Page 6 of Dr. Brandt
“They told me you were international, Dr. Brandt; is that still true?”
His tone was severe, leading me to frown. “It is. What’s going on?”
“We have a pretty rare case on our hands. It’s been referred to us by a doctor out of state. The patient will be here in three days if she survives. I know I’m stretching this, but this is your specialty, and the entire staff could desperately use your advice. Even me.”
“That’s saying a lot,” I said. “Okay. I’ll be out on the next flight I can get. This vacation was a bust anyway.”
“Mr. Mitchell insists that you’re taken care of. His VP, Mr. Monroe, has been vacationing close to where you are now, and Mr. Mitchell has seen to it that Monroe will stop to pick you up in Mitchell and Associates’ private jet on his way home. I’ll text you the information, and they’ll dispatch your departure time and inform the pilots and Mr. Monroe. Also, I’ll email all the information I have on the patient for you to inform yourself. That way, you will be prepared for our surgical team meeting in two days.”
Without another thought, I was packed, ready to bounce out of my nightmare so I could help a little girl—a girl who, if Saint John’s Chief of Pediatrics was requesting my opinion, was in a pretty fucking grim situation. I had Jessa’s number, and once I was settled on the jet, I’d text her and make this up to her. I knew she, of all people, would understand why I had to leave. I wouldn’t stand her up without notice or leave her like I did the first time. No. This time, I’d show her the mature man I’d become, even if only to keep her in my life as a friend.
Once I was settled on the private jet, waiting for my friend to board the aircraft, I pulled out my phone to call Jessa. And after Spencer Monroe had boarded and the staff on the plane shut the doors, the pilots had this bitch in motion faster than I could realize I gave Jessa my number, but I never asked for hers.
Fucking hell.
Chapter Three
Jessa
A week had passed since I’d seen Cameron, and I still couldn’t get his handsome face out of my tortured mind…not to mention the spunky yet cheerful pitch of his voice and those deep blue eyes that his pitch-black hair had always highlighted.
Of all the people I could run into on a trip for my friend’s wedding, it had to be him. This wasn’t fair; I was over him. It seemed like a dozen lifetimes had come and gone since he left me, but for some reason, it also felt like no time had passed. My high school sweetheart had smacked me across the face, and I couldn’t stop thinking about him.
Of course, this wasn’t the first time I’d thought about Cameron Brandt since we’d gone our separate ways. Every now and then, he would pop into my mind when I looked at my son—our son—Jackson.
Jackson was unexpected and one hundred percent Cameron’s son, but there was no way in this world I’d tell him that. Cam came from a proper and incredibly wealthy family. I knew what conclusion his parents would’ve come to about me and the situation if I had hunted down Cameron and told him everything.
Maybe it wasn’t fair of me not to tell him, but after he left me so coldly—cutting me as deeply as a person can be cut—I didn’t want anything to do with him again. Cam made it clear that he was done with me when he left, so why on earth would I choose to put myself and my unborn child through any more trauma? That’s what I’ve always told myself, anyway. To hell with it. I’d seen therapists and been advised that I should tell him at the very least, but I knew Cam well enough to know it would just be a burden on him, make him miserable, and I wasn’t going down that road.
I’d had plenty of moments where I regretted not telling him, but those came and went a long time ago, and I’d moved on. Cam loved me at one time—I knew that, and I felt that—but I wasn’t going to see that look of defeat in his eyes when I told him about Jackson. So many people judged me, but I didn’t care. They weren’t in my shoes, and they weren’t the ones who had to listen to Cameron’s excuses to leave. ‘I love you, and I know we made a promise, but this is my dream—my life—Jessa. Sorry. I hope you understand I have to do this.’ They also never had to spend what seemed like forever, mending my shattered heart. All those who said I was overly nice or not strong enough to deal with the situation head-on could suck it. They didn’t know what I was made of.
Jackson was my life, and through my son, I gained a motherly instinct that made me stronger regardless of what anyone thought of me. Seeing Cameron again wasn’t going to spark up the conversation that made me drop this bombshell in his life, either. Cam was Jackson’s biological father, and that was it. The man who had stepped in as Jackson’s father was Warren Branson, my fiancé.
Although Warren had some flaws with being the perfect man in a relationship, he proved his love through numerous methods. The man cared about Jackson and me and worked his ass off as a vice president for a global technology company, making life very comfortable for us. When he wasn’t working late, he would cook dinner if I was too tired, and sometimes, he would pick up Jackson from school or join me on doctor visits, and most of all, he would snuggle up with me on the couch and force himself to watch a chick flick.
These weren’t his only qualities. He was an all-around great guy from the first moment we were set up three years ago. Trust me, when it came to Jackson, I vetted the fuck out of any guy I dared to date and trust with mine and my son’s future.
Like Cameron’s sister, Jackson was born with a genetic disorder and suffered from severe epileptic seizures. After many grueling years, our neurologist finally put Jackson on a special diet to help prevent the seizures from happening as often as they used to. Thank God, too, because I’d spent so many years watching the seizures take over Jackson’s life. This diet and medication were the breakthroughs we needed to get my boy healthy and happy again.
I didn’t have to fight many guys off before I was set up with Warren. Men usually ran in the other direction after asking about my routine and how I managed as a single mom. Once they learned there was much more to raising my son than dropping him off at daycare and everyday things like that? Poof, gone. And good thing, too. They saved me the trouble of kicking them to the curb.
Warren was nothing like the other men. He seemed eager to meet Jackson and to learn more about my son and me. After six months, I finally let Warren meet Jackson, and I was so relieved that he instantly adored my son as much as he adored me.
So, that’s why I didn’t inform Cam about Jackson while I was at that resort. It was good that I lied and told him my son was another man’s child, too. I didn’t even need to drop that bomb for him to stand me up, leaving the resort without a word.
I wasn’t too surprised when I realized he’d left. I learned a long time ago never to trust Cameron. Instead, it was better to wish him well and send my positive vibes into the universe after him. Forgiving the one who hurt you the most was the best therapy in the world, and that’s why I wasn’t sad when he vanished again. It’s also why I had no desire to call him, even though I had his number. Cameron was a memory from the past—in the flesh—and that was that.
So, why was I sitting at my vanity in my Manhattan penthouse thinking about how Cam’s jawline was perfectly formed by his neatly groomed beard? Beats the hell out of me.
“He was just an old damn flame,” I softly reminded myself as I placed my drop earring in my ear. “That’s it.”
“What’s it? What are you whispering to yourself in here, precious?” Warren’s voice announced his entry into my dressing room.
“Precious,” I said dryly, then turned and smiled at him. “I hate when you call me that, and you know it.”
He raised his hands and brushed along the bare skin of my upper arms. “You look stunning tonight. I love this silk gown on you. You will surely astonish them all.”
As Warren kissed my neck after fastening a new necklace he’d purchased for this affair, I closed my eyes, begging myself to feel something with this tender show of affection. Nothing.
