The skin on the back of my neck prickled as I tried to remember if I put my name on the application, the same self-doubt that plagued me when I sent a check in the mail. I always second-guessed whether I signed and dated it, and many envelopes fell victim as a result.
And now came the worst part of all. The waiting game. I had the patience of a coupon clipper elbowing people to get to the sock bin on Black Friday. I’d need to stock up on chocolate-covered coffee beans from the bulk-food section at the supermarket in order to make it through these next two weeks.
Taking a deep breath, I turned away from Dr. Centafont’s office and walked down the hallway toward the main entrance of Keller. Students milled about, waiting for the eight a.m. lecture to dismiss.
I glanced at my phone. Since I had ten minutes to spare before class, I made my way to the Starbucks cart in the Memorial Union right across the street.
With a non-fat vanilla latte in tow, I trudged back up the steps of Keller and entered the main floor lecture hall. My breath caught as I glanced at the projector screen.
Seeing my dad blown up on the big screen never lost its shock value. He wore a blue suit with a black tie and sat at what I assumed to be the witness stand. I wasn’t there for the initial hearing to determine bail—which he didn’t get. I couldn’t handle seeing my world shattered into any more tiny pieces. Instead, I’d hidden out in Florida, ignoring his calls and deleting his voicemails, until finally he stopped calling.
Famous Doctors in History: When they take it too far blazed in bold black letters underneath my dad’s picture.
I stood in the middle of the aisle, frozen. People passed around me, and I finally snapped out of my daze when a guy bumped me with his shoulder. My whole body prickled, and bile rose in my throat. No. I could not blow chunks in class. I had to suck it up and be the better person. I wasn’t a murderer; he was.
Why was Dr. Centafont so hung up on my dad? Sure, he was the most recent doctor to cross the ethical line, but there were tons of other doctors who’d done some pretty sketchy shit in the past. This seemed almost personal, but as far as I knew, Dr. Centafont didn’t know my dad.
I did my yoga breathing as I walked down the aisle and shimmied past Blake, Jules, and Andrew’s legs to get to my seat.
An audible groan escaped my lips as I tossed my backpack onto the ground. It hit the seat in front of me, and the girl occupying it turned and glared.
“Sorry.”
Her lip curled into an unattractive sneer. “Whatever.” She flipped her hair and turned back around. I made a face at her, because I was super mature like that, and dug my spiral out of my notebook.
I took my newly appointed permanent seat next to Andrew and let out a loud sigh.
He smiled, and a few of the knots in my stomach loosened. “How are you?”
“Great.” I plastered on a smile that I was sure screamed Ted Bundy and Jack the Ripper all rolled into one. I opened a fresh sheet of paper in my spiral, wrote the date at the top of the page, and waited for my impending doom. Okay, so I was being a tad bit dramatic, but this was justified, him being my father and all.
“Today we are going to have a discussion on doctors who have pushed the ethical limits.” Dr. Centafont motioned to the screen. “As you see, some can take it too far, but is it ever okay to stray from the societal norm to help a patient?” His words were innocent enough, but the tone in which he addressed the class made it apparent there was only one correct answer to this question. Definitely not the answer my father chose when he was faced with this decision.
A person in the front row coughed. Three girls shifted in their chairs, and the girl who turned around when I bumped her seat earlier adjusted her ponytail. I scowled at her again for good measure.
The skin on my scalp tingled, and an annoying ring resonated in my ears as my flight impulse shot into uncharted territory. Without any brown paper bags conveniently laying around to hyperventilate into, I chugged my piping hot latte. The liquid scorched a trail from my tongue and cooled down somewhere between my esophagus and small intestine. Even though my singed taste buds protested, I kept drinking, needing something to keep me from having a total meltdown in front of the whole class.
It took a full minute of Dr. Centafont staring down the class for the first brave soul to raise her hand. He pointed to the girl and motioned for her to speak.
“I think, in some cases, straying from the norm can be a good thing. But in terms of Dr. Cooper’s use of assisted suicide, no.” It was a girl who, from day one, asked a ton of questions, always interrupting the flow of Dr. Centafont’s lecture. Why did she have to bring up my dad? There were tons of other effed up doctors—ones whom I didn’t share DNA with.
Deep-seeded resentment of everything pertaining to this class and my father gurgled in my stomach—or that might have been the latte I had just guzzled. Her nasally voice echoed in the auditorium, and I gripped both of my armrests to combat the urge to chuck my empty coffee cup at her.
Dr. Centafont rubbed his chin, and the muscles in his jaw flexed. “Why do you say that?”
“Well.” Her response was more hesitant this time. “I don’t think anyone should be able to end someone else’s life if they don’t have to.”
Great. Another person joining the Dr. Cooper, Spawn of Satan camp.
The old leather cushion creaked as I slid down in my seat. I grabbed my phone and pulled up a social media app. No way could I listen to this debate, not when it involved both of my parents. I scribbled jagged lines down the left column of my paper as I scrolled through people’s party photos and status updates.
“Very good.” You could almost hear the purr in his voice as he praised her.
Blake didn’t bother to raise his hand. “What if someone’s in a lot of pain? Like terminal cancer or something. I think that’s justifiable. Better for the whole family.”
Every muscle in my body tensed.
He did not just go there. The blood coursing through my veins seared every nerve ending, and my emotional stability took a nosedive. I didn’t even notice the pencil in my hand until it snapped in half and dropped to the ground. I looked down, focusing on the yellow dust embedded in my skin. A piece of lead stuck out of the middle of my palm. This should hurt, right? But it was numb compared to the gaping hole where my heart used to be.
I shifted in my seat and glared at him, three seats to my right. He turned his head, and his lips carved into a frown.
Oh, heck no. Did he—yes, he felt bad for me.
Did he really think he could make up for his shit by sticking up for my dad? He didn’t know how wrong he was. How wrong my dad was for taking my mother’s life.
He should have thought about that when he ditched me for Ryan when I needed him most. At least then we’d be on the same page.
I squelched the impulse to yell this at him, seeing as that might be a little awkward in front of forty other people, but I sent mental morning stars flying his way.
“I don’t know about that,” Nasally Voice Girl chimed in. “What if the family doesn’t get closure from this? They might regret this decision later.”
“And let the person suffer? That’s cruel,” said Blake.
This needed to stop. I couldn’t handle this. Blake had no idea what he was talking about. He didn’t know jack shit when it came to my mom.
“There are other methods to kill yourself that don’t involve a doctor.” The whole class gasped at Nasally Voice Girl’s response.
Spit went down the wrong tube as I sharply inhaled. I tried to take a deep breath, but couldn’t stop coughing. Dots swarmed in my field of vision, and that panicky, I’m going to freakin’ pass out in the middle of class, I hope I don’t pee myself feeling sent goose bumps rippling over my skin. A few breaths made it past my spazzed-out windpipe, and my lungs got just enough air so I didn’t faint.
I wheezed all the way up the aisle, which I swear grew in length as I made my way to the exit. I ignored the stares as I walked past each
row. Twelve rows to be exact. The clanging metal of the push bar resonated in the auditorium as I crashed through the door.
This couldn’t be happening. I wasn’t ready for this. How could I ever be a doctor if I couldn’t handle a simple discussion about something my father did? I’d let him win if I chose another career path, and I’d worked too damn hard to give this up.
Through blurred tears, I made my way to the bathroom on the second floor, shoving my phone into my pocket as I climbed the stairs. I splashed water on my face and gripped both sides of the sink. The droplets beaded off my face and landed on the porcelain sink in tiny taps. My arms shook as I put my whole weight onto the sink.
A blotchy-cheeked version of myself stared back at me in the mirror. “Get it together. You’re better than this.”
No way in hell I’d go back in that classroom today. Jules would get my stuff. I just needed to text her.
I wedged my hand in my pocket and it took three attempts to navigate through the tight denim until it hit my phone. The pocket had a death grip on my hand as I extracted the phone, leaving red marks on my knuckles. Seriously, girl jeans needed bigger pockets.
That’s right. Focus on jeans and red knuckles, not on Dad. Not on your asshole ex who doesn’t know what the hell he’s talking about.
My sweaty palms made it impossible to get a good grip on my phone and it shot out of my hand and dropped to the cement ground. The battery popped out upon impact, skidding a few feet away. I let out an exasperated grunt and smacked the sink with my palm. Today was officially deemed shit on Payton day. I grabbed the battery from the floor and popped it back into my phone.
“Are you okay?”
I shrieked and dropped my phone again.
Damnit!
Seriously. Could I do something right? Tears tracked down my face as I slid down the wall.
Jules picked up my phone and sat next to me on the floor. “What’s wrong?” Man, I must have looked like a complete wreck if she subjected her designer jeans to the bathroom floor.
“It’s my dad.” Snot ran down my chin to complete this new trendy neurotic-chic look. I sniffed and wiped my nose with my sleeve. I needed to tell her. Out of anyone, I trusted her the most, and if I didn’t tell someone soon and get this off my chest, I would go into self-destruct mode.
She grabbed my non-snotty hand and massaged my palm. “What do you mean? What happened?”
I took in a ragged breath and readied myself for her reaction. If she wanted me to move out by morning, I wouldn’t blame her. Not many people would want to live with the daughter of a killer.
“My dad is Dr. Cooper.”
Her brows furrowed as she took in what I said. “But your last name is Daniels.”
“That’s my mom’s last name.” My mom was an established lawyer by the time she met my father and didn’t want to take his name. “I legally changed it when I moved to Florida two years ago.”
“Oh.” She pushed her bangs out of her face and tucked them behind her ear. “Well, shit. Let’s get out of here.”
The pressure in my chest lifted a millimeter. She wasn’t kicking me out. In fact, she didn’t even look disgusted or terrified to be in the same room as me. She looked like normal Jules, minus her butt rubbing against all the bathroom floor germs.
“I need to get my backpack first.”
Jules turned and picked up something beside her. She held up my backpack and dangled it in front of me. “You mean this?”
“I love you.”
She kissed the top of my head and ruffled my hair. “I love you, too. Now let’s get some coffee.”
After a few hours of studying, we went to figure drawing. I’d convinced Jules to switch out of her Pilates class after her instructor got a little too handsy with his demonstrations.
Jules dropped her backpack onto the ground and slumped into her seat. “I don’t know how you talked me into this. I can’t draw worth shit.”
“It’s beginning figure drawing class. No one knows how to draw in here.”
A tall, blond-haired guy with high cheekbones and a sculpted bod untied the black sash from his robe, took it off, and hung it on a coat rack by the door.
Jules straightened in her seat, eyes brightening. “Ah. This is why I agreed.”
I elbowed her in the side. “Maybe I shouldn’t have brought you.”
“And deprive me of this hot-guy mecca?” She waggled her brows. “This is so much better than Pilates.”
Chapter Six
Blake
“What do you wanna do tonight?” Jules nibbled my ear and gently squeezed my leg.
I shifted to move farther away on the bed. “How about a movie?”
What the hell, Hiller? She was all over you.
“Hmm.” She stuck her bottom lip out into a pout. “We just watched a movie.”
“We could go to the drive-in. It’ll be fun.” And it bought me time to try and figure out why I hesitated every time she brushed against me. Maybe I just needed to get to know her better, and then my mind would be on the same page as the rest of my body.
“Oh! That sounds like fun.” She bounced next to me, her hand grabbing my thigh. With the way she kept touching me, she expected me to make a move. But I couldn’t, because my stupid schmuck self kept thinking about someone else.
“Great, I’ll check out times.” I pulled up the movie app on my phone.
Jules put her hand on my arm as I scrolled through movie times. “Do you think we could invite Payton and Andrew?”
“Uh.” How could I say when hell freezes over nicely? I didn’t want to spend tonight with the one person I fought to forget. “Don’t you want it to be just the two of us?”
Jules looked up at me with big doe eyes. She chewed the inside of her lip and said, “Payton had a really bad day, and I was hoping this would lighten her mood.”
I bit the tip of my tongue and held back a chuckle. After the glares she sent my way in class, I could confidently assume I was the last person she wanted to see, and possibly the person at the top of her hit list. So much for making amends. I tried to be nice, tried to stick up for her dad when that brown-nosing chick ripped him a new one, and look where that got me. She was even angrier than before.
And then it occurred to me: I’d stuck up for someone who didn’t give a rat’s ass about me. This needed to end. I needed to push her away. And if pissing her off meant saving my heart from religious persecution, then that was what I had to do. And this seemed like the perfect opportunity.
“If you think it would make her happy.”
Forty minutes later, we all piled into Betty and drove south on the interstate, en route to the drive-in. Payton hadn’t said a word since she jumped into my truck.
The air vents circulated her perfume through the whole cab, like the outside air continuously pumped in gallons of the sweet scent. The same stuff she’d worn since junior year. The one I bought her for Christmas. Payton had gushed on about this perfume in a flower-shaped bottle, and since I lacked the early-gift-buying gene, I slid my way across town to the mall on December twenty-fourth, almost wrecking Betty on my way home because of a fucking blizzard. Only an idiot would go out to get perfume for a girlfriend in a snowstorm. Or a guy who wanted to make his girlfriend happy.
My shoulders relaxed into the seat as I thought of all the good times from when we dated in high school. Especially in the back of my truck where she and Andrew were now sitting a little too close for my comfort level.
Damnit, Hiller, you’re supposed to be pushing her away, not thinking about her.
“Thanks for inviting us, bro.”
I tightened my grip around the steering wheel. If it were up to me, the jackass would be at the frat with one of his call girls, not in the backseat of my truck. “No problem.”
“Yeah, thanks.” The edge in Payton’s voice conveyed about as much enthusiasm as someone getting mauled by a pack of raccoons. With rabies.
We pulled up to the gate and paid our admissio
n, and I drove the truck around the lot to find a good center spot. I backed into a space, then we piled in the bed of the pickup with sleeping bags and pillows that I had packed.
Jules nestled in a sleeping bag at the front of the truck bed and leaned her back against the rear window. She patted the spot next to her, and I sat. The sleeping bag swished against my jeans as she adjusted herself closer to me, her leg bouncing rapidly. Damn, she probably loaded up on Oreos before she met up with me tonight. Was this girl always on a sugar high?
She rested her head on my shoulder, and her hair smelled like a vanilla wafer. My stomach gurgled, and I realized I’d forgotten to eat dinner that night. After classes, I spent most of the day at the library, only going home with enough time to get ready for my date. By the time Jules came over, Marty, our chef, had packed away the food.
I pushed off the truck bed and stood. “I’m gonna get some popcorn. You guys want anything?”
Jules said, “A Coke sounds good. Don’t be gone too long.” She kicked my foot and winked.
At the foot of the pickup, Andrew stood behind Payton and wrapped his arm around her stomach. “I’m good, bro.”
My fingers curled into a fist.
This is for the best. You want Jules, and Payton wants Andrew.
Payton wriggled her way out of Andrew’s grip and said, “I’ll come with.”
We walked up to the concession stand in silence and stood in line, waiting for the next available employee to take our order. I needed to break this awkward standstill between us. If we had class together every week, we at least needed to be on speaking terms.
“You smell good.” Real smooth. What next? Are you going to throw sand in her hair? I did do that once, but that was at the beach, and I needed an excuse to get her into the water.
My brain and my dick were not on the same page with the plan to push her away.
Her right eyebrow curved up slightly. Always the right, never the left. The same what the hell look she gave me in eighth grade the first time I asked her to slow dance at the end-of-the-year party. “Uh, thanks.”
We stood there, neither of us talking. Maybe the damage had already been done, and I didn’t need to push her away any further. I banked on this, because I hadn’t been this speechless in front of a girl since middle school.
Unethical Page 5
