Page 10 of Healing Hearts
But Vivian just laughs, the sound light and dismissive. It's as if our breakup was nothing more than a small bump in the road, a minor inconvenience easily forgotten. "Oh, Trevor, don't be so serious," she chides, her eyes glinting with a mixture of amusement and something darker. "We had some good times, didn't we?"
Before I can react, her hand reaches out, fingers lightly brushing against my arm. The touch sends an involuntary shudder through me, memories of our tumultuous past flooding back in an instant. The moment her fingers graze my skin, my muscles tense reflexively. Every nerve in my body screams at me to retreat, to put as much distance between us as possible. Those "good times" she mentioned? They flash through my mind in a series of unsettling snapshots.
I remember the incessant buzzing of my phone during critical surgeries, Vivian's number lighting up the screen again and again. The memory of her icy stare when I chose to grab a beer with my colleagues after a grueling shift instead of rushing home to her. The way she'd hover near the nurse's station, ostensibly to chat but really to keep tabs on my every move.
"Vivian," I say, my voice tight as I gently but firmly remove her hand from my arm. "We have different memories of those times."
Her eyes narrow, that familiar spark of defiance flaring up. "What do you mean? We were perfect together."
I take a deep breath, the scent of salt and hibiscus fillingmy lungs. It steadies me, reminding me of the peace I've found since our relationship ended. "Look, Vivian," I say, taking a small step back. "I've moved on, and honestly, I think it's best if we keep things... professional between us."
Vivian's gaze locks onto mine, her icy gray eyes narrowing slightly. For a heartbeat, I see a flicker of the tempest I remember all too well. But then, like a switch being flipped, her lips curve into a coy smile.
"Fine," she purrs, her voice dripping with honeyed venom. "I'll let you off the hook…for now." She winks, but it feels more like a challenge than a flirtation. "But if you change your mind, you know where to find me for the next three months."
My jaw clenches involuntarily. Even now, she's trying to leave the door open, to worm her way back into my life. I force myself to relax, to not give her the satisfaction of a reaction.
She turns to jog away, her black hair swaying with each step. Just as I think I'm in the clear, she tosses a glance over her shoulder. "Don't be a stranger, Trev."
The use of my old nickname sends a chill down my spine. I watch her retreating form, my mind racing. How will I navigate this at work? Will she respect my boundaries? Do I need to report this to HR? The peaceful morning I'd been enjoying feels tainted now, overshadowed by the specter of my past.
The sound of Vivian's footsteps fades, and I let out a long, shaky breath. My muscles, tense from the encounter, slowly begin to unwind. I run a hand through my sweat-dampened hair, feeling the weight of the past pressing down on me.
"Fuck," I mutter, shaking my head. "What a fucking mess."
I turn back to face the water, letting the salty breeze wash over me. The gentle lapping of waves against the dock provides a soothing counterpoint to my racing thoughts. How did I ever get so tangled up with someone like Vivian? With someone so controlling, conniving, and so desperate?
As I stand there, my mind drifts to last night at Hooplas.The warm glow of the bar lights, the faint scent of grilled seafood, and most importantly, Brooke's infectious laughter. A smile tugs at my lips, unbidden.
I close my eyes, picturing Brooke's vibrant red hair and those expressive green eyes. The way she'd listened intently when I spoke, her gentle wit, the genuine warmth that seemed to radiate from her very being.
My hand instinctively moves to my pocket, where my phone rests. Should I call her now? The urge to hear her voice, to ground myself in something real and positive, is almost overwhelming. I hesitate, not wanting to seem too eager or too desperate after only one night of conversation.
"Get it together, Jacobs," I chide myself, chuckling softly. "You're not some lovesick teenager." Still, the memory of Brooke's smile lingers. For the first time in a long while, I feel a spark of something I'd almost forgotten – hope, anticipation, the thrill of new possibilities. "Come on, Trevor," I mutter. "You cut people open for a living. Calling a woman shouldn't be so hard."
I hit dial before I can second-guess myself. The phone rings once, twice, three times. My heart races with each passing second hoping she’ll answer.
"Hello?" Her voice, soft and slightly sleepy, sends a jolt through me.
"Brooke? Hi. It's Trevor. From Hooplas last night." I cringe at how awkward I sound. Maybe I am a lovesick teenager. "I hope I'm not calling too early."
There's a pause, then a warm chuckle. "Hi. No, not at all. I'm just waiting for my coffee to finish brewing. It's nice to hear from you."
Relief washes over me. "I couldn't stop thinking about our conversation last night," I admit, surprising myself with my candor. "I was wondering if you'd like to grab acoffee sometime. Maybe continue where we left off? I’d love to see you again."
As I wait for her response, I watch a seagull swoop low over the water, its cry echoing across the bay. The salt air fills my lungs, and for a moment, I feel light, unburdened by the weight of Vivian's unexpected appearance in my hometown.
"I'd love that," Brooke replies, her voice tinged with what sounds like genuine pleasure. "How about tomorrow afternoon? There's a great little café, Java Hut, in town. I could meet you there around four?"
"That sounds perfect," I say, unable to keep the smile from my voice. "I'm looking forward to it, Brooke."
As we say our goodbyes, I can't help but feel a surge of optimism. Whatever complications Vivian's presence might bring, this – this connection with Brooke – feels like a step in the right direction. A chance at something real, something good.
I pocket my phone and start my jog back home, my steps lighter than before. The memory of Vivian fades, replaced by anticipation for tomorrow's coffee date. For the first time in a long while, I find myself eager to see what the future might hold.
Chapter 5
Brooke
