Reagan
Shaking with fear, frustration, and a self-hatred that overpowered the other two things, I leaned back against the door, knowing Arrie stood on the other side, deeply confused and possibly hurting, too.
Flipping on the light switch, I looked at all the different pictures of our son that I’d proudly displayed throughout the living room and down both sides of the hallway. I couldn’t have let Arrie in without exposing my secret.
When he’d accused me of hiding something, the look I’d seen in his eyes had nearly killed me. If he actually knew what I’d hidden and how I’d lied for years, and still was, he’d hate me.
I knew that for sure now. And I knew I couldn’t face that. He’d given me the perfect opportunity to confess, and I couldn’t do it—not after hearing his dreams for us, and not while I was staring into those beautiful eyes that I wished more than anything I could stare into for the rest of my life.
Arguing with him like that had shaken me. Arrie and I had gotten along well when we’d been together. Our arguments had been over silly things back then. Like who would pay for the pizza we got delivered now and then. He hated to let me pay for anything.
And once, we’d argued over me driving us to up to Big Bear to spend the day. He’d claimed my driving scared the hell out of him as it was. Climbing the mountain in my little Subaru Forrester had sounded like a horror show to him.
Smiling as I thought about those times, I walked around my apartment, taking each picture and stacking them into a pile on the sofa. The idea of hiding them struck me as the smartest thing to do.
I didn’t know how I’d break it to the man now. Maybe I could wait for him to leave town and then send him an email, or a letter. Or maybe he’d force things and just show up at my place now that he knew where I lived. And if he came around when I wasn’t home, I had no idea if Mom or Phyllis would know not to let him inside.
After all the pictures were off the walls, I put them in the top of my closet. He’d have to snoop like crazy to find them, and Arrie wasn’t like that.
Deep inside, I was completely shattered by our argument. Will I live alone forever?
I couldn’t see anyone else being what Arrie could be for me. Would it all be worth it in the end? To lose out on a love like ours?
And what about Skye? Was it fair for him to keep his father out of his life for even a moment longer? Especially now that I knew Arrie wanted to be a father? And knew he wanted to be a father to my son?
Closing the closet, I pulled my clothes off then fell into bed. My mind a mess, my body alive with sexual frustration, my life in what almost felt like ruins, I tried and failed to fall asleep.
Thinking about the dreams Arrie had told me—dreams about he and I making a family together—made me wonder why it was still so hard for me to reveal my secret.
As I thought again about how I could come clean with Arrie, another fear sprang up. He might be so mad at me that he would try to take Skye away from me.
He had enough money to make sure he got our son. I didn’t know if Arrie would do such a thing, but I didn’t know the man as well anymore. I’d tried to tell him that he didn’t know the woman I’d become either, but he didn’t seem to believe me.
Despite the changes that had occurred in both of us, I did know one thing—we both carried love in us. My love for him had never gone away in the six years we’d been apart. It was a love I’d thought I’d get to keep forever.
But things weren’t working out the way I’d always thought they would, at all. I’d never imagined that Arrie would want me back in his life.
I’d figured a man like him—gorgeous, gifted, wealthy, with sexual gifts the gods must have given him—would’ve been married with kids by now. To find him single astonished me.
The sound of something hitting my bedroom window startled me. “Oh, he better not be tossing little rocks at my window.”
I stayed in bed, listening, and then heard it again. Getting up, I went to the window and pulled the curtain back only a tiny bit. Peering out, I had a view of the parking lot, and Arrie’s car was no longer there.
Scanning the area, I didn’t see anything unusual—no one outside who could’ve thrown anything at the window. And then I heard something from another part of the house. I went to get a robe out of my closet before traipsing around the house to see what had caused those noises.
Opening my bedroom door slowly, I listened for any sounds and heard the sound of something coming from Skye’s bedroom across the hall. I eased that door open just as another rock hit the window.
Anger had me flying across the room, throwing the curtain open as I glared out at whoever thought it was okay to do anything to my son’s room. But my eyes met only bushes, which waved in the wind that had suddenly picked up.
“Ah, it’s just a storm coming in.” With the noises identified as small rocks being tossed around by the wind, I went back to bed.
The odd thing was, I didn’t hear any more sounds like that the rest of the night. Waking in the morning with the sun streaming in, I showered, then dressed, before calling a cab to take me to the restaurant so I could get my car then head to the hospital.
While waiting for the cab to arrive, I took the opportunity to take a walk around my apartment. Near my window, a pile of small rocks caught my attention. When I went to inspect the other windows, I saw another small pile near Skye’s window.
So maybe it hadn’t been the wind. But with nothing else to attribute it to, I chalked it up to bored teens. I’d looked outside and seen no one. And three doors down, there were four teens who seemed like pranksters.
That had to have been it.
The cab showed up and I called Mom on the way to pick up my car. “Morning, Mom. How did Skye do last night?”
“Great. He went to sleep after watching A Charlie Brown Thanksgiving,” she told me. “And how did the dinner with your patient’s parents go?”
“Well.” I thought this might be a good time to let her in on things. “The bigshot doctor that the Stones had to have turned out to be an old boyfriend of mine from med school. Can you believe that?”
“Wow. What are the chances?” she said, echoing my own thoughts on first seeing Arrie again. “Did you two reconnect?”
“No.” I’d never told my parents the name of Skye’s father. I’d told them it didn’t matter, that the man had a future to worry about that didn’t include me.
“I’m sorry to hear that.” I could practically hear the wheels begin to spin. She knew the father had to have been someone I met in med school. “Is this the one, Reagan?”
Not feeling ready to get into that with her just yet, I tried to act as if I didn’t hear. “Oh, shoot. Mom, I’m getting a call from the hospital. Talk to you later.”
Ending the call, I wondered just what I would tell my mom and dad. I didn’t want Arrie to find out about Skye until I was ready to tell him. But at this rate, I wasn’t sure Arrie wouldn’t show up at my place, in which case my parents needed to know to keep Skye away from him.
My cell rang, and I looked down to see a number that wasn’t saved in my phone. I answered it anyway. “Dr. Storey here.”
“Did you have a happy Thanksgiving, Dr. Storey?” a man asked me.
Blinking, I held my breath as I recognized the caller’s voice. “Mr. Haney?”
He didn’t confirm his identity. “Did you get to spend the holiday with your cute little son, Dr. Storey?”
“Mr. Haney, I know this is you. I know you’ve been through so much, but you can’t continue calling me like this.” The man had lost his eight-year-old daughter nearly a year earlier. He’d also lost his wife, his daughter’s mother, during childbirth. His wife had had a rare heart condition, and the poor woman’s heart couldn’t handle the birth. What’s worse, the baby girl had inherited the genetic heart condition.
Hypertrophic cardiomyopathy made the little girl’s heart muscles harden, making it harder and harder for her heart to pump blood. She’d been on the heart transplant list at our hospital for years, but the poor thing had passed away shortly after her eighth birthday as she’d waited for a suitable heart to come in.
“Yes, I have been through a lot, haven’t I?” he asked. “The loss of my wife, then eight years later, my daughter. I would say I have been through more than I should’ve ever had to go through. And I have you to thank for the loss of my daughter, don’t I, Dr. Storey?”
He’d blamed me for her death right away. “Sir, I can’t talk to you right now. I am very sorry for your loss. I pray for your daughter every night.” I prayed for her, and the one other patient I’d lost in the last couple of years. “Goodbye.”
“Not yet,” he said, but I swiped the screen to end the call anyway.
Just after her death, he’d called me way too many times—crying, threatening at first, and then asking my forgiveness. The poor man needed help but refused to get it. I had no idea when or if these calls would ever end, but I had hoped they would stop on their own. I didn’t want to involve the police. Not when the man had been through so much.
When I got to my car, I saw a slip of paper underneath the windshield wiper. Pulling it off, I saw Arrie had left it. He must have driven back here after he’d left me at my apartment. The phone number and short apology scribbled on the paper had me smiling.
“Damn it, why does he have to pull at my heartstrings so much?” I got into my car then put his number into my phone, but I didn’t call or text him.
The argument last night had put some much-needed space between us. I could tell him in person that I accepted his apology, but it didn’t change things for us. But even as I thought about speaking with him in person, I felt a sinking feeling in my gut.
It would be best if I had as little contact with Arrie as possible while he was still here. I hoped that the space would help make things a little less complicated in the future, when I finally told him about Skye.
With those thoughts running through my head, I arrived at the hospital and made sure Arrie wasn’t around when I went to check on Mr. Stone. What I found when I walked into my patient’s room shocked me. “You’re awake!”
His parents sat on either side of him. Mr. Stone’s father smiled. “He’s opened his eyes. He can’t speak or write to communicate with us yet, but we know he’ll get there soon.”
Walking to his bed, I listened to his heart. I found a steady beat that had me smiling from ear to ear. I looked at Mrs. Stone. “Does Arrie know yet?”
Shaking her head, she said, “He hasn’t come in yet. I hope he’s feeling okay. I know he drove you home last night; did he mention not feeling well or anything to you?”
He’d said lots to me. Too much. And because of that, I had a pretty good idea of why he hadn’t come in. “I’ll call him. He’ll want to be here.”
Leaving the room, I felt a weight on my shoulders. I’d hurt the man. I’d never wanted to hurt him—I’d made terribly difficult decisions in my life just to avoid that outcome—and I had done it anyway.