He placed his hand over my thigh, effectively ending my moment of panic.
Aaron had a way of pulling out other reactions that I wasn’t proud of. I guess in the grand scheme of things, irrational panic-laced outbursts were better than rage-filled lashings. Plus, it gave him a chance to calm me down. And I liked the way he calmed me down. If freaking out meant he’d put his hand on me . . . then I’d invent anxiety-ridden opportunities every chance I had.
“I don’t tell anyone I’m a doctor because it tends to give off the wrong impression. I’m sick and tired of not being what everyone wants or expects. I’m damned if I do, damned if I don’t.”
“That doesn’t make any sense.”
He sighed as I pulled the car into the parking lot of my complex. I worried this conversation would be over, but when he didn’t budge from his seat, I began to think I just might get the answers I sought without having to resort to throwing a tantrum.
“People hear doctor, and the first thing that comes to mind is Grey’s Anatomy.” He cut his eyes at me, making a point.
“So? TV has ruined us—not all doctors are super sexy surgeons.”
An infectious grin brightened his face. He closed his eyes, tucked his chin as if embarrassed, and shook his head slowly. Oddly enough, it was hot as hell—the way he timidly gathered his thoughts before saying, “That’s just it, Kelsey. Just like we’re not all surgeons, we’re not all medical physicians, either.”
“Okay. Now you’re really confusing me.”
Instead of responding, he opened the car door and slid out. It took me a second or two, but I eventually followed after shutting off the engine. And while I fell in line behind him on the stairs and then down the hallway to our apartment, I wondered if I’d ever get a response to my question.
I pressed my back against the door and locked my eyes with his so he couldn’t mistake the seriousness of my next words. “I’ll only let you inside if you answer me. And I want a real answer. Not some stupid bullshit about stereotypes.”
With an even bigger smile than the one he’d worn in the car, he slipped his keys from his pocket and stepped into me. His closeness was almost more than I could handle, and as soon as he had his arms wound around my waist, it took everything in me not to jump him right then and there, where anyone could see.
But all that vanished when the door behind me opened. I would’ve fallen on my ass had he not held me against him, and I couldn’t push away fast enough. I didn’t care to let him know just how badly I wanted a repeat of the night our little bean had been conceived—well, without the conception part.
I was ready to go to my room, lock myself inside like I’d done for most of the week since he’d moved in, yet Aaron stopped me. He grabbed my hand and led me to the couch, leaving no room for arguing—which was impressive, considering I could argue with a brick wall. But rather than take the seat next to me, he stalked into the kitchen, opened the freezer, then a few drawers, and then he joined me on the sofa. Much to my surprise, he’d brought with him a carton of ice cream and two spoons. Whether it was his intention or not, shoving the frozen treat into my mouth kept me from speaking and allowed him the floor without interruptions.
He leaned his head back on the love seat and stared at the ceiling for a moment before speaking. “Maybe I’m just sick and tired of assumptions.”
“So you’ve said before. But seriously, what kinds of things can people assume about you being a doctor? And how can anything they come up with be a bad thing?”
“They hear doctor and immediately see dollar signs. I make a decent living, but nowhere near what they expect my salary to be. When they realize that, they want nothing to do with me. Then there are the actual MDs who look down on me, as if having a PhD somehow means I’m not a real doctor. So on one hand, I’m a fraud, and on the other, I’m a poseur.”
“I still don’t understand, Aaron.”
He shifted on the couch to face me, one knee pulled up on the cushion between us—much like he’d done on the bed in my hotel room two weeks ago. It made me feel like he was giving me his undivided attention. That one gesture gave me a sense of importance that I’d never received anywhere else. Like talking to me was a priority.
That realization was enough to fill my mouth with a spoonful of mint chocolate chip.
Pain lingered in his eyes, though his voice remained emotionless. It was an amazing mask. “Pretend for one minute that you know absolutely nothing about me. We have no mutual friends, no connections, and we’ve never met. You hear my name—Dr. Baucus. What’s your first impression? What picture comes to mind when you hear my name?”
Swallowing the cold lump of ice cream, I shrugged. But when he implored me with his desperate gaze, I gave in and played along. “I guess I’d picture you in a white coat, a stethoscope around your neck. Probably driving around in a Corvette or something.”
“Exactly. Now, say you meet me. You see me pull up in my truck that has at least a hundred thousand miles on it. I’m wearing regular clothes. Nothing fancy.” Taking his spoon, he mindlessly played with the frozen dessert between us. “What goes through your mind?”
“What does it matter, Aaron?”
“It matters because these are the things I go through time and time again. Every woman I meet expects me to be one thing. When they find out I’m only a Doctor of Philosophy, they’re no longer interested. It’s like having a PhD is something to be ashamed of.”
“Maybe you’re just meeting the wrong women.” Fearing whatever remark he might come up with after a comment like that, I took a spoonful of ice cream and held it out for him to take. To my surprise, he didn’t bother grabbing the spoon from me but rather opened his mouth and allowed me to feed him.
His eyes fluttered to the side in thought as he swallowed, and then he lifted one shoulder, silently conceding. “Either way, I don’t offer that information for a reason. Just like I’d rather say I’m a therapist than a neuropsychologist. It’s no different than anyone finding out that I was living with my parents until they sold the house. Those things draw a quick image in someone’s mind, and it’s never the right one.”
“Yeah, but everything you just said can be explained.”
“Only to those who care for an explanation.” Exhaustion laced his eyes, and I could tell it went bone deep—tired of the same song and dance. It was something I recognized. Something I could relate to. “When someone expects a surgeon and gets a guy with a PhD, they don’t stick around. When they expect a genius and find themselves having dinner with me, someone who enjoys beer and lives at home, they run. Fast. By that point, the truth doesn’t matter, because it doesn’t fit with the image they created of me.”
“Even when you tell them why you were still at your parents’ house? That you were paying off your student loans?”
“That’d be fine if I weren’t in my thirties, and if my loans hadn’t been paid off for the last two or so years.” It was his turn to feed me—which I accepted without question. Because . . . well, because it was ice cream.
Either I’d missed something or he hadn’t been completely truthful with me when he’d admitted his reason for needing a place to stay. “If your loans were paid off, why did you continue to live there? Wasn’t the point of you staying with your parents after graduation to pay off your debt?”
Surprise flashed in his eyes, as if he hadn’t expected me to question him. In a way, it made me wonder if this was a test, his way of seeing how long I’d stick around. And as much as I hated tests, I was bound and determined to see this through.
He abandoned his spoon and shifted on the cushion, turning the slightest bit away from me to stare at the front door. “My mom was diagnosed with fibromyalgia just before I graduated from college. Dad was working a lot, so he couldn’t always be there for her. Technically, I moved back home to help with her. But with the higher demand in graduate school, I wasn’t around as often as I wanted to be. It worked out, though. Between me and Dad, she always had someone th
ere when she needed it.”
I continued to gorge myself on ice cream—if for no other reason than to keep myself from interrupting his heartbreaking story. That, and it was cold enough to numb parts of my face, which worked wonders in thwarting those annoying tears that liked to sprout up at the most inopportune times.
This baby had made it its mission to give me an insane amount of compassion.
“After I received my doctorate, my parents suggested I stay and pay down my loans. I saw it as a way to help them as much as they were helping me. Once my loans were taken care of, I didn’t feel right leaving my mom. They never pressured me to leave—I’m pretty sure having me around made my dad feel a lot better. In fact, they encouraged me to save my money so that when the time was right, I’d be set.”
My heart grew so large that it took up all the space in my chest, making my ribs ache as if they were about to snap like twigs under the pressure of each beat. “I don’t see why you can’t just tell people that. Anyone who dismisses your reasons doesn’t deserve a second of your time.”
His eyes met mine, shining like two beacons in the dark, finally locating what they were in search of, as if it’d been lost and now found. “I don’t typically tell people about my mom. I want respect . . . not pity.”
“That’s understandable.” I stabbed my spoon into the soft dessert and toed off my shoes. Crossing my legs beneath me, I settled in for what I assumed would be a long conversation—if I had anything to do with it, that was. “Well, they sold the house and kicked you out. That’s a good sign for your mom, right?”
“Yeah. She’s doing so much better. That, and Dad finally retired, so now he can be there for her when she needs it. In all honesty, it worked out for the best. It’s about time I start living my own life. You know? Don’t get me wrong—I love my mom, and I’ll never be able to repay either of them for all they’ve done for me. But I have a private practice to run, patients to see, consultations to uphold. On top of that, it’d be nice to have a life outside of work.”
“Speaking of . . . explain your job to me. What does a neuro . . . person do?”
With a laugh, it seemed all his inhibitions had melted away. He appeared more relaxed, open. Not worried about rejection or assumptions. It had to be the greatest compliment I’d ever received, intentional or not. “Neuropsychologist.”
“Yeah. That person,” I said around a cold spoon in my mouth.
His smile was infectious, causing my lips to curl and stretch, my face burning from the strain. Scooping another bite for himself, he sank farther into the cushions, as though he intended to hide. “In a nutshell, I treat cognitively impaired patients who have suffered from either an injury or illness.”
“Sounds fancy. Wanna dumb it down for me?”
The amusement coloring his cheeks was even more contagious, the heat practically tangible. “Our brains are made up of pathways and receptors—kind of like navigating through various highways in a really big city using Google Maps. Well, when someone sustains any type of severe head trauma or suffers from an illness affecting the brain, it can cause all sorts of issues that interfere with those pathways. In a sense, it throws the GPS off—have you ever seen the map move you off the road you’re on and try to reroute you a thousand times? It’s like that.”
“Oh, damn.” I was convinced this man could make the encyclopedia sound interesting.
“Yeah, and none of it shows up on a scan. That’s where I come in.” Confidence straightened his posture, and I doubted he even realized it. He loved what he did, which was evident in his bright eyes. “I evaluate the patient, perform routine tests, and then I help come up with a treatment plan to get the person back to normal—or as close to it as we can.”
“So . . . you’re, like, really super smart, huh?” And I sound really super dumb.
“That’s all in the way you look at it.”
“And humble.” I slowly bobbed my head, spoon turned upside down and hanging out of my mouth. “Good to know.”
Easy laughter seeped past his smiling lips as he reached for more of the mint-chocolate-chip goodness. “I enjoy what I do. It gives me a sense of purpose, and it pays the bills. Which is always nice. I’ve managed to save enough money over the last several years to either buy a house outright or put enough down to have it paid off quickly.”
“Oh! I almost forgot . . .” I passed the carton of ice cream to Aaron and jumped up to grab my laptop from my room. By the time I made it back to the couch, I already had the screen pulled up and ready for him to read. “I have a list of places for you based on what you’re looking for—which, by the way, was rather broad.”
After swapping the ice cream for the computer, he began to scroll through the listings. “Maybe after I look at a few, I might be a little pickier. It’s kinda hard to pinpoint exactly what I want when I haven’t really seen what I have to choose from.”
“Well, now you can. Just let me know if you want to set something up, take a closer look at any of them.”
“Thanks.” He swung his gaze to me, holding me captive in the brilliant jade swirls. “Any chance I can convince you to check them out with me? You have far more experience in this field than I do, and honestly, I don’t have the first clue what I’m looking for.”
My stomach dipped, though I couldn’t begin to guess why. He’d only been here for a week, and in that time, we hadn’t spoken much. In fact, I’d learned more about him in the short time since leaving my parents’ house than I had the entire week we’d slept under the same roof. Not to mention, I’d known from the beginning that he was in the market for a house and would be leaving, so this fiery ball of dread in the pit of my stomach didn’t make sense.
Unless this was my child telling me that its father deserved to know the truth.
Still in the womb and already talking back.
I nodded. “Yeah. I can do that.” And then I got up, using the melted ice cream as an excuse to leave the room. I had thoughts racing through my head that needed to escape, and since I only let those out in my leather-bound journal, in the privacy of my own room, where Aaron wouldn’t find it, I said good night and then closed myself off behind my door.
Chapter 10
Aaron
Over the last week and a half, Kelsey had taken me to see half a dozen houses. None of them were doable—and not because I didn’t like them. She had something to say about every last one. I began to wonder why she had picked them out in the first place, but I kept that to myself.
Me: We’re still going to check out that listing after work, right?
There was one she’d found and wanted to show me, so we’d made plans to see it this evening. But now that we were less than an hour away and I hadn’t heard from her at all, I became worried she’d forgotten. Or I’d gotten the days mixed up.
There was a small chance I’d texted her just because I wanted to talk to her.
But I planned to ignore that possibility.
Kelsey: Yes . . . except I might be late. We should just meet at the apartment.
Me: Late?? What have you been doing all day?
Kelsey: Standing on a street corner hoping to make a few extra bucks. You know . . . same thing, different day.
I laughed so loudly I expected Noel to come into my office and see what was going on. Thankfully, she didn’t. And I hoped that meant she was finishing up with the last patient so we could leave and I could see this amazing house Kelsey had picked out.
Kelsey: It’s called work, asshole. These houses don’t stage themselves.
Me: Clearly, because you’d be out of a job
Ever since our chat after lunch at her parents’ house, things had been easy between us. Good. Fun, even. There were times I had to stop and remind myself that we hadn’t known each other for years, or that we weren’t in a long-term relationship. That’s how comfortable I felt around her. And while there were moments that it frightened me—because I knew it wasn’t real and would end at some point, regardless if I wanted
it to or not—there were others that left me in a constant state of bliss.
I was fully aware of how delusional I was.
Her response left me puzzled. There was a sock emoji, followed by it, but I couldn’t figure out what sock it meant. I’d only ever heard that used in the phrase sock it to me. And the longer I stared at her message, the more confused I became.
Me: What does sock it mean??
Dots appeared and then went away. Several times. As if she’d start typing and then change her mind, only to start all over again. It about drove me insane, and if it went on for much longer, I’d be late meeting her due to wasting time watching her dancing dots on the screen.
Finally, a full message came through.
Kelsey: I wrote SUCK it.
Kelsey: Apparently, my phone changed suck to sock.
Me: I guess it socks to be you! LOL!!
Her only response was a rolling-eyed emoji. Regardless of what she had come back with, I couldn’t stop laughing. And in the end, it eventually caught Noel’s attention. She knocked on the door, but in Noel fashion, she didn’t bother to wait for an invite and just waltzed in.
“Um . . .” She tapped her lips with her finger and hummed, glancing around the room. “Hey, boss. You do know there’s no one in here, right?”
I raised one brow and fought to contain my laughter. “Yes, I realize that. I was just texting with Kelsey, and I said something funny.”
“Did she laugh?”
“Probably. It was really funny.” I proceeded to read it to her, but her face remained blank. “You wouldn’t know humor if it slapped you in the face.”
“Keep telling yourself that.” She could lie all she wanted, but I didn’t miss the faint grin that was seen more in her eyes than on her mouth. “Anyway, everything’s taken care of up front, and you’re all set up for the morning. Don’t forget I’ll be late. I have yet another doctor’s appointment, but I’ll be here as soon as it’s over.”
The Secret Baby Page 11
