Until We Are Gone

by Gia Riley

  This isn’t the movies, Meadow.

  “Have you started?” I ask him, just in case.

  He cracks a gorgeous smile that makes me light-headed. “No, Meadow. I like my patients to be comfortable, so I thought we’d get to know each other a little bit before we began.”

  “I know you,” I accidentally say aloud.

  He clears his throat, and I swear, his cheeks look like they’ve been pinched. Now, he’s the one embarrassed, and I wonder if he’s dreamed of me, too.

  I’m afraid to say anything out loud. The woman’s still typing on the computer, and we haven’t even started the session yet.

  The last thing I need is her recording something Ms. Lucia could misconstrue as me losing my mind. I’m not. I’m very much aware of what’s happening.

  Dr. Slater and I have met up in our dreams, touched each other in the most intimate of places, and now, here we are, forced to deal with the painfully beautiful consequences.

  He glances over his shoulder and then back at me, and from the looks of it, he’s still a little flustered. “I think we should continue tomorrow. When you’ve had a chance to get some rest. The more relaxed we are, the better.”

  He needs to be relaxed, too? I thought I was the one being hypnotized.

  But the pen in his hand is shaking ever so slightly, and I realize that maybe he needs some time to process whatever is happening. I’m not the only one who’s affected.

  “If you think that’s best, I’m okay with waiting.”

  He clears his throat again. It’s an understated attempt to get Gretchen to look up from the screen.

  She doesn’t catch on, so he says, “Gretchen, I think we’re done here for today. Please add Meadow to tomorrow’s schedule, and then you can leave.”

  Gretchen clicks the mouse a couple of times and closes her laptop. She’s so professional; her skirt isn’t even wrinkled when she stands up. She seems like the kind of woman who would drive him crazy—and not in a good way. The Dr. Slater who visits me is a dominant force in bed, but he’s laid-back as soon as we’re finished.

  She leaves the room, closing the door behind her, and I imagine her going to the computer lab to recharge her batteries, like the little robot she is.

  Dr. Slater takes a deep breath. I have no idea what’s going to come out of his mouth.

  “I don’t want you to be scared of me, Meadow.”

  That’s not what I was expecting.

  “What you do scares me, Dr. Slater. Not you.”

  “Call me Nolan.”

  “Am I allowed to?” I question.

  He’s my doctor. Using a first name doesn’t seem formal enough, and I don’t think Ms. Lucia would like it. I’m not allowed to use her first name, and she and I are as close as a therapist and patient can be. Sometimes, she even feels like an actual friend. I don’t have any of those left—besides Cash.

  “I think we’re beyond titles, Meadow.”

  “I think so, too,” I tell him, my heart pounding in my chest.

  Ms. Lucia opens the door and peeks her head inside the room. The mood changes again. Frowning, she says, “Where’s Gretchen?”

  “We’re just finishing up,” Dr. Slater tells her.

  “Already?” she questions. “Surely, you’ve just begun. You arrived late.”

  I wait for Ms. Lucia to drag me out of here by the arm, yelling at me about messing this up. But it wasn’t my fault. For once in my life, I’m not the one responsible. If Dr. Slater had wanted to continue, I’d have buried as many of my feelings as I could and let him do his worst on me.

  “I’ll explain in the hallway,” he tells her.

  I don’t know what kind of power he has around here, but when he talks, people listen. Ms. Lucia scurries into the hallway, just like Gretchen did, and then he focuses his attention back to me.

  “I’ll finish up with Ms. Lucia and then meet you in my office. Room five-thirteen.”

  What? I can’t do that.

  But I want to spend more time with him.

  “This isn’t your office?” I ask with a shaky voice.

  “This is one of my treatment rooms. I have my own space though. With a nicer couch,” he says with a wink.

  Maybe it’s just a shrink joke, but all I can picture is what he could do to me on his couch. I think I’d like to see his office.

  And then, as I make a mental note of his office number, it hits me. I realize I’ve heard those three digits before.

  “Oh my God, room five-thirteen. It’s you.”

  He pauses for a second, and his eyes roam every inch of my face. By the time he gets to my lips, I’m blushing.

  “It’s me,” he says. “You really know how to kick a man when he’s down. Sick as a dog wasn’t good enough for you?”

  He’s smirking, not at all mad, like he should be. I feel like the biggest asshole on the planet. Dr. Slater wasn’t dressed like he is now—in a suit with fancy shoes that probably cost as much as one of my mortgage payments. All I saw was a hoodie and jeans, and I lumped him in with the rest of the rehab population. I guess that explains why he tried to take the pins out of my hand. It was his job to stop me.

  But, if a kick to the crotch is the only reason he remembers me, then maybe he doesn’t know about the dreams. They’re still my secret.

  “Wait,” I say as I leap from the couch. “Please tell me, Ms. Lucia has no idea about yesterday. You can’t tell her what I did. I’ll get written up, and then I’ll lose phone time and who knows what else.”

  “Calm down, Meadow. Do you really think I’m going to tell my colleague that my patient kicked me in the balls?”

  “You don’t have to report me?”

  “Technically, yes. But we’ll talk about that in my office.”

  My legs are wobbly, and I pray they’re strong enough to hold me up. Naturally, I want to run back to my room and crawl under the bed, but Dr. Slater knows where to find me. As long as I’m a patient here, there’s no hiding from Nolan.

  That’s both exciting and terrifying. After what I did to him, I should be afraid to show my face in his presence. But I have to find out just how much he knows about me—and if he has any clue about us.

  “I’ll head to your office now then.”

  “I won’t be long,” he says, his words dripping with innuendos in my dirty mind.

  I imagine waiting on his couch with nothing on, surprising him when he comes inside the room. But his door is locked—another reminder that rehab isn’t a fantasy world.

  Dr. Slater doesn’t make me wait long. He must have handled Ms. Lucia like he handles me in my dreams—swiftly, always giving me exactly what I want, though with a little bit of begging.

  Without saying a word, he unlocks his door and pushes it open. “Go ahead,” he says, his breath dancing over my earlobe, sending chills down my spine.

  The click of the door behind us makes me jump, and I stand in the corner with my arms crossed protectively over my chest. As uncomfortable as I suddenly am, I don’t want to walk away. Not until I get some answers and figure out why this sexy-as-sin man has such a presence in my life.

  “So, about the punt,” he jokes, “I’m not making a formal statement or writing you up.”

  “I’m really sorry, Dr. Slater. It was a reflex. Why aren’t you writing me up though?”

  “It’s still Nolan,” he corrects.

  “Okay, Nolan,” I stress with as much of a straight face as I can manage. “How did I get so lucky?”

  “I ask myself that every day.”

  “What does that mean?” I can’t decide if it’s a clue about the dreams or just a wise-ass comment from a man who shouldn’t be alone with a patient in his office.

  “Nothing,” he says. “I know that, if you weren’t trying to break into the supply closet, you wouldn’t have had such an extreme reaction. We do crazy things when we’re desperate.”

  I’d like to do something pretty desperate right now, but I keep it together. “Lesson learned. Why were y
ou dressed so differently though? I thought you were a patient.”

  He glances at his suit and smiles. “Believe it or not, I don’t love dressing up. If it were up to me, I’d wear jeans. I felt like shit, so I went home for a little while and then came back to work on some paperwork. As long as I’m not seeing patients, they don’t care how terrible I look.”

  “You couldn’t look terrible if you tried.”

  He opens his mouth and then closes it. I’d love to know what he was going to say. I’m guessing it wasn’t the simple, “Noted,” that he gives me.

  His eyes penetrate my soul, and even though he’s probably clueless about the dreams, he’s still looking at me like he wants to devour me. I’m hoping that’s not his normal expression.

  “Do you invite all of your patients to your office?”

  “Only the ones special enough to put me in my place.”

  “Noted,” I say with a smile, echoing his response.

  Little tears prick my eyes, and I blink them away before they have a chance to fall.

  “Are you okay, Meadow?”

  “No,” I tell him.

  I haven’t felt this much since the accident. The only time I ever enjoyed my life was when I was asleep or drunk. Only then did I feel as much like myself as I possibly could.

  He has no idea what this means to me—being in his presence after so many nights of wishing he were real, that he would sweep me off my feet in real life and put me out of my misery. And, now, here he is.

  In the flesh.

  “I get it,” he says. “Working together is going to be difficult.”

  He doesn’t “get it” at all. Not even a little bit. If he did, he’d be as enthralled with me as I am with him.

  How do I possibly explain that I know his eyes intimately? That every time I look at him, I replay every touch over and over again in my mind.

  I want him to want me.

  Like he can read my mind, his lips stretch into one of his sexy grins, and my stomach somersaults. I saw that exact expression this morning, right before my alarm went off. My toes were curled, and I was gripping his shoulders so hard, my nails left marks on his skin. I wonder if they’re still there.

  nineteen

  NOLAN

  Meadow’s eyes are as mesmerizing now as they were then.

  When Ms. Lucia informed me that I had a new patient, I had no idea she was the same woman I’d read about in the newspapers. The woman I’d met a dozen times before.

  Normally, I’d have looked over the files, scouring them for as much information as I could pull together to use in a therapy session, but all I could do was stare at her name and daydream.

  Yesterday, I was sick, behind on paperwork, and thoughts of Meadow drained what little energy I had left.

  She is in rehab. How did that happen? Who let that happen?

  The woman I’d spent time with was grounded, focused, and happy, and she had a great job. She wasn’t addicted to drugs or alcohol. In fact, the one time we’d had wine with dinner, she’d refused, just in case Mimi needed her in the middle of the night.

  It had to be a coincidence. Maybe the names were the same, and that was where the similarities ended.

  But, if that were true, then why did Meadow disappear from my life?

  All hope that it wasn’t her vanished when I walked by the supply closet and caught Meadow trying to break in. I swear, if she hadn’t kicked me in the balls, I’d have passed out anyway.

  My fever was high—I could tell by the way I had been sweating—but I wasn’t hallucinating.

  For months, I’d wondered where she’d disappeared to and why she’d stopped coming to care for my neighbor Mimi. Meadow loved being a nurse, she was damn good at it, and I knew she wouldn’t have willingly walked away from her job.

  The accident had happened, and then she’d spiraled to get here.

  But I didn’t want to think about why. Not yet. All I wanted to think about was how we’d met.

  My neighbor Mimi wasn’t in good shape, so I helped her as much as I could. Thankfully, she had visiting nurses who took care of her every need. From grocery shopping to bathing, they handled it all.

  One specific Tuesday, I did my grocery shopping before I came to work—the same time I knew one nurse, Meadow, would be doing Mimi’s. My schedule was twice as full as normal, and I had no business worrying about food shopping that day, but I couldn’t help myself.

  I was drawn to the visiting nurse and that sweet smile of hers. From the second Mimi had introduced us, I couldn’t get her off my mind.

  But, other than that one simple introduction, we’d only exchanged polite waves as we were coming and going. I needed a conversation.

  At the store, I turned the corner too fast and ran my cart right into the nurse’s side.

  “Oof,” she said as she wrapped her fingers around the metal to slow me down, followed by, “That’s a lot of toilet paper.”

  I couldn’t stop the laugh that escaped even though I’d almost run the gorgeous girl over. Muttering an, “I’m sorry,” I backed my cart up.

  She politely smiled and continued shopping in the opposite direction.

  It obviously wasn’t love at first sight or anything like that. Not unless she had a thing for Charmin. But that one silly comment from her lured me in even more. I found myself following her up and down every aisle. My busy schedule was forgotten, and I didn’t care how late I was going to be for my first appointment.

  Each time I chanced a glance at her, her coy smile would shock me stupid. My fingertips tingled as I gripped the handle of the cart so tightly. Her perfume invaded my senses, and I found myself checking her left hand for a wedding band. It was bare, just like mine.

  I should say something. She had to know I was checking her out, but I had no idea how to tell this woman that I thought she was perfect, that I wanted to sit down and share a meal with her.

  Where I came from, you didn’t speak unless spoken to. But Meadow was talking to me every chance she had. She spoke with the gentle sway of her hips as she pushed her cart and the subtle way she stretched her body to grab an item off the top shelf, revealing a little bit of her skin. Grocery shopping was suddenly an erotic experience.

  When she tugged the hem of her shirt down to reach the top of her scrub pants, I glanced at my own outfit and realized I’d never changed my clothes for work.

  I was still dressed in shorts and a T-shirt with a cart full of paper towels and toilet paper.

  I looked ridiculous. None of that mattered though, not to me anyway. Because I wasn’t leaving the parking lot without getting her phone number.

  It didn’t take much persuasion on my part. She blushed as she spouted off the digits, and I was so nervous that I was all thumbs, trying to put it into my phone.

  If I had more time, I’d talk to her a little while longer. But I hadn’t stopped by to see Mimi yet this morning, and I wanted to be there when she woke up from her nap, just in case she forgot where she was—or worse, who she was. The last time that had happened, she’d wandered right out the front door without her keys or her cane.

  Her Alzheimer’s had become my second full-time job. As hard as it was to see her slip in and out of lucidity, I didn’t regret the time it took to look after her. I just dreaded the day she woke up and didn’t remember me anymore.

  Not even hypnotherapy could help reverse her condition or the aging of her brain. I’d never felt so helpless, especially since Mimi was the one who had encouraged me to pursue a career my own family thought was bullshit.

  My parents didn’t care about statistics or the number of people I helped. They saw me as a voodoo specialist with dolls and a cauldron for my witchcraft. I was a joke—a joke they weren’t proud of.

  Mimi was always proud. She’d even held a party for me after I got my license at the rehab center. Things had changed a lot after that, and I hated how quickly this nasty disease was consuming my friend.

  She’d never be alone though. Mimi had me
and her nurses. And we’d stick by her side until the very end.

  Those nurses were special, especially Meadow.

  After I got her number, I kept my distance and took a full three days to call her. The second she answered though, my body reacted to her voice the same way it had in the grocery store.

  The calls became daily reminders of how happy she made me, and even though I was hesitant to ask her out on a date because of her bond with Mimi, I still called each day when I’d said I would.

  Meadow was patient with me, though harboring some secrets of her own. I could tell because, every time I asked about her past, she would give a quick response that never dived too deep into her emotions. Whatever she was hiding, she wanted to keep it out of our conversations.

  I thought it might have something to do with the fact that I was a therapist, and she didn’t want me analyzing her. I told her she didn’t have to worry about that. Whether she believed me or not was up to her, but I promised that, when I was with her, I was off the clock.

  Eventually, I made a bigger move, and she agreed to dinner.

  By the time our date rolled around, I found myself jogging up the steps to Mimi’s house. Meadow was inside, giving Lucille, the other visiting nurse, a rundown of the day’s events.

  Lucille was of Mimi’s generation, and they respected each other the way two best friends might. I knew Mimi was in good hands, probably ecstatic about a night of bridge, but I wanted to check on her anyway. My reasons for doing so had everything to do with Meadow. I just couldn’t wait to get to her.

  When the doorbell rang, Mimi opened the door, laughing at the fact that I was there. She knew all about my plans and was thrilled that I’d finally asked Meadow out on a proper date.

  “I see the way you watch her, Nolan. If you don’t say something, I’ll do it for you.” Her threats were always valid.

  I would put nothing past Mimi, and I loved her for it.

  She grabbed me by the hand and pulled me inside the house.

  Meadow pushed a stray hair out of her eye and packed up her things. A stethoscope peeked out of the top of her bag, and I smiled because of our joint love of medicine.