It’s the kindness that doesn’t make sense. I still don’t understand how someone so kind, so tender, could be so… fake. As hard as I’ve tried to convince myself that I’m better off without him, a small part of me still doesn’t believe it.
Even now, when I’ve spent the last three months convincing myself I made the right decision by cutting him off, I feel a warmth in my center at the thought of him. At the thought of his strong, muscular body that looks like it was chiseled in stone. That warmth is usually followed by a stabbing pain my chest, though.
I can almost, almost feel the sparks that flew across my skin at his touch. Almost, but not quite.
I haven’t told Emma that I haven’t had an orgasm since the last day I saw him. Truthfully, I haven’t really tried. There’s no point. I know, deep down, that I can’t come without his touch.
Emma continues. “Listen, we’re not going to try to hook you up with anyone. We just need to get you out of this freaking apartment and around some other people. People you don’t work with.”
I’m incredibly nervous. I don’t even know why. Nervous to talk to other guys, maybe. Nervous I’ll run into him. A part of me almost hopes I will, but I chide myself for admitting it. New York is a big city, the chances of running into him are minuscule. And plus, he should be in Seattle by now.
The thought of him gone away to the other side of the country is simultaneously a relief and the worst thing I could imagine. I file that thought away into the deep, dark recesses of my mind.
Emma and I hop in a cab and head to the newest lounge down the street. It’s packed to the rafters with people and my heartbeat increases immediately. Emma grabs my elbow and gives it a squeeze, sensing my unease.
“It’ll be okay,” she whispers in my ear.
She struts into the bar and as usual all eyes are on her. She’s sex on legs, and I’m glad that the attention isn’t on me. I just need to find a corner to hide in now to calm my anxious mind.
My eyes scan the room instinctively.
I’m looking for him, I know I am.
What am I doing? I’m the one who stopped talking to him. He called me for weeks after that day, and I cut him off. Even if he was here, who’s to say he would even give me the time of day? He would probably have some bombshell on his arm. Maybe even more than one.
The thought of Clay with another woman makes me lightheaded. I feel sick. Of course he’s been with other women since me, he’s a player. That’s what he does. I need to get over this and going out tonight is the first step.
I follow Emma to the bar and we order some drinks. She turns around and is immediately accosted by a tall, good-looking blond guy. He’s got that wind-whipped hair look that reminds me of a surfer. I wonder how he achieved that look in New York City. I look at him and take a deep breath. I’m not sure I can do this.
Emma gives my elbow a squeeze again and turns to the guy.
“Guess what? I just bought my seventeenth cat today!” she tells him excitedly. “I’ve started knitting them Christmas sweaters already, want to see some photos?”
He opens his mouth and then closes it like a fish out of water, and then spins on his heels and walks away. I burst out laughing, and Emma winks at me.
“See? Relax, Val, I’m not going to try to hook you up with anyone.”
She hands me my drink and I finally feel the tension leave my shoulders.
46
Clay
I’m standing outside Dr. Willis’ office with my arm raised, ready to knock. He’s asked me for a meeting this evening, before my shift starts for the night. My palms are sweaty, so I wipe them on my pants before raising my arm again to knock. He’s either going to tell me I’m awful at my job and it’s not working out, or else praise me and offer me a permanent position. I have no idea which it is, and that in itself isn’t a great sign.
“Come in,” I hear his gruff voice call through the door when I rap my knuckles on the wood.
I turn the knob and step through the door. My palms are still sweaty and I wish they weren’t. I try to casually wipe them on my pants again without Dr. Willis noticing. I walk in hesitantly and he motions to a chair on the other side of his desk, barely taking his eyes off the files in front of him. I sit across from him and put my hands in my lap, and then on the armrest, and then on my lap again.
“You wanted to see me?” I hate how squeaky my voice is. It’s like I’m going through puberty all over again. I’m not usually like this.
“Doctor O’Neill,” he starts. He lifts his eyes off his papers and looks at me over his glasses. “Thank you for coming in.”
He takes his glasses off his face and folds them deliberately, placing them in front of him on his desk. He straightens his papers and then folds his hands and looks up at me. He has a full head of curly grey hair with thick, bushy eyebrows. He’s staring at me from under his eyebrows and I’m willing myself not to squirm under his gaze.
“As you know, it’s come time for your performance review. You’ve been here three months, and I thought it appropriate to give you some feedback.”
I nod. “That sounds good, I’d love to hear your feedback.”
“Good.” He leans back in his chair, still looking at me. “You’re a brilliant doctor.”
“I, uh…Thank you, Dr. Willis.” I can hear the ‘but’ hanging at the end of his sentence, unsaid. He sighs and looks at me for a few more seconds.
I really, really want to wipe my palms again but I resist the urge.
Dr. Willis points a finger at me. “You’re a brilliant doctor but you’re lacking something,” he continues. My eyebrows shoot up. He pauses.
He certainly knows how to be dramatic. My heart is racing and I’m just waiting for him to tell me to pack my bags and go back to New York City.
“You’re lacking something and up until now I haven’t been able to put my finger on it. Your bedside manner is professional and empathetic. Your paperwork is impeccable and your surgical skills are world class.” He pauses again, leaning forward. “I’m just not sure you want to be here.”
“What? No. I do, Doctor.” I frown and shake my head. “I’ve been working for the past ten years just to be here, working for you. I swear, this is exactly where I want to be.”
“Hmm.”
He pushes his chair back and stands up. He turns his back to me and stares out the window behind him at the evening sky, clasping his hands behind his back. The streetlights are just starting to come on as the sun goes down. As usual, grey clouds dominate the sky. He stands at the window and stares out until I wonder if I should speak.
“Sometimes, where you think you want to be and where you actually want to be are two different places.” He turns around and looks at me with that intense, unflinching gaze of his.
My heart beats faster. What is he saying? Of course I want to be here.
“Have you heard of the sunk cost fallacy, Doctor O’Neill?”
“Yes, of course. It’s an economic concept where you become too, uh, emotionally attached to your investments. I guess it would be emotional attachment?” I ask. Dr. Willis nods. “Right. And as time goes on, it becomes more and more difficult to let go of investments, even when you’re operating at a loss.”
“Precisely.” He’s still staring at me with those laser beams. He nods at me wisely and I wonder if I’ve suddenly become incredibly dense.
“I’m not sure I follow,” I add.
“Well, O’Neill, I think you’re suffering from a bit of sunk cost fallacy yourself.”
“Okay,” I say. He’s still staring at me and I’m starting to get frustrated. This is unlike any performance review I’ve ever had. He hasn’t gone over Key Performance Indicators. He hasn’t spoken about my audits or my reviews. All he’s done is make a few passing comments on the fact that I’m great at my job and then went off on a tangent about economics.
“It’s not only an economic concept,” he finally says. “It’s really more of a human psychology concept; it c
an be applied to all types of scenarios.”
He goes quiet and we both stay there, unmoving, staring at each other. The cogs in my brain are spinning, spinning, trying to figure out what he’s trying to tell me. It’s like my brain is trying its best to keep me in the dark.
“Where do you want to be, Doctor O’Neill?” The weight of his question bears down on me.
“Here! Right here, working for you. This is where I want to be.” I answer a little too quickly, a little too loudly. It sounds like I’m trying to convince myself. Dr. Willis sits back down and opens the files back up. He answers me without looking up.
“Think about this conversation, O’Neill.” He glances at his watch. “I believe your shift is about to start.”
I nod and stand up to leave. I open my mouth to say something, and then realize I have no idea what I want to tell him. I turn around and walk out of his office.
Once outside I let out a deep sigh. The ground feels like it’s lurching underneath me, I don’t know what is right or wrong anymore.
Does he always have to be so cryptic?
Except I know that he wasn’t being cryptic. I lean against the wall and close my eyes. He’s incredibly perceptive, and he knows that my heart isn’t in cardiology.
I hate to admit it to him. I hate to admit it to myself.
My heart isn’t in my work because it’s back in New York, with Valerie Brooks.
47
Valerie
I say goodbye to my client, knowing I’ve made another sale. She shakes my hand and then hails a cab, jogging from the building’s awning to the cab door to avoid getting drenched in the rain. I look up at the sky. There’s no sign of this storm clearing.
The rain is belting down, bouncing up off the sidewalk and flooding the gutters. I look down the street and chew the inside of my cheek. I’m only a block away from that cafe in Soho, from that loft. My heart beats a little bit faster when I glance in that direction.
Cars stream by, their headlights cutting through the heavy curtains of rain. The usual noises of the city are muffled by the weather, and I shrug, pulling my jacket in closer.
A nice, warm latte would be really nice right now. I’m in the neighborhood, and if I happen to glance up at a certain set of windows, that won’t hurt, will it? It’s probably empty or has new owners.
He’s definitely in Seattle by now.
I pull out my umbrella and open it up, heading in the direction of the cafe. I duck in and fold up my umbrella, leaving it by the door and shaking my hair out. I glance out the coffee shop windows at the other side of the street, but I can barely make out the building through the rain.
I shouldn’t be here.
It’s too close for comfort. My heart is beating hard in my chest and my breath is shallow and quick.
I walk up to the counter and order a latte, to stay. I pick a table and wait for my order to be ready. When it’s called out, I wrap my fingers around the warm mug and sit back down, wondering what I’m doing here.
I shouldn’t be here. I’ve avoided this area ever since the day I found out the truth about Clay O’Neill. I don’t want to run into him. Didn’t want to run into him. My heartbeat quickens at the thought of seeing him. I take another sip of hot, milky coffee to calm my nerves. I shouldn’t even be nervous. He doesn’t live here anymore. He’s in Seattle. Why wouldn’t he be?
How can I be sure, though?
That’s an easy one: I can’t. But I have to tell myself that he’s gone forever. Maybe if I glance up at the windows and see someone else in that gorgeous loft apartment then I’ll be able to move on knowing he’s gone.
I sip my coffee slowly, savoring every mouthful of hot liquid. It’s creamy and sweet, and it runs down my throat warming me up from the inside. I close my eyes with every sip, letting my body relax and my mind go blank.
It feels almost like closure to be here. I cut him off, and now I just need to say goodbye to him. Even if he’s in Seattle, thousands of miles away, that loft is the place where we spent most of our time together. It seems fitting to say my goodbyes here.
My heart squeezes and I take a deep breath. This is silly, I know it is.
I’ll finish my drink, and then walk across the road and look up at the windows, just once. Then I’ll walk away and I won’t come back.
I’ll move on.
This is the last step. After this, I can move on. Maybe I can even try to get myself off. I still have my vibrator, and I know it’s not the toy that’s broken. I know I can do it. I just have to prove to myself that I can do it without him.
Do I even want to do it without him?
Before my mind starts spiraling down that path I stand up and push my chair back. I gather my things and take a deep breath, ready to walk across the street and then walk away. Forever.
My umbrella is still dripping wet but I shake it out just outside the door before opening it up. I step out into the rain and wait for the light to change, and then cross the street.
Each step takes me closer and closer to his building, to his home. To the building where I felt as much at home as I have anywhere else in this city. Each step makes my heart beat faster, my breath more ragged. I can hear my own heartbeat raging in my ears like a torrent, drowning out the rain and the incessant honking of New York City traffic.
I step up onto the curb on the other side of the street and look at the familiar brick wall, raking my eyes slowly up the building. Brick by brick, story by story, window by window, I bring my gaze up to the loft. It’s dark. There aren’t any lights on. I can’t see any furniture in the darkness nor can I see any movement. I sigh, letting all the nervous energy out with my breath.
It’s done.
He’s gone.
The realization hits me like a moving train and the breath is knocked out of me.
He’s gone.
He’s gone.
Hot, burning tears start welling up in my eyes. I’ve lost the one thing that made me feel whole. I cut him out, without realizing what I was doing. I didn’t let him explain a word to me, I just took that woman’s story at face value.
He’s gone.
I’ve lost him.
The weight of my mistake hits me. I cut him out without listening, without trusting him. I let my pride and my embarrassment get in the way of hearing what he had to say. I dug my heels in even though he tried again and again to reach out to me.
The tears are rolling down my cheeks and finally, standing in the cold rain outside his apartment I understand the true depth of my loneliness. My feet are like blocks of concrete, I can’t move, I can’t think. I can only cry silent, unending tears.
And then, a voice pulls me out of my stupor. Not a voice, THE voice. The voice I’ve been dreaming of, the voice I’ve been missing.
His voice. His voice. He’s calling my name!
“Val!”
I spin around toward the sound and I see him opening the lobby door, rushing in my direction. In an instant, he’s drenched by the rain but it doesn’t matter. Nothing matters. He crashes into me and his arms are around me, pulling me into him. My umbrella drops to the ground as I circle my arms around his neck, melting into him.
His lips collide with mine and the sweet warmth of his kiss envelops me like nothing before. It’s not just a kiss, it’s more. It’s our entire beings, our hearts, our souls colliding, meshing, coming together and dancing as we stand drenched in the street.
The rain pours down and washes my face clean of my tears. He brings a hand up and tangles his fingers into my hair, pulling my head closer to him. Our clothes are soaked. The cold means nothing, it is nothing, compared to the heat of our bodies coming together.
His hands travel down to my ass and he hoists me up to his waist. I wrap my legs around him and bring my hands to the side of his head. I don’t stop kissing him for a second. I can’t stop. I won’t stop.
He’s here.
He’s here.
He’s mine, and I’m his.
48
Clay
My wet shirt is clinging to my body but I don’t care, because Val’s legs are wrapped around my waist and my lips are all over hers. Her body fits into mine like two puzzle pieces. Nothing matters except her kiss.
She pulls her head back gently and looks into my eyes. The rain has matted her hair against her skull, with water running in rivulets down her face. She looks gorgeous.
“You didn’t go to Seattle,” she says in amazement.
“I did.” I say, not believing that she’s here in my arms. “I came back.”
Her eyes widen and she tightens her legs around me. She feels light as a feather in my arms. I could carry her to the end of the earth right now, if only to know that she’d be in my arms. She leans closer and kisses me again.
I feel her shiver against me.
“Let’s go in,” I say softly.
“What, and ruin this Notebook moment?” she says with mock horror on her face. “I’m living for this right now.”
The rain is pouring down on both of us and we’re both soaked through. I laugh and turn around to carry her through the door. I set her down gently outside the elevator. When the door dings open, I back her into it, kissing her in short, soft kisses until her back is pressed against the far wall.
I turn to press the button and as soon as the doors close, I’m back to her, showering her with kisses, pressing her body against the elevator. I can feel the firmness of her tits against my chest and my cock, already hard from the moment I saw her, strains against my pants.
I don’t know what she was doing outside my apartment, and quite frankly, I don’t care. She’s here.
Doctor's Orders (Complete Series) Page 16