Page 22 of Dr. Brandt
“You’ve never been like most men, Cam.” She smoothed her hand across my cheek. “I’m sorry I never told you, but you left to pursue your dreams and—”
“You were always too good to me, Jessa. Why would I have ever been such a selfish dick to leave you to raise my son?”
“Our son,” she smoothly cut me off to correct me.
“Our,” I smiled. “Why didn’t you just tell me? Jesus.” I ran my hands through my hair, clenching the sides of my head and spinning around. “How did you do it all by yourself? Please, God, tell me you had support and finished school.”
Before turning back to Jessa, she was already in front of me, showing me a severe side I’d never seen before.
“Cameron Mark Brandt.” She cut me off in the same tone my mother would use to scold me. And, like when my mother used that voice on me as a little boy, I couldn’t help but smile. Call me juvenile, but the sight of an adult scolding me had always made me want to laugh.
I interlaced my fingers, still holding onto the back of my head. “Gonna come at me with my middle name now, eh?”
“I think this situation calls for it.” She folded her arms and continued to level my ass with this authoritative gaze she so cutely wore. “You have every right to be upset that I never told you about Jackson, but what happened in my life after you split is my business. You left and didn’t look back, remember?”
“Jessa,” I said softly.
“I wasn’t going to hunt you down because I was pregnant. That wasn’t where my head was at the time. I was hurt and missed you, but I was also young and immature. I was heartbroken and angry, and the last thing I wanted to do was hunt down the guy who’d dumped me on his way to a better life at a better school.” My grin was long gone by this point. She couldn’t have made me feel worse if she’d punched me in the gut. “We both made decisions, and they eventually led our separate paths here. From this point on, what we decide to do can either help or hurt our son. Jackson is number one on my priority list, now and always, and I would move heaven and earth to make him better. Of course, now that you know that you’re his father, we can work through that together if you’d like. Or not. But I’m most concerned about Jackson and you treating him—saving him as only you can. Is that still something you’re willing to do?”
“Well, shit.” I folded my arms to mirror hers. “Looks like that conversation is over.”
“I’m not trying to dismiss your feelings, Cameron. But it has been a long couple of months since Jacks’s seizures came back, and there is nothing any of these other doctors can do. I’m a desperate mom in need of a gifted man’s help, a man who just so happens to be my son’s father. I will be here for any questions you have about him if you’re interested in being a part of his life, but for now, I beg of you to keep this between you and me—”
“Who does Jackson believe his father is?” I asked, curious.
“A friend from high school,” she answered as if she’d had to answer this question millions of times.
“And you don’t think he sees any resemblance to me?”
“I’m not sure. I haven’t been alone with him long enough to learn if he’s connected the dots.”
“And if he has, and he asks?”
“I won’t lie to him,” she answered.
“But isn’t that what you’ve already done by not telling him I’m his father?”
“I only kept the identity of his father from him because he never asked. He’ll come to me when he’s ready.”
“And if he’s ready now?”
“Then I’ll tell him now. Listen, Cam,” she said, her eyes filling with tears again, “I’ve been doing this for sixteen years, and in that time, he hasn’t expressed an interest in learning who his father is. Instead, he’s been focused on sports and getting scholarships. Now that the seizures have returned, he’s been trying his hardest to get his life back, praying for a miracle so he can fulfill his dreams.”
I knew there was only one thing to do: put Jackson’s health needs first. Nothing was more important. Fix the problem, and everything else will fall into place. This wasn’t about me, and it wasn’t about Jessa.
“Okay. What medication is he taking, for how long, and when did it stop working?” I stared at Jessa as I would any other patient’s parent. But this wasn’t any parent; this was my Jessa. This was my son.
That’s when it hit me.
“The list of med—” she started.
“My sister was five when she died. Shit.” I closed my eyes, refraining from anger. Jessa knew I had a sister born with epilepsy, and her death inspired me to go into this field of work. “You know my sister Charlotte was born with epilepsy.”
“Yes,” she answered.
“Shouldn’t that have been reason enough to hunt me down and ask a few questions?”
“Truth?”
