You Loved Me Once

by Corinne Michaels

  Me: Awake. Very awake. Give me a few. I have to check on a patient and I’ll meet you there.

  Who needs beer dip anyway? There’s another thing I want much more right now.

  I roll over and touch the cool sheets instead of the warm body I was expecting to find. Westin came back to my place after work, right? I swear he did. A whistling noise comes from the bathroom, and I grin.

  Yup. He definitely did.

  My imagination may be good, but it’s not that vivid. I stretch my sore muscles and rub my eyes with a smile. Waking up with Westin Grant is the cherry on top of my sundae. He’s the constant in my chaotic and unpredictable life.

  The bathroom door opens and there stands my longtime—I don’t even know what to call him—wearing nothing but a towel. Water drips from his hair and runs down his chest until it disappears into the towel at his waist.

  “You’re up,” he smiles. “I thought I was going to get to wake you this morning.”

  “Not today. I don’t think I slept more than an hour anyway.”

  “Do you ever?” he chuckles and moves toward me with that look. The look that says he was hoping to get his workout in this morning—with me.

  “Wes,” I warn as he crawls onto the bed.

  “Ren,” he grins.

  “We can’t,” I shake my head at him and move toward the edge—away from him. “We both need to get to the hospital on time today. I cannot be late.”

  Today is when everything will really change. It’s the day I’ve waited my entire professional life for. The day I’ll finally be able to test whether my hopes for this new medication are right or epically wrong. I’m both excited and overwhelmed at the same time.

  My clinical trial begins today. In the last five years, I’ve tried to find a mixture of drugs that will not only eliminate the cancer, but also allow the women I treat to have hope for the futures they want. When an ovarian cancer diagnosis comes, we always treat first with surgery.

  But what if we didn’t have to?

  What if I could save them from a hysterectomy and allow them to carry their own children? If my treatment works, I may be able to give them just that. With this combination of medications, I can shrink the tumor and save my patients from permanent infertility.

  And if I can’t, then . . . I’m not really sure what to think. I feel nervous, excited, and terrified all at the same time.

  Will I screw up? What if I lose someone? What if I can’t do this and it turns out I’m a fraud?

  “I’ll be quick,” Westin jokes as his arms wrap around me. “Or I can hold you for a little.”

  I smile at him over my shoulder. “We don’t cuddle.”

  “Only because you refuse to.” His laughter vibrates against my neck and I shift away from him.

  He’s not wrong, it’s definitely my fault, but I have my reasons. I’m good with how things are, and even though he gives me shit, it’s all I’m capable of right now. Feelings lead to love. Love leads to heartbreak. Heartbreak leads to me feeling weak, which I will never let myself be again. Besides, it’s not like he has it all that bad. He gets sex without any expectations.

  I roll over, pressing my hand to his cheek. “Don’t pretend you don’t like the way this works.”

  His warm green eyes roam my face. “I’m saying I wouldn’t mind if this worked itself into something more.”

  I jerk back, surprised by this. Westin and I have an agreement, one that has worked well for us. “What are you even saying? What we have, it’s . . . well, why make this complicated?”

  “Complicated isn’t always a bad thing, baby.”

  I tense at his term of endearment. Of course, he notices because there’s not much he misses.

  “We should get ready,” I try to deflect, “I don’t have time to debate what we are or anything else.”

  The last thing I want is to be a bitch, but today is a big day for me. He knows this, and if the roles were reversed, Westin would be the same. Part of the reason our convoluted quasi-relationship works is because we get this.

  I don’t have to explain my lack of emotional availability because we’re both doctors. Damn good doctors.

  “Serenity,” Westin’s deep voice washes over me as his lips brush mine. “There’s always time for this.”

  “Not on clinical trial day. I need to be focused, steadfast, and you, my friend,” I kiss him briefly, “know better.”

  His head drops to my neck, and he groans, and releases me. “I’m sure you’ll text me to meet in the on-call room.” He smirks as he stands and drops the towel, giving me a view of his perfect butt. “Where I’ll gladly let you work off your anxiety—in many ways.”

  “Not today, Satan!” I yell while he re-enters the bathroom and closes the door.

  As soon as he’s out of view, my anxiety spikes thinking about how I was once where these patients’ families are now. Fourteen years ago, I was driving my mother to her clinical trial for what we hoped would be the miracle we needed.

  Fourteen years ago, it was me begging the doctors to save her.

  Two months later, I was watching her casket be lowered into the ground.

  There’s not always a miracle, and I lost everything, including the person I thought I was. The girl who dreamed of a perfect life with a marriage, kids, and the affection my parents shared was laid to rest beside my mother.

  I sit up, take a deep breath in for a count of four, hold it, and blow it out. I refuse to let anything ruin this moment—not fear, not someone else, and I’m definitely not going to allow myself to go down a rabbit hole I can’t get out of.

  Today is going to be a marathon and I won’t allow the past to shadow the possibilities of what this could mean not only for me, but for the daughter who will be asking me to give her hope.

  It’s an hour before I need to be at the hospital. Thankfully, my condo isn’t far and I can make it there in ten if I push it. Which I do often.

  I head to the kitchen and brew a pot of coffee, check my phone, and attempt to decide what to eat. After a few minutes, I give up, not wanting anything and decide to get ready for today.

  Westin stands in front of the mirror, brushing his teeth, wearing just the bottoms of his scrubs, which hang low enough to reveal the muscular cut above his hips. His light brown hair is cut short, and he has the most incredible green eyes. It’s not hard to understand why every nurse, doctor, and intern fawns over him. He’s every woman’s version of the perfect man. Sexy, smart, rich . . . he’s the total package.

  “You’ve got that look, Ren,” he grins at me in the mirror as he ruffles through his duffle bag.

  Westin Grant is a very attractive man. I can’t seem to help myself with him. I’m lonely in every part of my life, except when I’m with him. My feelings border on something more than friendship, but I can’t afford to let myself go there. If I think about it, maybe his comment before isn’t such a surprise. Every now and then, Westin will make a joke about finally calling this more than casual sex or moving in so we can stop with the back and forth. I never really thought much of it, but now I wonder if he has been hinting all along.

  Does Westin really want more? Or does he like the idea of us together for real? Do I want more? The answers to these questions have to wait because I can’t think about it today.

  I can’t think about anything right now. I have to stay light and playful and focused on the tasks of today.

  “I like your butt,” I say with a shrug. “Especially in scrubs.”

  He laughs, turns, and pulls me against him. “Yeah? Well, you’re the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen when you’re scrubbing in for surgery.” Westin kisses my neck. “The way the soap moves up and down your arms, I can almost feel your soft skin.” His voice is full of desire, and I’m trying to resist the pull. “I want to strip you down right there, touch your body, and finally tell everyone what we are.”

  “Is that so?”

  “Yup,” he runs his tongue along my ear and I shiver. “It’s too bad today
isn’t the day for a morning round.”

  I lean back, holding onto his neck. “Today is a day to save lives, and that’s what this new dose of chemo is going to do. Then you can say you get to have mind-blowing sex with the ground-breaking, award-winning oncologist at Northwestern.”

  “So, I’m just your boy toy?” he leans in for a kiss, which I give freely.

  “Pretty much.”

  He rolls his eyes and sighs. “Well, Dr. Badass, you better get in the shower before you’re late for your own pre-trial.”

  “Do you think I’m crazy?” I ask.

  His eyes narrow. “Crazy? Well, in what way?”

  “For this . . . the whole trial. It could fail, and then what? Hell, what if the board doesn’t allow it to proceed today and then I have to tell these people that I can’t do it? I must be fucking insane for trying this!”

  Westin deals with a different side of medicine, one that I’m a little jealous of. He saves more people than he loses. He can repair things, where I have to be methodical and sometimes it doesn’t matter. Cancer will take their lives and I’ll have no way to stop it. I’ll watch a disease blacken everything around my patients, knowing I’m completely helpless. There are seldom times that Westin can’t do something to help.

  “You’re not crazy, Serenity. You’re brave, beautiful, and the best damn oncologist I’ve ever met. I think you’d be crazy for not doing this. You’ve already made it through phase one and two, this is the time to see where it can really go.” Westin brushes my blonde hair off my face and smiles.

  “And what the hell do I do if they cancel it?”

  He pulls back a little. “Who? The board?”

  “Yeah, there’s no guarantee they’ll push it through. I mean, they’ve approved it so far, but since Dr. Pascoe was out for the last two weeks, and the meeting got postponed, now I’m worried.”

  It’s what has me feeling so uneasy. No one ever can predict the hospital’s choices. One day they are on your side and the next the publicity is too much of a risk. We should’ve had this fully approved weeks ago, but Dr. Pascoe, the current president of the hospital, was dealing with an emergency and told me to push along as though we had the approval since delaying would change some of the patients’ situations. Time is of the essence for us.

  Westin releases a deep sigh. “There’s a chance they won’t, but it’s all about how much you believe in it. Do you think doing this cocktail instead of surgery is worth the possible risk of a life?”

  I look in his eyes, showing him the steel in my words. “One hundred percent. I know the data is inconclusive and can be argued, but I know it, Wes. If I could get this opportunity to prove it . . . I know this is the right dosage so that these women don’t have to lose everything. We can shrink the tumor enough to remove it, treat the cancer, and leave the patients able to bear children. These women, some of them are in their twenties and thirties, and they have hopes and dreams. If it was me, and I had those dreams taken away, I can’t imagine what I’d do. But what if I can give them more choices? What if they don’t have to lose it all or die?”

  He holds my gaze. “Remember this feeling, because if you suffer with a loss, you’ll need this determination to push you through.”

  The memory of Westin a year ago comes back. I’ll never forget how broken he was. We started our fling a year before he started his last trial. He was a cocky surgeon who wanted to be casual. Then his trial went downhill, and Westin retreated. No one could get him to talk, except for me, after he’d . . . worked off his pain. That was when our very casual fling became a friendship with sleepovers.

  My chest tightens as I wonder if I’ll be the same way if this doesn’t work. “I can’t go there,” I say. If I admit defeat before the fight, it’ll be a massacre. I need a victory.

  “Good. You have to believe it’ll work because it’ll carry you through. And just know,” he runs his thumb across my lip, “I’ll be here every step of the way.”

  Sometimes, he does something and I don’t know how to respond, and this would be one of those times. He says things that scare me, and I know he sees it. There are no steps for us. The next level doesn’t exist. This is all I’ve got to give.

  A long time ago, I learned that love doesn’t guarantee happiness.

  I will never love Westin.

  I will never love anyone again. Not after finding out what losing love feels like.

  “Westin,” I say as a warning.

  He takes a step back with his hands up. “I know, I know. I’m just saying as a doctor. If you need a consult, and of course, any kind of testing, to ensure it’s working the way you hope.”

  That’s not what he meant, but I’ll give him the out because he gives me mine. “Right, sorry. I should’ve known that was it . . . I’m being stupid with all this. I’m sorry to think it was something else.” I shake my head as though I’m embarrassed. Westin may be amazing, but he still needs to be a man. My father was the one who taught me about the need to preserve a man’s delicate ego—or my mother did, actually.

  My mother walked on water, but the real miracle was how she handled him. Mom was able to make him believe she needed him when we all know she could’ve done anything on her own, and probably better than he could.

  She would tell me that men like having their feelings fluffed, and by doing so, they fluffed your own.

  My mother was a smart woman. I miss her every day.

  Westin needs me to fluff him a bit.

  “Stop,” he chuckles and wraps his arms around me. “You’re overthinking things with the trial today. I wasn’t clear. Speaking of the trial,” he trails off and looks at his watch. “You better get moving.”

  If this combination doesn’t work, then everything I’ve been working for is a waste. All the lonely nights, late hours, and faces of patients I’ve had to tell they can’t have children have led to this moment. Right now, I can try to save women and give them time, but the cancer still robs them of something. It always does.

  And my mind goes back to the one person from whom it took everything.

  My mother.

  I want to make her proud and prove that her trust in me wasn’t for naught.

  “Okay,” I nod and rest my arms on his shoulders.

  “Want breakfast?” he asks.

  “I can’t eat.”

  “Get ready and I’ll go make something.” He grips my cheeks and gives me a searing kiss. “You need to eat.”

  I stand here with my head resting on the wall as he leaves the bathroom. He’s really perfect. There are times when I hate myself, and right now is one. I wish I were a bright-eyed girl who believed that love could save your soul. Rose-colored glasses may be stupid to own, but they make things beautiful.

  I close my eyes as the steam floats around me, hating the hurt in my heart that I know won’t ever heal.

  “Ren,” Westin knocks on the door, causing me to jump. “I got a call and need to head to the hospital now. I have a patient coming in for an emergency. I’ll see you later?”

  “Sure, see you at work.”

  “Dinner tonight and then stay the night at my place?” he asks.

  “Maybe. I don’t know.”

  I hear his chuckle at my response and then silence.

  “What is wrong with me?” I ask myself. Maybe I should’ve gone for therapy, I could use some help here. “Focus. No time to debate your ridiculous issues today. This works for now. No need to muddle it.”

  I finish my shower and rummage through my closet. Dear Lord, I need a wardrobe makeover. Everything in here is drab and probably too big. It’s not as if I have all that many reasons to dress up. My clothes consist of green scrubs and a white coat. On the rare occasion I’m not at the hospital, I’m usually in sweats or naked—either works for me.

  Who needs pants anyway?

  Grabbing the only semi-decent dress I own, I finish getting ready. Today, I take a little time to make myself look warm. Whatever the hell that means. I’m told constan
tly I look cold, put off, and damn near scary by the nurses. According to them, I don’t smile enough.

  However, my patients don’t seem to mind. I produce results no matter what my temperature is.

  My blonde hair is pulled back, and I line my brown eyes with charcoal liner, happy I only stabbed myself in the eye twice this time. It’s an improvement.

  The phone blares Metallica and I smile, knowing who is on the other end of that call.

  “Hi, Daddy.”

  “Serenity, my beautiful girl,” Daddy’s voice is beaming with pride.

  “I’m not so beautiful right now,” I chuckle. I have one eye with mascara on and one has a black blob of eyeliner under it.

  I can precision cut a tumor without nicking anything, but putting on makeup? Forget it.

  Daddy blows out a long breath. “You’ll never see yourself the way I see you. So, today is the big day?”

  “It is!” My voice rises with excitement.

  I’ve bored my father with more details than the six-foot-three burly biker could ever care to know. I think he’s now an expert on ovarian cancer and possible treatments. Although, he sort of was before. This victory is partially his.

  My mother passed away two days after my twenty-fourth birthday with Everton, Daddy, and I beside her. Before that day, I can’t remember ever seeing my father cry. But there he was, holding her hand, with tears streaming down his face. I held him as sobs wracked through his body, and he fell apart in my arms. He has only ever loved two things as much as he did Harmony Adams: his children, and the open road.

  “I’m proud of you, Ren. I know I don’t say it enough, but you’re a remarkable woman. I wish your mother were here to see this.” He clears his throat.

  I wish she were too. “She’s with me every day.”

  She’s why I do this.

  “Me too, honey. Me too.”

  If she hadn’t died, I don’t know that gynecological oncology would’ve been where I ended up. I don’t even know that I would’ve finished school with a GPA high enough to get my residency at Northwestern.

  Boys make you stupid and you lose focus on what matters.