Page 10 of Hate To Want You
That should have been me. My name, my photo, my research.
What Cara did to me in our final semester of med school is a secret I’ve never told anyone. I found out she won the position on the research team by capitalizing on a secret I shared with her in a moment of vulnerability, less than an hour before the call came through about Dad’s accident. Our family’s fear and struggle overshadowed my own pain. As far as they know, Cara and I just broke up because we had drifted apart.
And even now, over a decade later, the one and only woman I’ve ever let close to me is still stealing from me. Only now she’s stealing my sanity and my ability to be a fair and competent supervisor to my resident.
Yesterday was an embarrassment.
Heidi was 100 percent correct in her recommendations for Susanne Macintire. An ultrasound was the best way to definitively know the source of infection. And instead of praising her and encouraging her to take the lead, I yelled at her. I lost my temper in front of our colleagues and treated her like she was an idiot, simply because she questioned my judgment.
So yeah, I’m still angry at Cara, and at the same time, I’m frustrated with myself and my inability to let the past go.
I’m irrationally angry at the fact that Heidi is a competent doctor, and despite how I’ve been treating her, she’s done nothing wrong.
I’m angry that she’s friendly, and kind, and fucking beautiful. I’m angry that someone like her is with someone like him.
I’m so full of anger, I feel like I’m going to explode. Which is what brings me here, to the gym, late at night when I really should be sleeping. But Beckett agreed to meet me for a workout, so now I’m on the treadmill, trying to outrun my demons.
“Do I bother asking if you want to talk about it, or should I just let you run like the hellhounds are on your heels?” Beckett asks drily as he steps onto the machine next to me.
“Talk. Later.” I pant out, my eyes laser focused in front of me, staring but unseeing.
Beckett starts to run at a much more reasonable pace than I am, and I try hard to lose myself in the repetitive motion. One foot in front of the other. I need to hit that nirvana where my brain shuts off and my body takes over.
That same state of mind I reach when I have really good sex.
Sex with Heidi Morgan would get me there.
Fuck. No.
I stumble and almost bail on the treadmill, grabbing the rails and lifting my feet just in time. I slam the stop button on the control panel and drop my head forward, my chest heaving.
“Max? You okay?” Beckett pauses his own run and turns to me. “Maybe I do need to force you to talk.”
I step off the machine and sit down heavily. “I’m fucked, bro. And I can’t talk about it. Not even with you.”
My younger brother comes to sit beside me. “Can’t or won’t?”
“Can’t.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I see his head nod slowly. “Okay. I won’t push. But can you at least tell me if you’re gonna need lifesaving techniques or bail money? Not that I’m the hero in the family, but I can pull together some cash.” He lets out a self-deprecating laugh, and I turn my head to look at him. It’s not the first time he’s made an offhand comment about himself in a negative comparison to the rest of us.
“Fuck being a hero, none of us are. Except Sawyer on a good day, I guess. But no. I don’t need saving or bail money. Just need to get my head on straight.” I look back down at my feet. “I’ll be fine. I just gotta remember what’s important to me.”
My patients. My family. Nothing else. Nobody else.
Beckett’s hand lands on my shoulder. “Okay. I’m here if anything changes. You know that, right? Don’t pull an ‘I’m the oldest so I need no one’ stunt.”
I grimace slightly but manage to give him a nod of acknowledgment. “Thanks, man.” I don’t say anything else. I can’t. I’m not ready to unload and unpack all the shit in my head right now.
“Right. Then are we running, or do you want to lift?”
I stand up. “Actually, I think I need to head home. Early start tomorrow, you know?”
Beckett stands beside me, studying me from behind his glasses. “Alright. I’m going to run some more, but I’ll talk to you later. Are you coming to Hastings this weekend?”
“Yeah. I’ll be there.” With a backward wave, I leave the gym. My mind is no clearer and no more settled than it was before. If anything, it’s worse.
I wish I could say I found some self-control and figured out how to separate my anger over my past from the reality of my present. But that would be a lie.
