Page 50 of The Choices I've Made
SINCE ARRIVING HOME, I’D BEENmaking one bad choice after another.
And all of them seemed to revolve around one person.
Molly McIntyre.
I’d convinced myself that, after all this time, I wouldn’t feel for her the same way I once had. But, the moment I had seen her standing over Dean, her heart bleeding out with pain and regret, I had known I was a goner.
Being a glutton for punishment, I kept making it worse by placing myself in her way as much as possible. That was why, at this very moment, I was assisting her in walking to Dean’s hospital room.
Dean. Her fiancé.
Yep. Definitely a glutton for punishment.
That, or all those years of sleep deprivation during medical school were starting to catch up. Either way, I took a deep breath and pushed open the door to Dean’s room, allowing Molly to enter first.
A quick moment of indecision passed through me as I contemplated staying in the hallway. But I wasn’t that shitty of a person.
Not yet anyway.
So, I followed behind her, making sure she didn’t fall on the crutches she hated so much. Honestly, I’d seen ninety-five-year-olds do better on a pair of these things than her. It was a wonder she hadn’t reinjured herself yet.
The room was still and void of light. At first, I wondered if Dean was sleeping and we should possibly come back, but then I stepped in full and met his eyes.
It was like looking into the glassy irises of a corpse. No recognition, no reaction. Just a mere glance in my direction and then nothing.
I’d heard he was struggling.
But this?
This was more than that. He’d given up.
“Hi, Dean,” Molly said with clear hesitation.
She went to his bedside, reaching out for his left hand. Dean stared straight ahead.
“I brought Jake. He wanted to say hi. We all miss you so much!”
I appreciated her spin on our arrangement. I guessed saying something like,Jake forced his way into the car after I fell down the stairs, was a little too much information for the moment.
Not that it made a difference.
I stood on the opposite side of Molly, both of us solid anchors around him. I thought about grabbing his one good hand, but for the first time, I didn’t know how to handle this specific situation.
What did you do when the patient was family?
How did you separate the emotions from the truth?
You didn’t.
At that moment, I had to decide.
What was I to Dean?
A doctor or a friend?
I chose the latter, reaching out for his bruised hand and giving it a gentle pat. That single touch was like a lightning bolt in our lifeless friend. Suddenly, he looked around, taking in the scene before him.
“Guess things are working out well for you, huh, Jake?”
