

  “I hope he does.”

  “Me too, but if not, there’s always tomorrow. And tomorrow is a day for miracles, Dr. Adams. I just know it.”

  Tomorrow is the big day. The chance to try a new way to fight cancer. So much could go wrong, but then again . . . it could go right. I try to focus on the possibilities rather than the failures.

  This could be an answer to someone’s prayers.

  “Well, I have a surgery to get to, and you have an appointment with the phlebotomist,” I tell her.

&
nbsp; “Off you go then, no need to sit with me when you have people to save.”

  “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  She smiles a wide grin that makes me feel like a child who pleased her mother. “Tomorrow, when you do great things.”

  I wink at her and leave, trying not to feel like I’m floating on air.

  A few minutes later, I’m in the scrub room while my patient, Claudia, is prepped, and being wheeled into the operating room. I stand here, scouring my hands and arms, playing through the partial hysterectomy surgery in my mind. I’ve done this surgery over a thousand times, but I believe complacency is the mark of death. I won’t allow myself to get comfortable when someone’s on the table.

  Once I’m fully scrubbed, I walk backwards through the doors and everyone goes into motion. My hands are covered, mask tied around my neck, and I walk over toward the patient.

  “All right, Claudia.” I give her a comforting smile, but the fear in her eyes is clear. “Do you have any last questions before we begin?”

  “Just . . .” She shivers. “. . . want to make sure . . . I’ll be okay.”

  Her teeth are chattering. “You’re going to be fine,” my voice is warm. “You’re going to take a nap, and when you wake up, I’ll have taken the tumor out. All of this is good, and you need to let me do my thing, okay?”

  She nods, still with terror in her eyes. “Okay.”

  I can’t let her be this afraid. I remember a few days ago, she told me she was a singer who toured for a long time before moving back to Chicago. I thought it was really cool that she knew so many of my favorite singers. “You know, before each surgery, we play music once the patient is asleep. I find that it really calms the room. How about this time, we start a little early, and you can listen to the music? Do you have a favorite song?”

  She tells me the name and I nod to the nurse. The music fills the air and I watch her release a deep breath along with some of the anxiety. “This is helping.”

  “Good.” I grin.

  Claudia begins to sing, her soprano voice ringing out with each word. I let her go for a few more bars, and all the nurses sway and sing along. Her voice is beautiful, and I almost wish she wasn’t going to pass out soon, but I watch the anesthesiologist push the drug into her IV and I know she’s got just a few more seconds.

  When her voice trails off as she falls asleep, I clear my throat and the surgical team moves into action. They know the drill. The nurse switches the iPod to my surgery playlist, and Bruno Mars fills the air, indicating that it’s time to begin.

  I go through my ritual. I stand on the left side of the patient, closest to her heart, lean my head back with my eyes closed, and count backwards from five. Five patients I’ve lost during surgery. I think of them, of what went wrong, and then I say their names.

  Then I remember a few of the successes. I stand here, thinking of the cases no one thought I could win, and I smile. I replay the faces of the families when I told them I’d gotten all the cancer or that we were able to avoid the terrible outcomes they’d been preparing for.

  The faith those families had in me was a gift. One I’ve never taken for granted. I say Claudia’s name last and ask for a little help in ensuring she gets added to the column of successes.

  I drop my head back down and open my eyes. I see Martina across from me, trust shining in her eyes.

  I hold out my hand, and say the word that brings me back to reality. “Scalpel.”

  It’s always a good day to save a life.

  Martina places the blade in my hand and my heart swells with pride.

  God, I hope I never have to count to six.

  Chapter 2

  “Hello, gorgeous.” Westin grabs me from behind, his strong arms wrap around me, and I grin.

  “Hey.”

  “Just get out of surgery?”

  I turn around, taking in the sight of him. He’s seriously sexy and the kindest man I’ve ever met. It’s what attracted me to him in the first place. Plus, he wants nothing serious, which is exactly what I want. We are perfectly happy in our non-relationship relationship.

  I’ve learned the hard way that being a woman in a very male-driven job means sacrifices, and dating is one of them.

  Plus, I already have a husband—the hospital. I don’t have time for a boyfriend on top of it.

  Still, Westin and I have a great routine that works for both of us. Neither gets upset or mad when the other works late or has to get up early for a surgery. We just go with it.

  After my last relationship, I promised to never let my heart be tangled up like that.

  “I did,” I say as I give him a quick kiss. “All went well. What about you?”

  “I’m doing rounds today. I’d like to be doing something—or someone—else right now.”

  I laugh as his hand finds its way to my butt and he squeezes. Sex after surgery is really good. “Well . . .”

  The door flies open and we split apart. Thankfully, we’re behind the row of lockers so I have enough time to clean myself up.

  “Hey, Dr. Adams,” Tracy Allen, another doctor, smiles as she comes around. “Tomorrow is the big—”

  “Nope!” I stop her there. “Tomorrow is abstract and all I’m willing to think about is today.”

  She nods. “Got it. Dr. Grant.” She sees Westin and gives me a knowing smile. “I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

  “You’re not. Not at all. Thank you, Dr. Grant, we’ll talk more later about the upcoming project.” He shakes his head, but goes along with it.

  “Sure thing.”

  No one in the hospital is buying what I’m selling, but I have to at least pretend we’re not dating. Westin is the head of neurosurgery and the last thing I want is more people talking about either of us. We’ve had enough of that through the last year. There’s a bid for chief of surgery coming up, and scandal—even a hint of it—could cost us both an opportunity. Not that I want it, but I know Westin does. Then there’s the fact that both Westin and I know what a relationship in this industry looks like.

  Too many friends have ended up divorced. It’s hard to know that your marriage is second to your career—always.

  I’ve lost a love once because of the choice to become a doctor. I won’t lose another.

  Tracy clears her throat. “Great, well, I have a consult I could really use your help on.”

  I look down at my watch, hating that it’s so late. Claudia’s surgery went off without a hitch and I was almost excited that I would get out of here early. Tonight is beer dip night at Rich’s, the bar I go to. Usually it’s Martina, my best friend Julie, and myself, but Julie mentioned really needing the night out, and while it’s always the three of us, she may need it to be a duo tonight instead. I was hoping for a little girl time before Westin shows up.

  Regardless, there’s no way I’d walk away from Tracy or whatever patient she needs me to help with. Girl time can wait, patients shouldn’t have to. “Of course,” I say even though we all knew I’d never refuse her.

  “See you later,” Westin says with a smirk.

  Ass. “Maybe.”

  We both know he’ll be at my place later, like he always is.

  Tracy and I head out and we talk about the mass she found in her patient. She’s the head of OB-GYN and a trusted colleague. She shows me the patient’s file, indicating the area causing her concern. We chat about what I see on the films and how I would proceed if the biopsy results come back as I expect. I operate on a lot more tumors than Tracy does and can usually get a good gauge on them before the pathology reports come in. Since my mom’s death it’s been my life’s mission to eradicate cancer.

  I don’t care about anything but finding a cure for cancer and giving people whatever time is possible. Too many people die from this disease, and it blows my mind that we can find cures for the most random things, but for something that has touched everyone I know, we still can’t find the perfect mix.

  Come hell or high water, I want to be a part of destroying can
cer’s chances of taking one more person from this world. I’ve been a part of formulations, different approaches to radiation and chemo, but nothing has been fast enough or strong enough. It’s frustrating, but it also fuels me.

  “Here’s the issue . . .” Tracy explains.

  We spend twenty minutes really deconstructing Tracy’s case. The tumor doesn’t look cancerous to me, it seems more like a cyst than a tumor, but I can see where there’s a reason to pause.

  “So you think surgery is the best option?” she asks.

  “It’s really your only choice. I wouldn’t leave the cyst in there. Plus, if it’s not a cyst the last thing we want is for it to grow. The outer walls of the mass have me a little concerned, but I would be safe rather than sorry.”

  She nods. “Thank you. I know you were on your way home, but I appreciate you taking some time to look this over.”

  “I’m happy to help.” I get to my feet. It’s been a long day, and I’m beat. Tomorrow starts one of the biggest days of my life and I’d like to be alert. There’s just one more thing I need to do before I can leave, and that’s check on Mrs. Whitley. “We’ll talk tomorrow?”

  She nods. “See you then.”

  My phone pings with a text message.

  Westin: I’m leaving now . . . are you tired or awake?

  My teeth brush over my lip and I know exactly what that means.

  I shoot off a quick text to Martina and Julie saying I can’t make it and then I reply to Westin.