You Loved Me Once

by Corinne Michaels

  “Ren,” he tries to stop me.

  “It wasn’t about him, it was about fourteen years of grief, anger, resentment, and loss, all coming to the forefront at once. I never dealt with my mother’s death, I just took care of people, fixing them because it was the only thing I could do. There’s no excuse. It was so wrong, stupid, and what I’m the sorriest for,” I step closer to him, needing him to hear me, “is that I lost you in the process. My entire life I’ve run away when things hurt too much. I didn’t want to feel love because losing it was worse, but you got to me. I saw that we had this beautiful relationship that meant more to me than I could ever imagine. You found a way so deep into my heart, and even though it hurts like hell now that you’re gone, I don’t regret loving you.”

  Westin shakes his head and rubs his eyes. “I don’t know what you want from me.”

  “Nothing,” I say without hesitation. “I don’t want or expect anything. I came here so that when I go in there tomorrow, you’ll know what is happening. I don’t want you to be blind-sided—again. You loved me once, and I hope that someday, you find someone worthy of all you have to give.”

  All I want is for him to love me, but I had that and threw it away.

  “So you’re going to walk through that door tomorrow and ruin your career?” he asks.

  “No,” I correct him. “I’m going to make this right.”

  He comes closer to me, almost like he can’t stop himself, and my heart races. He had a surgery today, I can smell his cologne mixed with sweat and soap. So many nights we’d stand just like this and the pull I felt then is still here now.

  His eyes are trained on me, and I can’t breathe. I can see the conflict swirl, but I’ve known Westin long enough that this is unforgivable to him, and what he’s fighting himself over won’t end in my favor.

  I take a few steps back, breaking the connection before either of us gets hurt. The tightness in my chest starts to ease the farther I get from him.

  “I have one question,” I push the words out.

  “Which is?” his voice is thick with emotion.

  “You bought my farmhouse?”

  Westin looks down at the floor and then back to me. “It was between your father and me.”

  That’s great, but now I know. “Okay, but why? Why would you buy my house? Why would you and my father have some kind of agreement without me knowing?”

  “Want a drink?” he asks.

  I’ll do anything if it means he’ll talk to me. “Sure.”

  He heads toward the kitchen and grabs a beer. The same beer that is sitting in my fridge that will go untouched. Westin pours me a glass of wine that he keeps—kept—here for when I’d spend the night, and hands me the glass.

  We both stand at the island in silence, taking small sips of our drinks.

  I wonder if he notices the puffiness in my eyes or the red splotches that stay on my face for days after I’ve cried like this. Does he see the pain I’m in, the way I see how this is wearing on him? Westin may not have spent days in bed, but the bags under his eyes tell me he’s not sleeping, and the dishes in the sink are completely out of character.

  After another minute, he finally begins.

  “The day we went to visit your dad, we went out to the garage. He told me about a lot of things, your brother’s gambling debt, how your mother had some outstanding medical bills, and that he was having money problems.”

  My stomach drops. Everton was gambling the money? I’m going to kill him if I find him. God, I’ve been taking care of nothing all this time.

  “I didn’t know.”

  “He was going to lose the farm if he couldn’t get his taxes current. He didn’t know how much money I have, so it was just a man asking how to shield the daughter he loves from the pain of losing her childhood home. I can’t imagine it was easy for him, but he knew I loved you and would be there for you.”

  I close my eyes with a low sigh. I had no idea. My brother was getting over two thousand dollars a month from me, which was more than enough to pay the taxes. “Why didn’t you tell me?” I ask.

  “Because you already worry about everyone else so damn much, I wanted to take something off your plate. It’s what you do when you love someone, you ease their burdens, or try to at least,” Westin explains and I crumble.

  He watches me as he drains his beer. I thought I was angry at myself before, but it’s nothing compared to now. I lost the best man I’ve ever known. “Westin,” I say his name as a plea. I want to say so much.

  “Anyway,” he says as he places the beer down. “I talked to him about his options, and then I told him I would help. He fought me, he’s a very proud man, but I bought the farm, asked him to stay on and care for it.”

  “Care for it?”

  Westin nods. “I don’t want your family’s farm. I wanted to help Mick. So we drew up a very clear contract stating that he lives on the farm for free until he chooses not to, and then you take over the agreement. At any point, you can buy me out, but the farm stays in your family until the sixty-year lease is up.”

  “I . . . how?” I say, words failing me.

  “It doesn’t matter, but I won’t go back on that, no matter what we are or aren’t anymore. You don’t have to worry about your father or the land.”

  That’s the craziest part, I wasn’t worried he’d ever do that to my family. Westin isn’t vindictive or cruel. He wouldn’t throw my father out because he could. No, this is the guy who learns to flash mob for a kid, buys family farms, and loses his mind when he loses a patient.

  Only when Westin lost his mind, he didn’t make ethical, medical, and legal violations. That’s just my thing.

  “I never thought you would, Wes.”

  He spins the bottle on the counter. “I can’t seem to hurt you, even though I want to. I just can’t do it.”

  There’s a mix of anger and resentment, but underlying all that, there is still love. “You have every right to hate me.”

  “If I could, it would make things easier.”

  “I should go,” I say.

  A sadness washes around us and I garner the self-restraint I have to hold it together. I want to fall into his arms, beg him to love me and forgive me, but I won’t. He deserves a chance to be happy, and I’ve done enough damage.

  “Tomorrow is the review board, I told your father. You have to go over Allison’s case file, so I’ll be there.”

  I nod. “Well, you’ll get to see it firsthand then.” I push the wine glass to the center of the island.

  I can’t help it, I need to say goodbye to him. I move around the counter so there’s nothing between us, waiting to see if he’ll push me away, but he doesn’t.

  When I’m close enough, I lift up on my toes, take his face in my hands, and press my lips to his. It’s a sweet kiss filled with everything I have. I want him to know I love him, I’m sorry, I’m in pain, and I would do anything for him, but most of all, it’s goodbye.

  I release him, drop back down, and the tear I fought back falls down my face.

  “I will love you, until my last breath,” I say and then rush out of the apartment.

  I stand outside the hospital, staring up just like I did the day before my trial started, only this time, I’m filled with dread. This will be the last time I enter those doors as a doctor. There’s no way I won’t be fired.

  “Hey,” Julie says as she comes up next to me. “You okay?”

  “No,” I reply honestly. “But I will be.”

  She takes my hand in hers. “Yeah, you will. You have a lot of people who love you.”

  “Are you one of them?”

  Julie squeezes. “Of course I am. I know you’re hurting and I can’t imagine what having Bryce back around was like, either. He was the one that got away, and we all have one. They have this innate ability to screw with our heads and make us do incredibly stupid things. Welcome to the club.”

  I smile and rest my head on her shoulder. “I told Westin last night.”


  “Yeah? How did that go?”

  “I kissed him, started crying, and ran out.” I shrug.

  “So, it went great?” she laughs.

  “I wish you would’ve kicked my ass earlier when it came to him,” I tell her. “I could’ve known I loved him a lot longer and cherished it.”

  Julie wraps her arm around my shoulder. “Isn’t that the way life is? We don’t know what we have until it’s gone.”

  It’s the truth. So many things I’ve taken for granted, expecting they’d always be there, but nothing is guaranteed, and I knew better than to think Westin was permanent in any way. Julie walks with me down the halls and toward the boardroom. We talk a little about Westin buying my farm, which still blows my mind.

  “Well, my train stops here,” she says as we come to the fork. I have to go right and face the music. “I’ll come by after work, okay?”

  “Okay,” my voice trembles.

  My God, I’m going to do this. All the years that I’ve built my career—they’re all going to come down to this moment where it disappears. I won’t be the doctor who has saved countless lives, I’m going to be the disgraced woman who doctored a trial.

  It doesn’t matter, though. This is the right thing and it’s the only way to make sure no one I love gets hurt.

  I take a few deep breaths, standing outside the boardroom where I’ve sat on the other side, listening to doctors go over each step, rolling my eyes at the choices they made at the time.

  Now, it’s my turn.

  I push my nerves down, square my shoulders, and march in.

  “Dr. Adams, please take a seat,” Dr. Pascoe instructs.

  “I’d rather stand, if that’s okay.”

  No point in delaying this. I scan the room, where some of the colleagues I respect are staring at me. I give them small smiles back, nods, and other forms of acknowledgement, looking for the one who matters most.

  Westin isn’t here though.

  I keep scanning and gasp when I see Bryce sitting there. He looks at me with sad eyes, and then gazes back down to his feet.

  “Mr. Peyton asked to be here for the reading of the autopsy. He was adamant that he have the opportunity to speak, and so we’ll change things up,” Dr. Pascoe begins.

  My eyes shoot to Bryce because that’s never the order in which we’ve done it, but I’d like to hear what he has to say, for my own sanity.

  Dr. Pascoe clears his throat. “Once I read this, Mr. Peyton has agreed to let the review board meet without him, so, let’s begin with the autopsy.”

  The slide shows up on the screen and it’s all there. “The official cause of death is a pulmonary embolism. The embolus was seen in the left main pulmonary artery with extension into the lower lobe,” he explains. “The autopsy reports that her iron was low, but the surgery was not the cause of death.”

  There’s a swell of relief inside me, but even as it floods through me, it ebbs back out because Allison is still dead.

  Bryce clears his throat and gets to his feet. “I’d like to speak on be—”

  The door opens and Westin comes in with his hand up. “Sorry, had a difficult case.”

  I fight back the urge to fall to the floor. They’re both here, and both can destroy me in so many ways.

  “Please continue, Mr. Peyton.” Dr. Pascoe looks unamused.

  “I’d like to speak on behalf of Dr. Adams. She treated my wife with humility, respect, and became a friend to her. Upon Allison’s death, I found a letter that was addressed to me, as well as one for Se—Dr. Adams. I’d like to read it, if that’s okay?”

  I can’t handle this. My throat is dry and now I wish I had sat down.

  “Dr. Adams, if you’re reading this, well, I died. I hope you know that your friendship, no matter how short it was, meant everything to me. You were warm, kind, and caring through a difficult time in my life. It’s the reason I was willing to fight. I want you to know that it’s doctors like you that give people like me hope, and whether we make it or not, it’s what carries us through our darkest days.

  “I know that I placed a great burden on you in asking you to keep my secret, but it was what I truly felt was right. If I couldn’t have a baby, I didn’t want the cancer to rob me of anything else, even if it meant I would die. I was desperate, sad, and on the borderline of giving up, until your trial was offered. Then, suddenly, there was a glimmer of possibility again. I was faced with the renewed hope that this could give me the chance to have the life I desired.

  “I know that my family won’t understand the risk I took. The only thing that gives me peace is that I was given the chance that soon, hopefully, every woman will be afforded. Those slivers of hope reminded me that sometimes, the smallest things can make the greatest difference for someone else. Because of you, I found a man who made my days full of laughter and smiles. Thank you.”

  Even in her death, she’s a bright ray of sunshine in a dreary place.

  Bryce puts the paper down and then looks to me. “I’m leaving to head back to North Carolina in a bit, but I wanted to read that to you all, especially you, Dr. Adams. Thank you for giving her peace when she was battling something that was far deeper than cancer.”

  I smile at him softly, knowing that this is the end of the road for us. There’s nothing left to say and we both know we’re not the people we once were. Our love may have been all-consuming once, but we had our chance and lost it. “Thank you. I appreciate you reading that.”

  “Goodbye, Dr. Adams.”

  “Goodbye, Mr. Peyton.”

  He looks to the group, his eyes staying on Westin for a beat longer, and then he folds the letter up, and walks out of the room.

  The closure we probably both needed has come, and now it’s time to set things right.

  “Let’s go over the surgery,” Dr. Pascoe says as the door closes.

  “First,” I cut him off. “I’d like to talk.”

  “Dr. Adams—”

  “Please,” I say.

  If I were any other doctor, he probably would argue, but like Bryce, Dr. Pascoe knows what it’s like to watch a spouse suffer. I’m sure hearing that has broken him a tiny bit, since it could’ve been him sitting in that chair.

  I look around the room, my eyes landing on Westin, and I begin as if it were just him and me in the room.

  “There is a problem with the medication that Allison Brown received,” I admit the truth, and there’s no going back now.

  Chapter 30

  “What do you mean a problem?” Dr. Pascoe asks.

  I steel myself for the disappointment that will shine in his eyes. Dr. Pascoe has supported me, believed in me, and been a mentor. I’m going to prove that he was wrong in all of that. I’ve spent the last twelve hours playing this out. All of the endings are the same, and none of them are good.

  “If you look at her file,” I start, but Westin stands, stopping me from speaking.

  “Dr. Adams,” he clears his throat. “Sorry to interrupt and I don’t like doing this to a fellow doctor, but I feel like I have to speak up. There is, in fact, a problem with Allison Brown’s file. I was going over it last night, to prepare for the line of questioning today, and I noticed there was a very important piece of paper missing.”

  I look at him, wondering what the hell he’s doing. There’s no paper missing. “I’m sorry? I don’t understand . . .”

  He looks around the room, taps his fingers on the table, and then starts speaking again. “I wanted to see where the sign-offs were regarding the trial drugs and then compare them with the toxicology report,” Westin says.

  He’s going to take me down himself. The very last shred of hope I had regarding us is gone. I guess he needs to be the one to bring it to light to prove that he had nothing to do with it. I watch him walk toward the front, where I stand, and begin to shake.

  “Is this your signature?” he asks.

  I take the paper from him, holding back any outward show of emotion. After spending years pretending not to feel, yo
u’d think this would be easier, but it’s not. Having someone I love be the one to drive the knife through my heart hurts more than I could’ve imagined.

  I look over the paperwork I forged, changing the number on the folder. “Yes,” I agree. “That’s mine.”

  He takes the paper back and nods. “Right. I got curious as to the line that was crossed off. And then I noticed that the next thing signed by Dr. Adams was the daily sheet which verified each coordinating number with the vial given.” Westin holds the paper for everyone to see.

  “Correct, and that’s—” I begin.

  He keeps going, cutting me off again. “That’s when I noticed that the correction form was missing.”

  “Yes,” I sigh.

  There’s no point, he’s out for blood and I’m hemorrhaging right now. Might as well let him save himself. It’s all going to come out eventually.

  “Now, I conferred with Dr. Ney and she said she didn’t sign off on anything. The same with Dr. Wells and the other advisors.”

  Of course, no one signed off because I fucking did it myself. He knows this. He’s just digging the damn hole deeper and then covering me with the soil. Westin stops, looks at me with a disappointed look, and I want to stab him with a pencil.

  “I’m aware of this,” my voice is so detached it doesn’t sound like me.

  “I wasn’t sure why this would be missing from a trial run by a doctor who has impeccable organizational skills. So, I started digging further,” Westin continues. “I looked into the other trial patients as well, wondering how many more errors I might find. I was looking for files that were missing the other advisor’s signature or mine. It wasn’t until I opened Lindsay Dunphy’s file, the patient who was dismissed the day the trial began, that I found the unsigned document,” he gives me a pointed stare.

  What is he doing? He’s lying because there is no paper that was in a file. I look at him, begging him to stop this before there’s no way out, not wanting to let him get even more tangled in this mess.