Jamison (Beautiful Mine #3) (14 page)

I squeezed my eyes shut, reliving that nightmare all over again.

“They were smart girls.” My voice broke. “I didn’t think they’d do something like that. But toxicology reports showed their blood alcohol levels were twice the legal limit. Their judgment was impaired, and they got in a car with a drunk driver because I didn’t answer my phone.”

My nerves frayed and my body began to tremble. The room spun on its side as my lungs gasped for air. Hot tears spilled down my cheeks as I stifled sobs.

“The driver went the wrong way on the interstate,” I said, my shoulders shaking. “Everyone died.”

Dr. Strong stood up, walked across the small room, and handed me a tissue box before sitting next to me on the sofa.

“Sophie, it’s okay,” she said. “We’re going to work through this. It’s not your fault.”

I dabbed my eyes with the tissue and leaned back, feeling the coolness of the room’s air was it washed over my hot skin. Dr. Strong waited until I’d calmed down before returning to her chair.

“First of all,” she said, her voice assertive and attention-grabbing for the first time ever, “you didn’t make your sisters get into that car.”

I lifted my gaze to hers, finding myself finally beginning to like her just a little. Maybe.

“Second of all,” she said, “you’re only human. We make mistakes sometimes. Maybe you shouldn’t have bought them alcohol. Maybe you shouldn’t have fallen asleep. And you can replay that night in your head as much as you want, testing different scenarios as if it would’ve made a difference. But at the end of the day, you have to accept what happened, Sophie. And you have to forgive yourself.”

“Forgive myself?” I asked. The concept were foreign to me.

“Stop holding yourself hostage over what happened,” she said. “Are you angry with yourself for buying them alcohol?”

“Yes.”

“Are you angry with yourself for falling asleep and missing their call?”

“Yes.”

“Then you haven’t forgiven yourself,” she said. “Release that anger. Let it go. Stop punishing yourself for your mistakes.”

She’d hit the nail on the head. I’d been punishing myself for two years. Every time my parents called, I’d push them away. I had pushed away my college boyfriend after the funeral. I had pushed away anyone new who came into my life, with the exception of Jamison. Mia was the only person I’d clung to. She was my lighthouse in the storm, the only person who didn’t look at me like I was the monster I believed myself to be.

“How do I forgive myself?” I asked, my voice cracking.

Dr. Strong stood up, nodding toward the mirror on the wall and motioning for me to meet her there. I stepped in front of it, staring back at my red, blotchy complexion and bloodshot eyes.

Standing off to the side, Dr. Strong said, “Sophie, I want you to look at yourself in the mirror and repeat after me: ‘I forgive you.’ ”

“I forgive you,” I repeated.

“ ‘You are only human.’ ”

“You are only human.”

“ ‘You made a mistake, but I am releasing my anger toward you.’ ”

“You made a mistake, but I am releasing my anger toward you.”

“ ‘I love you, and I want you to move forward. I give you permission to live your life, free from the mistakes of your past.’ ”

I repeated the words, though I didn’t quite believe them as they left my mouth.

“I know this exercise seems a little silly,” Dr. Strong said. “But if you do it enough, you’ll start to believe yourself. It works. I promise.”

We moved back to the center of her office, taking our respective seats.

“I want you to do daily affirmations,” she said. She grabbed her notebook and began scribbling feverishly before ripping the page out and handing it to me. She’d written everything she’d just made me say in front of the mirror. “Here. Take this. I want you to say this in the mirror to your reflection every single morning until you start believing it.”

“Thank you.” I took the sheet from her, folded it three times, and stuck it in my coat pocket.

“How are you doing otherwise, Sophie?” she asked. “I hadn’t seen you in a few weeks.”

“I had surgery a couple weeks ago,” I said. “So far, so good. I go in for a follow-up soon.”

“Wonderful.” Dr. Strong smiled. “And what about that boy you’d just met last time we talked? You still talking to him?”

My cheeks burned red. “You remembered.”

She nodded, eyes intently staring into mine.

“Still talking to him, yes,” I said. “He took care of me after my surgery, actually.”

“Good,” she said. “What did you say his name was again?”

I zipped my finger across my lips. “I can’t say.”

“Why is that?”

“He works here. At this hospital.”

She cleared her throat, her face falling ever so slightly. “Everything in this room is private, Sophie.”

“Yeah, but I don’t want to get him in trouble,” I said, noting her strange reaction. It wouldn’t be hard for her to do a little digging and figure out who it was.

“Is he a doctor here?” Dr. Strong asked, her voice feigning innocence.

I zipped my lips again. “Can’t say.”

She tried to mask her frustration with a smile. “I see.”

“You have nothing to worry about,” I assured her. “I promise.”

“Sophie, if you’re involved with one of your caregivers, I urge you to end things immediately,” she said. “It’s not ethical, and it could complicate the care you’re being given.”

“Dr. Strong,” I said, “I told you, there’s nothing to worry about.”

Her pretty face pinched. She hated the fact that I wouldn’t tell her who it was. I knew how doctor-patient confidentiality worked. Things were kept private unless someone was getting hurt. If I told her I was dating Dr. Jamison Garner, she’d report it in an instant.

I glanced up at the clock on the wall and grabbed my purse off the floor. “I need to get back to work.”

“Would you like to set something up for next week?” she pushed, seeming slightly desperate for me to rebook. “Same time?”

I froze, pursing my lips and studying her face. “Look. I’ll do the affirmations, and if they’re not working, I’ll be back.”

My eyes landed on the plaque on her desk that read, “Dr. Daphne Strong, PhD.” I’d never realized her first name was Daphne. Daphne was such an unassuming name, reminding me of a pretty girl with superficial aspirations. Harmless. Carefree. Not this Daphne. There was something behind those blue eyes of hers that shook me to my core. I just didn’t know what it was.

I left her office feeling slightly rattled and realizing just how dangerous it was to date Jamison. I didn’t want him to jeopardize his career. Dr. Strong made it perfectly clear how she felt about patients dating their doctors, and the more I spoke to her, the more she was beginning to piece the puzzle together.

I had to protect Jamison and everything he’d ever worked for. I couldn’t see her again. I cared for him too much to risk it.

JAMISON

“Jamison, I need to talk to you.” Daphne practically ran toward me, her heels propelling her closer and closer with each long-legged stride.

“I’m heading to a consult. Can it wait?”

“No,” she said, catching up to me. She placed a manicured hand on my arm and stopped me. “If I ask you something, do you promise to be completely honest with me?”

“What’s that?”

“Are you dating a patient?”

My breath caught in my chest, and I turned away from her. “No.”

I kept walking. It was none of her damn business.

“You know your license could get suspended,” she called after me, clearly not believing my answer. “You’re playing with fire, Jamison.”

Had I been honest with her, she’d have tried to use it as leverage. She’d have used her psychobabble bullshit to talk me out of seeing Sophie or to guilt trip me for it. Daphne was a master manipulator, the queen of persuasion. It was what she did for a living. It was why they paid her the big bucks, and it was why I still referred patients to her despite knowing what I did about her. She could get anyone to believe anything.

How the hell did she know about Sophie?

I grabbed the chart off the back of the door and entered the exam room, greeting my next patient.

***

Rounding the corner to my street that night, my heart raced at the mere thought of seeing Sophie. We were meeting for coffee at a little French café up the street, and waiting just outside my apartment door was a beautiful little filly in a pale pink beret, her leg bent and foot resting against the brick façade of my building.

“
Bonjour
,” she said with a sexy grin, adjusting her hat.

“I’ve been waiting all day to see you again.” I rushed toward her, wrapping my arms around her waist and slipping in for a taste of her soft lips. I’d never been big on public displays of affection, but lately I’d been walking around in a daze where nothing mattered but Sophie Salinger.

“Have you?” she teased between kisses.

The cool February breeze carried the scent of her freshly-shampooed hair to my nostrils, filling the air I breathed with a clean aroma. A mild-weathered evening meant light jackets and a preview of the much-needed spring that was just around the corner.

“Shall we?” she said, slipping her delicate hand into mine as we walked up the street.

Shoulder to shoulder, we waded through throngs of New Yorkers all heading home after a long days’ work, and all of them faceless people in a world where only the two of us existed.

I’d made reservations at Café Paris after Sophie mentioned she’d never tried French food before.

“I studied in Rome one semester,” she’d told me. “One of my friends promised we’d sneak off to Paris for a weekend, but it never happened. Our teacher wouldn’t allow it.”

The quaint little café housed a display of French pastries, artisan baguettes, and browned croissants in the window, all looking too perfect to be real, though they were as real as could be. Fresh bread and savory herbs greeted us, floating on the tepid air that warmed our faces as soon as we entered.

We found a little table by the window and perused our menus, Sophie quietly asking how to pronounce various items.

“Tell me what you want, and I’ll order for you,” I offered. It was the gentlemanly thing to do, anyway.

We sipped French-pressed coffees and snacked on cheeses as we waited for our coq au vin and herbs de Provence roasted root vegetables to arrive.

“Maybe I’ll take you there someday,” I mused to her.

“Where?”

“France,” I told her. I’d gone once, with Daphne. She planned the entire trip, which consisted of mostly shopping and dining at only the finest Michelin star rated restaurants. I wanted to see the Louvre. I wanted to tour castles. Instead I carried Chanel and Dior shopping bags down the Champs-Élysées as Daphne paraded around like American royalty.

Sophie’s jaw dropped. “Really?”

I nodded. “We could tour the countryside. Stay at a castle, perhaps. See the Mona Lisa.”

Her eyes sparkled as she blinked away happy mists. “I’d love that.”

“
Mademoiselle and monsieur,
” the server said as he sat our plates in front of us. “
Bon appétit!
”

I watched as Sophie sawed of a small bite of her chicken and waited while her expression turned to sheer delight as she tasted authentic French cuisine for the first time.

“This is amazing,” she said, cutting another bite. “So, this is what I’ve been missing all my life.”

Her dark hair fell into her face, hiding everything but her pretty lips. Sophie Salinger was what I’d been missing all my life. No question. Who’d have ever thought a girl like her could inject so much color into my world?

“So, when are we going to France?” she asked, smirking from ear to ear like an excited child on Christmas morning.

“I’ll need to check my schedule when I get to work tomorrow,” I said. “We’ll make it happen.”

She returned to her plate, devouring her meal, and I chuckled as she nonchalantly tried to pick out the mushrooms.