Broken Dream, page 19
“I’d like to understand how you’ve coped. Particularly on the more difficult days.”
I contemplate her words, mulling over the ways grief has become a part of my everyday life. “Some days are harder than others,” I admit.
Though the last few days have been less difficult.
Because of Angie.
But I can’t say that.
But damn… That day after the meeting with Louisa and Gita, when I felt hope.
I was almost happy that day.
Until the powers that be decided I might not be mentally fit for the surgery.
Dr. Steel simply nods, patiently waiting for me to continue.
“I sleep less on those days,” I say. “I tend to throw myself into work or research. I find it easier to cope when my mind is occupied.”
“And when you’re not working?”
“It varies,” I respond honestly. “Sometimes it’s just…quiet reflection.”
Or more accurately lately…fucking her niece.
But nope. Can’t say that.
“And what about your support system, Dr. Lansing?” she asks. “Family, friends?”
Right.
No family to speak of.
And any friendships Lindsay and I had have dried up. My own fault. I just didn’t want to deal with the questions, the pitying looks.
“I have colleagues,” I reply.
She presses her lips together. “Colleagues can be a form of support too, but it’s not quite the same as having a close friendship. Do you have anyone you trust, someone you can confide in when things get tough?”
The question hangs heavily between us, an unwanted reminder of the isolation I’ve found myself in these past years.
Except…now I have Angie. Sort of. But a couple of good fucks isn’t a support system.
Shit. For a second I actually understand why the board is insisting on this.
Then it fades.
“Dr. Lansing?” Dr. Steel prompts.
“No,” I admit, a bitter taste in my mouth. “There isn’t anyone.”
She is silent a moment, her pen tapping lightly against the notepad in her lap. “What about hobbies? Anything that brings you joy or at least some form of distraction?”
“I run. Go to the gym.”
“Alone?”
“Yeah. I used to run with Lindsay.”
Dr. Steel lifts her gaze from the notepad and gives me an attentive nod.
“We’d go for runs in the park every Sunday,” I explain, staring past her at the bookshelves. My voice is distant, as if it belongs to someone else. “It helped us unwind. I’ve tried to keep up the habit. It’s one of the few things that still makes sense.”
“And do you think it has helped? This routine?”
I shrug. “To some degree, I suppose. There’s comfort in the physical exertion, in the constancy. It’s like, if I can keep going one more mile, then I can keep going through everything else.”
“You’ve built a routine around your resilience,” she says, scribbling something down on her notepad. “That speaks volumes to your strength, Dr. Lansing.”
Strength. I huff out a laugh. “Then I’m strong enough for this surgery, wouldn’t you say? Regardless of the outcome?”
She sighs. “If I said yes at this point, I’d be doing you a disservice, as well as a disservice to the hospital board who asked me to do this evaluation.”
I furrow my brow, unable to hold back the frustration that bubbles to the surface. “You think I’m not fit for the surgery,” I state, more as an accusation than a question.
Dr. Steel looks at me, her gaze unreadable. “I think,” she says slowly, “that there are still some unresolved issues you need to deal with. These are not disqualifications, Dr. Lansing, but they are obstacles.”
“Obstacles,” I repeat, my voice thick with sarcasm. “Is that what we’re calling it?”
“Call it whatever you like,” she says calmly. “But the fact remains that emotional well-being is just as crucial as physical capability when it comes to an experimental surgery that may give you back something crucial that you’ve lost. Or it may not. It may make things worse. And that, Dr. Lansing, is my concern. If the surgery works, I feel certain that you’ll be fine. If it doesn’t…”
Her words are left hanging in the air, echoing with unspoken implications.
I’m silent, unable to respond immediately. It’s a scenario that I’ve considered many times, but hearing it from her adds a new layer of weight to it.
“If it doesn’t,” I finally echo, forcing a neutral tone. “You’re worried about my reaction.”
Or more precisely, she’s worried I may do what Lindsay resorted to. I may take my own life.
She nods. “That’s right, Dr. Lansing. It’s my job to ensure the hospital that you can handle whatever outcome you’ll face. Especially since you don’t seem to have an adequate support system.”
Anger boils up inside me, and for the first time in our monotonous conversation, I feel my control slip. “So what do you propose, Dr. Steel?” I snap. “Another round of therapy? More digging into my past?”
“I’m not proposing anything yet,” she says, seemingly unfazed by my outburst. “I am, however, suggesting we continue this conversation.”
Chapter Thirty-Five
Angie
“Do you mind?” Ralph gestures to the stool next to me, the one Aunt Mel vacated.
“Knock yourself out,” I say. “I’m just leaving.”
“Stay. Please.”
He’s got to be kidding. “Thanks. But no.” I rise.
He grabs my arm.
I yank it away. “Don’t fucking touch me,” I say through clenched teeth.
He rolls his eyes. “For God’s sake, Angie, we’re in a public place. What kind of man do you think I am?”
I sit back down so I can lower my voice and be sure that he hears every word.
“You’ve already shown me who you are. You threatened to blackmail me with a story that isn’t true.” The lie is bitter on my tongue.
He looks at me, cocks his head, narrows his eyes. “You know, I wouldn’t expect you to be such a good little liar, yet here we are.”
His words hang heavy in the air, a foul stench that makes me want to vomit. “You think you know me, Ralph?”
He smirks. “I know enough.”
“You know nothing.” The words escape my mouth before I can stop them. There’s no point in playing nice anymore. Not with this man.
“Is that so?” He leans back on his stool, his eyes never leaving mine. “Enlighten me, then.”
I inhale deeply, the smoky scent of bacon somehow making me stronger. “I’m not going to let you blackmail me,” I say, meeting his gaze head-on. “I’m not going to let you ruin my life or Dr. Lansing’s over a lie.”
He chuckles. “You’ve got guts, Angie. But your little miss innocent act is lost on me. I saw what I saw, and the two of you were in a clench so tight that it could choke a snake.”
“If you saw someone kissing Dr. Lansing—and I’m not convinced you did—it wasn’t me.”
He crosses his arms. “Believe what you want. But the truth is a stubborn beast. It refuses to stay buried.”
“Your truth,” I reply, forcing the words out between gritted teeth. “Your twisted version of reality. It’s not a weapon you can use against me, Ralph.”
He leans in closer, his breath reeking of alcohol and stale coffee. “We’ll see about that,” he whispers, his voice slithering into my ear.
I shiver but hold my ground.
“I’m not afraid of you,” I say quietly.
“I know you’re not. You can pay me off in the next minute if I demand it. And if I do go to the dean, nothing will happen to you. Not to the sweet little heiress. Dr. Lansing is another story, though. He’ll lose his job, and wouldn’t that be a shame after all he’s been through?”
I tilt my head. “What are you talking about?”
“Save your little innocent routine. After that clench you were in, do you expect me to believe you didn’t stalk his socials and find out everything you could about him?”
I gesture to the waitress. “Could I get another cup of coffee, please?”
She flashes me a smile. “Coming right up.”
“And a Denver omelet for me,” Ralph says, “with hash browns and bacon. Put it on her tab.”
I glare at him.
He shrugs. “You can afford it. Right?”
I suppose if I want to protect Jason, breakfast is a small price to pay.
“Sure,” I say, “it’s on me.”
“That’s more like it.” Ralph grins and settles back onto his stool. He takes a sip of his coffee, the smugness in his expression making my skin crawl.
The waitress returns with my coffee, and I thank her as I wrap my hands around the warm mug. The scent of fresh coffee fills the air, and for a moment, I let it distract me from the man sitting next to me.
“What do you want, Ralph?” I ask eventually, breaking the silence that has settled between us.
His grin widens at my question, and he shrugs. “I’m looking for information,” he says nonchalantly.
I narrow my eyes at him. “And blackmailing people is the way to go about it? Haven’t you heard of the internet?”
He laughs again, that horrible, low rumbling sound that reverberates in my ears. “The information I’m looking for isn’t the kind you’d find there.”
I grit my teeth and take a long, slow sip of my coffee, forcing myself to stay calm. “You’re making a mistake,” I say quietly.
His smile fades slightly. “Is that a threat?”
“No,” I reply, matching his tone. “It’s a fact. You’re making a mistake if you think I’m going to let you destroy people’s lives for your own enjoyment.”
“Oh, I don’t intend to destroy anyone’s life,” he retorts. “Just shake things up a little.”
I set down my coffee cup with more force than necessary. “You have no right—”
He cuts me off with a dismissive wave of his hand. “Save your moral outrage, Angie. We both know this situation isn’t about rights.”
“Then what is it about?” I grind out, struggling to keep my temper in check.
Ralph’s eyes glint with a predatory anticipation. “Power,” he says, his voice low and menacing. “And control. And people getting what’s coming to them.”
A shiver of fear and revulsion runs down my spine, but I refuse to let him see it. “I won’t play your games, Ralph,” I say quietly.
He chuckles, looking thoroughly amused. “Angie, you’re already playing.”
The waitress returns then, setting down Ralph’s breakfast with a cheerful smile. It’s an abrupt return to reality that momentarily stuns me into silence.
“Enjoy your meal,” she tells Ralph before shooting me an empathetic look.
“Thanks,” Ralph replies, his attention already on the food in front of him.
“Well,” I say after a moment’s pause, my voice steady despite the turmoil within me. “I hope you enjoy your breakfast.” With that, I push back my stool and stand.
“Where do you think you’re going?” His voice is casual, but there’s a hard edge to it.
I toss some bills onto the counter for his meal, ignoring his question.
“I’m not bluffing, Angie,” he says. “Don’t you want to hear what I want?”
I turn back at him. “I don’t know what information I could possibly have that would be of any use to you. What do you want to know about? My family’s history? It’s posted all over the tabloids. All over the internet. I’ve got nothing that would give you any leverage over the Steels.”
He scoffs. “Why the hell would I want information about the Steels?”
I blink. “Because we have money. Because we have power. Isn’t that what you said you care about? Power and control?”
He rubs at his forehead. “Christ, you’re dumber than you look. No wonder you want to go into psychiatry. You’re not smart enough to be a real doctor.”
I want to blow up at him, but that would just be giving him what he wants.
“If you don’t want information about my family, then I really don’t know what use I could be to you.”
I’m about to turn my back to him when his words slink into my ears like a deadly viper.
“I want information on Jason Lansing.”
I give him a dirty look. “All I know about Jason Lansing is that he’s our anatomy professor. My knowledge of his life begins and ends with that.”
Without another word, I walk out of the diner and into the cool morning air. But Ralph’s words follow me like a shadow.
Power and control. And information about Jason.
What kind of information does he think I have?
His dick size?
And that’s assuming he knows that we’ve slept together. Which he couldn’t possibly…
Shit. We were in the anatomy lab. If he saw us kissing there, he could have…
Jason locked the door.
But not soon enough.
The chill of the morning seeps through my clothing, but it’s a welcome respite from the toxic warmth of the diner. I draw in a lungful of crisp, clean air, hoping it will rid my senses of Ralph’s stench.
Control. The word echoes in my mind as I start walking through the town. What control does he think I have? Yes, I could pay him off, but that’s not what he wants. He wants me to feel helpless, powerless under his threats.
And he wants some kind of leverage over Jason. Leverage that he thinks I can provide.
I’m glad Aunt Mel is still here.
She said she had a meeting and then she’d be flying back to the Western Slope this afternoon.
I quickly text her.
Chapter Thirty-Six
Jason
I open my mouth, but before I say anything, a chirping sound comes from Dr. Steel’s direction.
She grabs her phone out of her purse. “Sorry. I must have forgotten to put it on silent.”
“No worries.”
“I’ll just check it later. It’s my niece.”
Angie.
She has other nieces, but they’re not in Boulder. At least not that I know of.
“Go ahead. I don’t mind.”
“You sure?”
I nod. “Family is important.”
Don’t I fucking know it.
“Okay. This will only be a second.” She taps out a message and then tucks her phone away. “My niece wants to talk before I leave later today. Now where were we?”
“Your suggestion to continue our conversation,” I say, my voice steadier now despite the surge of adrenaline that the mention of Angie has triggered.
“That’s right,” she says, her tone softening. “I want to make it clear, Dr. Lansing, that I’m not here to pass judgment or make you feel cornered. This is about your well-being—both mentally and physically.”
I nod, understanding the logic behind her words but resenting them all the same. They feel like chains holding me back from something I desperately need.
“I get it,” I assure her, trying to put a little warmth into my tone. “And I’ll do whatever it takes. If that means talking more, then we’ll talk more.”
“Good. That’s what I like to hear,” Dr. Steel replies with a small smile.
“I believe we were discussing my potential emotional responses to the surgery,” I say, my tone now a touch icier. “You were suggesting that a negative outcome might lead to a breakdown, correct?”
“Not necessarily.”
“Let’s cut to the chase, then.” I clear my throat. “This hospital is state of the art, and Dr. Patel has privileges here. It is the closest hospital to my home, and the hospital where I began my surgical career. I want the surgery here.”
“Yes, I understand all that, but—”
“Please. Let me finish.”
She nods. “Of course. I’m here for you, Dr. Lansing.”
Right. She’s here for the hospital, not for me. “This is about money, and it’s about bad PR.”
“It’s about your well-being, Dr. Lansing.”
Yeah. That’s crap and we both know it.
“Please,” I say, doing my best not to roll my eyes. “It’s about a lot of things, but when it comes down to it, the board is mostly concerned about money and PR. So here’s my solution. I’ll sign a contract not to sue the hospital or issue any negative statements should the outcome of the surgery not be as expected.”
Dr. Steel eyes me for a moment, seemingly caught off guard. “Dr. Lansing,” she begins, her voice steady and measured, “I appreciate your willingness to cooperate and protect the hospital’s interests. But at the end of the day, my primary concern is your overall health.”
“I understand that,” I say quickly. “But what this boils down to is trust. My trust in the hospital and the world-class surgeons.”
“No.” She shakes her head. “My job here—what they’ve asked me to do—is to assess your mental health with regard to the experimental surgery. And I’m afraid a promise not to sue is not necessarily indicative of good mental health. In fact, it could very well indicate the opposite.”
I fall silent, stung by her words. I expected some objection, but the idea that my willingness to protect the hospital is somehow a reflection of poor mental health… What the fuck?
“You’re right,” I reply slowly, lying through my teeth. “Perhaps it’s not indicative of good mental health. But it is indicative of my determination and my desperation.”
Dr. Steel sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Life isn’t about making deals, especially when it comes to your health. This isn’t about contracts or promises or legalities. This is about you.”
“Yes! Now you’re making sense. This is exactly about me!” I pound a fist to my chest. “My life, my choices, my future!” I take a deep breath to gather myself before continuing more calmly. “And if signing away my right to complain or cause legal trouble gives me a shot at regaining what I’ve lost, then that’s a risk I’m willing to take.”
