Page 1 of Bad Decisions

Prologue - Will

“What the hell are you doing here?” Jewel’s voice cracks through the sterile waiting room’s silence with the effectiveness of a whip. The young receptionist, who only seconds ago had been employing an array of flirtatious moves to gain my attention, now sits bolt upright in her chair, her eyes flicking between Jewel and me.

With a small shrug, I slowly turn my head a full ninety degrees to look at the seething woman standing in the doorway.

Damn, I forgot how stunningly beautiful she is, even with her icy-blue eyes threatening to cause me further injury than the one I’m already carrying. She has every right to be angry with me. Every right to tell me to leave and never come back. But I hope she doesn’t.

I promised I’d keep in touch, and I did initially. I promised that I’d visit, and I planned to, but when my new life got in the way of those plans, I let her down. It was easier to convince myself that duty was more important, just like it had been for most of my adult life. Until now, more than six months later.

Jewel crosses her arms under her gorgeous tits, which are hidden behind a loose-fitting zip-up hoodie. I remember them vividly. How could I forget? The way her nipples would harden at just the hint of my touch. And when I sucked on the dusky-pink peaks, the feral moans that would slip from her lips were like a siren song.

Regret slams into my chest like a bullet, piercing easily through my skin and penetrating deeper the longer I stare. Jewel was everything and more than I’ve ever looked for in a woman, and I was the fucking idiot who walked away. Some of it was because of circumstances beyond my control, but nothing that I couldn’t have worked around. It was easier to cut ties than drag out the inevitable breakdown of our long-distance relationship when our lives were so different. I thought we were just a moment in time, but now I know I want those moments to be my forever.

“Well?” she demands, with one Lycra-clad hip popped to the side and her foot tapping out an impatient beat.

Is she angry, anxious, or maybe a bit of both? I was never able to gauge her reaction or predict her next move. A trait that made her unique and even more attractive to me. Unpredictability is the antithesis of my work, where I have to know exactly what happens next to stay alive. I glance down at my injured leg stretched out in front of me. An excruciating reminder of what happens when things don’t go as expected.

I force my gaze back to hold hers as I struggle to stand, using my arms braced against the chair to take the weight from my leg before stretching it out fully. Snatching up the single crutch propped beside me, I shove it into my armpit before leaning heavily on it. I hate having to be so reliant on the metal stick, but until the stitches heal, it’s a necessity.

“I came to see you,” I say, after catching my breath again from the exertion. Pain courses up and down my leg like an army of fire ants attacking as my shifting body weight puts pressure on it, and I grit my teeth, waiting for it to dissipate. I hate how weak it leaves me.

With a slight shake of her head, she drops her gaze. Her eyes narrow as she scans my body, the anger etched into her rigid stance momentarily forgotten under her professional scrutiny.

“You’re too late,” she says before spinning on her heel, dismissing me.

“I’ve got an appointment,” I announce, and she stops, her sneakers squeaking against the linoleum floor.

She turns toward the receptionist. “Susannah, is he my next appointment?” The pointed finger in my direction is hardly welcoming.

“Sorry, this is William Burns.” The receptionist looks to be on the verge of tears, and when I try to send her a reassuring smile, she quickly looks away.

Jewel’s shoulders rise and fall with a heavy sigh. “I guess you need to follow me, then … Mister Burns.” Her voice is low and flat with resignation. She doesn’t want me here, that’s obvious. And maybe if I weren’t such a miserable, selfish asshole, I’d take the hint and leave. But I can’t. I’ve thought long and hard about seeing Jewel again, and I’m not about to back away from that decision just because she’s glaring at me.

When we met, my head was in a different place, unable to commit to anything more than the next job. That’s all changed. I’ve changed. At thirty-five, I’m tired. I’ve had enough of throwing myself headfirst into danger and coming out worse off. That’s a younger man’s game.

Hopefully, she’ll see it that way too. After I apologize, and if she can forgive me for disappearing. Because I’ve finally woken up and realized that I need her more now than she ever needed me. I’m a broken mess, physically and mentally, and Jewel is the only person who can make me feel whole again.

Trying not to lean too heavily to the left, I follow her straight back along the wide hallway, the thump of the crutch against the wood floor the only sound between us.

Jewel stops at the second door along, pushes it open, and beckons for me to enter ahead of her, and the moment I do, she flicks her hand at the physio table covered with a crisp white sheet.

“Sit,” she demands, and I hobble over to the table, a pathetic shell of the man I once was.

“I don’t remember you being sooo …” I start to say, but she cuts me off with her razor-sharp glare.

“Pissed off? Annoyed? Angry?” Each word inflicts a bruise on my heart that will fade with time but won’t be forgotten. “I’m all of those things, and you’ve only yourself to blame.”

Dropping onto the table, I look up at her. “I’m sorry I didn’t call.”

“Stop!” Her hand flies up to add unnecessary emphasis to the barked word. “Let’s call it what it was … you ghosted me.” She takes a deep breath, letting the accusation land before continuing, “But now you’re here for my professional services. A patient, nothing more.”

“Sure, I’m here for your help. But I’m also hoping for a chance to apologize.”

In my head, this meeting went a lot better.

“Will, please, this isn’t the place.” The soft plea lacks the fight from seconds ago.

Hope flickers in my chest like a single candle on a dark night. It’s a tiny glimmer of a second chance that I’m going to hold on to like I’m drowning at sea and have just been thrown a life buoy.