The Doctor Who Has No Closure (Soulless Book 10)

by Victoria Quinn

  “I’ll talk to your father about it. But either way, we’ll make sure to get him a pie. A good man like that deserves some kind of gift, even if it’s just a pie…and he probably has five Porsches.”

  “He’s not like that, Mom. Honestly, if you met him, you wouldn’t even know he was some hotshot. He’s the most down-to-earth person I’ve ever met.”

  “Well, now I’ve got to meet the man.”

  After we entered through the two gates, we approached a cabin nestled close to the water. The driveway was free of snow, but the white powder was packed everywhere else. The tall pines had snow caked on their branches, and the windows of the cabin were bright because of the merry activity inside.

  We parked the car then headed to the front door. Mom carried the pie, which was freshly baked with the heat trapped inside the foil wrapping. Dad wasn’t thrilled at the idea of spending a couple hours with strangers, but he was interested in meeting my boss, to make sure he was good to me.

  Even though Dex was the best.

  When we approached the front door, the sound of Christmas music was audible. I knocked once, and when there was no answer, I just let myself inside, knowing it was too loud for anyone to hear.

  I stepped into the foyer and saw the living room in the rear, his family holding glasses of wine or hot cocoa, all dressed in nice sweaters like they were going to take a holiday picture. There were a couple people I didn’t recognize, probably other family members—also geniuses, no doubt.

  It was warm inside, so I immediately shed my jacket and hung it on the coatrack and helped my mom with hers.

  Dex came down the hallway, as if he’d just left the bathroom. He was gorgeous, as usual, in a long-sleeved green shirt and black jeans, his masculine triangle shape noticeable in the way his clothing fit him so well. His brown eyes were bright with merriment, as if he was having a good time or had too much wine. His eyes shifted to me, and a sexy-ass smile spread over his lips. “You made it. Merry Christmas.” He came up to me, his eyes only on me like he didn’t notice my parents there.

  “Yep,” I said with a nod. “And Merry Christmas to you too.” I turned to my mom. “This is my mom, Hannah. Mom, this is Dex.”

  Mom stared at him blankly for a solid five seconds.

  Dex continued to wear his polite smile. “Lovely to meet you.” He extended his hand. “Oh, is that a pie?”

  Mom snapped out of it when he addressed her hard work. “Blueberry. Wanted to bring something as a thank-you for the invitation.”

  “That’s awesome.” Dex took the pie from her hands. “You know what? Blueberry is my favorite.” He balanced it in a single palm. “Ooh, it’s still warm. I’m gonna have to have a piece of this now.” He shook her hand then moved to my dad. “Merry Christmas, sir.”

  Dad shook his hand and studied him with the same surprise. “Merry Christmas to you too. I’m Terry.”

  “Great to meet you, Terry.” Dex stepped back, still holding the pie. “I’ll be right back. Can I get you guys anything? How about a couple hot cocoas? My mom has a special recipe.”

  “Uh, sure,” Mom said, her eyes watching him as he left the foyer and disappeared, probably into the kitchen. Then she turned back to me, her eyes full of intense accusation. “Is that man…your boss?”

  Dad stared at me with the same look as he shed his coat.

  “Yes,” I said. “I know he’s probably younger—”

  Mom gently held up her hand. “That handsome, young, single man is your boss?”

  “How do you even know he’s single?” I asked incredulously.

  “He ain’t wearing a ring,” she said with a tsk of her lips. “And if that man is someone’s husband, she’s gonna make him wear a ring.”

  I was so relieved that Dex was nowhere in earshot. “Mom, be cool.”

  “Be cool?” she hissed. “You’re with that perfect man forty hours a week, and you aren’t dating him?”

  “Mom.” I lowered my voice to be extra careful. “He’s my boss. Totally unprofessional.”

  “So?” Dad said. “Doctors sleep with their secretaries, so why can’t you be one of those secretaries?”

  Dumbfounded, I just stared, unable to believe my dad just said that. “Oh my god…”

  Dex put a pause to the conversation, thank fucking god, when he returned with two mugs of hot cocoa for my parents. He also had a plate with a slice of pie, which was half-eaten. “This is, like, the best pie I’ve ever had.” He grabbed his fork and sliced it into the crust, getting a bite into his mouth. “Damn, this is good.” He just stood there and shoveled it into his mouth.

  That was all it took for my mom to fall deeply and obsessively in love with him. She had this look in her eyes, like this man would be my husband if it was the last thing she ever did. Then she shifted her look to me and grinned, almost evilly.

  Oh fuck.

  “You made this?” Dex asked.

  “From scratch,” Mom said proudly. “Sicily helped as well.”

  Dex turned to me. “So, you’re the best assistant in the world, and you can make pie? What can’t you do?”

  That was the sort of thing that made this so difficult for me, to be around a man who was so unbelievably perfect and he legitimately had no idea how perfect he was. He was so down-to-earth, so humble, so…special. “I can’t fix hearts. I know that much.”

  He chuckled then put his empty plate on a nearby table. “Come along, I’ll introduce you guys.” He took us around and introduced my parents to his parents, who both had red cheeks from the wine and pure joy in their eyes, surrounded by their family. He moved to his brother and sister next, and his uncle Tucker along with his wife and two kids and grandkids. My parents and his parents ended up talking near the tree, hitting it off even though I was certain they had nothing in common.

  “Girl, you look hot.” Daisy came up to me and gave me a big hug. “Where did you get this ensemble?”

  “Chanel,” I answered, feeling a lot more confident about myself now that I could afford designer clothing. Sometimes it was exhausting wearing heels all the time, looking impeccable when my appearance shouldn’t matter, but I wanted to represent Dex in the most powerful way possible. I didn’t need to dress that way tonight, but…I wanted to look nice. “Thank you.”

  She gently touched a curled strand of hair. “But you could walk in here in sweatpants and still kill it.”

  I chuckled. “Thanks. Did you bring Mason?”

  She shook her head quickly. “No. We aren’t there yet. Like, not even close.” She turned to watch my parents talk to hers. “Your parents seem nice.”

  “Yeah, they’re cool.” When my mother wasn’t desperately trying to set me up with someone, like my freakin’ boss. “They seem to really like Dex.”

  “No surprise there,” she said. “Everyone loves Dex.”

  Yes, they do. “Dex loved my mother’s pie, so I think she’s obsessed now.”

  “Pie is his favorite. He and I have had a pie-eating contest before.”

  “You?” I raised my eyebrow.

  “Yes, I ran for a week straight afterward.”

  I chuckled. “I was wondering…”

  “And he won, by the way.”

  “I jumped to that conclusion on my own.”

  When Dex came back over, he had another slice of pie on a plate. “Seriously, this pie is the bomb.”

  “The bomb?” I asked with a chuckle. “Are you drunk?”

  “On holiday cheer, maybe.” He sliced his fork into the crust and scooped it into his mouth. “It’s fresh out of the oven, so it’s never going to be better than it is now, and it’s Christmas, so…I really don’t give a fuck. I’ll hit the weights next week.”

  That man could eat an entire pie in one sitting, and he wouldn’t look any different.

  “So, how’s your Christmas break, then?” he asked, still eating.

  Daisy silently excused herself and mingled with somebody else.

  “Good,” I said. “I’ve been spen
ding time with my parents, which is nice. My brother is coming to visit tomorrow.”

  “Cool.”

  “What about you?”

  “I was pretty anxious about work, but it’s been nice spending time with family. We went skiing yesterday, and then when we got back, we had a snowball fight. Dad kicked my ass, like always. He’s old as shit, but damn, he moves fast.”

  “Your dad is not old.”

  “That guy over there?” He nodded to his father, who wore a maroon sweater with his arm around Cleo, looking not a day over forty. “That’s an old man.”

  “Well, if that’s old, then I have no problem aging. Your dad looks unbelievable.”

  He laughed, like he was just giving his dad shit even if he wasn’t around. “Anyway, it’s been good. I haven’t had much of a life for the past month, so it’s nice to do something other than cut people open.” He finished off his pie and set the plate down. “But if I keep eating like this, I’ll have to cut myself open.”

  “If anyone can do it, it’s you.”

  He shook his head, a handsome grin on his face. “You give me waaaaaay too much credit.”

  My response came tumbling out without a filter. “And you never give yourself enough.”

  8

  Dex

  I forgot how much I loved Christmas.

  Last year had been so shitty, freshly divorced after my wife packed her shit and left. I didn’t want to spend the holidays with my family, but they forced me, and I pretty much just sat on a couch all night and drank all the wine. It was a bit of a blur, can’t remember much, other than the fact that it sucked.

  But this year was good.

  We decorated the tree together while we enjoyed Mom’s hot cocoa, I got to spend some extended time with everyone, wake up early to hit the slopes, to forget all the things waiting for my attention at home, and just appreciate what I had.

  My family.

  I was so goddamn lucky.

  When I lost Catherine, my life ended because she was family, but my parents and siblings showed me the real meaning of unconditional love.

  Sicily sat with me on the couch, watching my nephews play with some of their toys on the carpet in front of the fireplace. Both with dark hair like my brother, they were freakin’ adorable. Ironically, Little Deacon looked a lot like my dad, but that wasn’t why they named him that. It was just a coincidence.

  She sipped her hot cocoa with her legs crossed, wearing a sweater dress that dropped down one shoulder, red like the ornaments on the tree, black tights underneath with black boots. She even wore a Santa hat, making me think of a sexy Mrs. Claus. “This hot cocoa is really something.”

  “Mom’s secret recipe. Well, not really a secret, she’ll share it with anyone that asks.”

  She looked down into the cup with floating marshmallows, not realizing the way her eyes reflected the lights of the tree, the way her cheeks had this glowing complexion because of the shine of the ornaments. We sat together for a while, and surprisingly, we didn’t talk about work once.

  Her parents walked over, wearing their big coats like they intended to leave. “It’s getting late, baby, and I have to get up early to get ready for your brother tomorrow.” Hannah had the same brown hair as her daughter, the same facial structure, and a bit of the same elegance. She had her coat wrapped tightly around her midsection, like she was already bracing for the harsh winter waiting outside.

  “Sure.” Sicily set the mug of hot cocoa on the coffee table in front of her. “I totally lost track of time—”

  “I can take you home,” I offered. “I mean, if you’d like to stick around longer.”

  Sicily stilled at the question.

  Her mom smiled like that was the best idea she’d ever heard. “That sounds lovely. Sicily, We’ll see you later…or tomorrow.” She leaned in and shook my hand once more. “It was truly a pleasure to meet you, Dex. You have a wonderful family.”

  “You too,” I said. “You raised a great girl. Wouldn’t know what to do without her.”

  She smiled even brighter. “Maybe you’ll never have to know…”

  Her father shook my hand before they departed.

  Once they were gone and out the front door, I realized Sicily never got a chance to answer for herself. “Sorry, did you even want to stay?”

  She grabbed her mug once more and took a drink. “Of course, I do. And I’m used to my mother making decisions on my behalf.”

  “You know my mom does the same. Join the club.”

  She set the mug on her thigh then turned to watch my sister move toward the piano. My mom stood at the other end as my sister took a seat. “Does your sister play?”

  “And sings,” I said.

  Sicily rolled her eyes dramatically. “Of course she does…”

  “Yeah, she’s annoying.” I rolled my eyes too.

  Sicily took a drink as she turned back to look at me, the music swelling in the living room as Daisy hit the keys without even a warm-up, filling the room with Christmas tunes that she knew by heart. “Why do you say that when you don’t mean it?”

  “Oh, trust me, I mean it.”

  “No, you don’t.” She gave my thigh a playful shove then looked at my sister again.

  Daisy played a couple joyous songs, everyone joining in, singing Christmas carols as she guided us with the grand piano in the corner. My dad sat on the armchair with my mom across his knee, smiling wide as he sang, watching my sister rock the piano like she was Elton John.

  Sicily sang along, getting into it like the rest of my family.

  The kids were asleep on the rug, passed out from the long day, so tired that the music didn’t even bother them.

  “Your sister has a really good voice.” Sicily turned to me while everyone continued to sing.

  “She does.”

  “Has she been playing piano her whole life?”

  “No, actually. She started in high school, was a natural at it.”

  “Do all of you play instruments?”

  I shook my head. “Nope. She’s the only one. She took a music class in high school, rocked at it, and then came home and said we needed to get a piano, so we did.”

  “Wow, that’s really cool.”

  Yes, my sister was very cool. She was good at everything, great company, and so beautiful that some of my friends called her the perfect woman. Every man’s obsession with my sister was annoying, to say the least, but I’d slowly learned to just accept it.

  She played through all our favorite songs, in front of the big tree and the fireplace, and once her fingertips left the keys, the silence became insufferable. It was like all the energy and the joy disappeared, because whenever Daisy played the piano, it usually meant the night was over, that midnight had arrived and it was time for bed.

  But nobody moved.

  Dad stared at her, his smile gone, his arm draped over my mother’s thigh. “Sweetheart, play it.”

  Sicily’s eyebrows furrowed.

  Daisy tilted her head back. “Dad, it’s slow and boring—”

  “Please,” he said quietly, giving her that look like she was his pride and joy, his entire world. “I love to hear you sing it.”

  Daisy dropped her head back toward the keys and stared for a moment, suddenly self-conscious, her natural smile gone, her spunk sheathed in her holster. With her chin dipped down, some of her long hair slipped forward and down her chest. She absentmindedly tucked it back.

  Dad was still, unblinking, just staring, waiting, his dark eyes reflecting the gold lights from the tree, highlighting his heart and soul underneath his tough shell. He gently rubbed my mom’s thigh, waiting for his daughter to give him his favorite Christmas gift.

  She inhaled a final breath before her fingers hit the keys, filling the room with music once more. Her beautiful voice hit every note of “Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas” perfectly, performing the song better than Frank Sinatra, Judy Garland, and every other person who ever tried. With her eyes down, she just fo
cused on the song, knowing everyone was staring at her with a different look than before.

  Dad watched her, his eyes slightly wet as he listened to her play his favorite Christmas song.

  Sicily couldn’t hide the surprise on her face, that Daisy couldn’t just sing well, but could sing better than all the greats.

  Everyone was entranced, including me, enjoying the magical moment we all secretly looked forward to every year, the moment Daisy gave us all a special gift, a memory that would be in our hearts for as long as we lived.

  Daisy was the most confident person I knew, but whenever she played this song with all eyes on her, she turned into a shy girl, feeling the burden of everyone’s expectations, forced to be serious rather than her teasing self. She couldn’t brush off her talents by singing along with everyone else. She was forced to take the stage on her own, to let every set of eyes glue to her face, to give our father the one thing he wanted.

  To watch his little girl sing.

  Every year, she seemed to get better, her voice stronger, syncing with the music like she was the one who originally wrote it.

  Dad looked at her with his heart on his sleeve, a film in his eyes, staring at her like he couldn’t believe she was his daughter. Dad said he didn’t have a favorite, and maybe he actually believed that, but it was untrue.

  It was Daisy.

  Derek and I were fine with it. She was our favorite too.

  She finished the song, the final sound of the keys fading away, the spirit of Christmas still in the room, the white snow falling outside, the living room full of the smell of warm pie, hot cocoa, and sugar cookies. She kept her eyes down, like she was too embarrassed to look up, and cleared her throat gently.

  Mom preemptively moved off Dad’s lap so he could leave the chair and join her at the bench. He sat down beside her, like none of us were there watching. His arm moved around her shoulders, and he brought her in close so he could kiss her temple. “Merry Christmas, sweetheart.”

  She moved her head to his shoulder, her hair falling forward, her eyes still down. “Merry Christmas, Daddy.”