Page 27 of For Her Own Good

“Get my daughter’s name out of your mouth, you piece of shit. If she dies, I’m suing this entire place for malpractice. You’ll lose everything, you’ll never see another patient again. Your name is going to be mud.”

I hadn’t been afraid, though I’m sure Jameson Patrick could’ve done any and all of those things. He wasn’t shy about using his power. The only thing I’d been afraid of was losing Starla, and that made me bold.

“Your daughter has been doing her very best to fight this thing that I don’t think either you or I can fully appreciate. For her to think this was her best option…”

I’d wanted to vomit. Wanted to yell. Wanted to kick Jameson and Lacey out of the room so I could put my head in my hands and offer Starla choked apologies because I’d allowed this to happen. But to some extent, my hands had been tied. Despite my recommendations, despite his daughter’s pleas, despite Lacey’s support, he’d steadfastly refused ECT, and it made me fucking furious that he wouldn’t put his daughter’s needs over his own fears. I felt a little bad about taking advantage of his vulnerability, but not guilty enough to not press my current advantage, to use his desperation against him to do what I’d been urging for months.

“Perhaps now you’ll consider a course of ECT.”

“You and your fucking—”

And then Lacey was there, resting a restraining hand on Jameson’s forearm. “You need to listen, Jameson. Doctor Campbell has no vested interest in trying ECT. It’s simply that it’s a good option for treatment-resistant depression, which is clearly what we’re dealing with here. I know it seems scary. It does. And I can’t offer any guarantees that it will be effective in Starla’s case. What I can guarantee is that Doctor Campbell and I are on the same team as you. We’re all on Team Starla. We all want what’s best for her. She’s said she’s willing to try it, so perhaps you should be as well.”

The anger seemed to drain from him then, and all I could see was an older man who felt hopeless and defeated. Who was having to face the idea that yes, this time Starla’s attempt at suicide hadn’t been successful, but next time it could be.

He scrubbed his hands over his face. “What if it doesn’t work?”

I’d kept my mouth shut while Lacey nudged him, knowing he liked her far better than he liked me. But I couldn’t keep it shut anymore because my—no, not my patient. I mean, obviously, yes, but more importantly,Starlawas suffering, and he wasn’t doing anything and everything in his power to make it stop. That was unacceptable. “But what if it does?”

He stared at me, fire back in his glare and I wouldn’t have been at all surprised if he punched me. He hadn’t. He punched the wall instead, stunning Lacey into stepping back and me into moving between them. Jameson had no intention of hurting Lacey or anyone, though. Just couldn’t seem to find another outlet for his devastation and despair than putting a fist through some drywall. I suspect, though, it was mostly the fear of losing the daughter he doted on to the same thing to which he’d lost his beloved wife.

I thought he might break down again, but instead, he puffed up, looked nothing short of furious, and started bellowing.

“Anything,” he said. “Do anything! Even…even…Jesus Christ, yes, do it. Just fucking do it.”

These are the things I think about as I hold her against me, keep her off the ground with my body, and try to wake her. Say her name while I cup her cheek, stroke my thumb across her skin. Please let it be nothing. Let it be overwhelm from the adrenaline drain. Please let her eyes flutter open and have her righteously indignant, slap me in the chest because she said she didn’t want a fucking ambulance and how goddamn dare I.

God, please, let this foolish, reckless, joyful act not take her from me.

I don’t often pray; my relationship with the church is fraught. But I do now, dredging up memories of Catholic school for any saint I can invoke because I’m only human and I need all the help I can get. It’s when I get to John Licci that her brows draw together and she turns toward my chest as though someone’s shining a too-bright light at her, and then she’s searching my face with those big hazel eyes.

I can breathe again.

Chapter 10

Starla

After a tripto the ER where I took full advantage of having a wing of the place named after my father, and Lowry took advantage of having privileges to get me in and out as soon as humanly possible, we’re back at my apartment.

I’m exhausted and sore and the burn of humiliation hasn’t completely faded. All I want to do is try to find a comfortable position to lie down in, curl up, and cry. Not exactly how I pictured the first time I lured Lowry back to my place.

In truth, I had no plans to lure him here because he’ll think it’s odd. Everyone thinks it’s odd. I am one of the richest women—if not the richest woman—in Boston and I live in a studio. A well-appointed luxury studio with a beautiful view and a prime location, sure, but a studio nonetheless. I didn’t particularly want to have this conversation ever, and I’m not up for it now.

But since he’s here and under less-than-ideal circumstances, I keep up a brave face so he doesn’t realize exactly how taxing all of this has been. I don’t want him to pity me and treat me like a sad, broken thing he needs to fix because he’s got perfection leaking out of his pores that he uses like glue to mend other people’s cracks.

I take off my hat, unwind my scarf, and start to take off my coat. When I suck air through my teeth because my arm fucking hurts, there are hands at my shoulders, helping me with it.

Goddammit. I love his kindness and at the same time it makes me feel shitty. Are there people who can accept small kindnesses without feeling like a failure? How can I be one of those people?

When I’ve stripped down to my jeans and sweater, I shrug. With my good shoulder.

“Well, you can go now.”

Clearly those etiquette classes my father forced me to endure didn’t really take. That was rude. And though I don’t think Lowry gives a goddamn about etiquette, he also doesn’t look like I’ve convinced him to leave.

“I’m not going anywhere, at least not until you’re settled in bed. What if you need help with something? You heard Doctor Kwon. You’re supposed to take it easy. Why don’t you get ready for bed and I’ll make you some tea.”

There is a long list of things I want so very badly, and having Lowry put me to bed has always been rather high on the list. There is a significant subset of that list of things I can never have for various reasons, and Lowry tucking me in isdefinitelyon that list.

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