Heart Conditions (The Breakup Doctor Series Book 3) (16 page)

“Two?” he yelped. “You’ve had
two
serious relationships since us?”

“Hey!” I said sharply. “
You’re
the one who called things off.
You’re
the one who left and never looked back, as far as I knew. What the hell did you expect me to do, Michael, sit around nursing my broken heart?”

“Of course not. I know you had to move on. But—”

“But what? You thought I’d just have hookups and crappy first dates while I waited for you to get your shit together and come back to me?”

“No! Jesus, Brook, I know you better than that. I knew when I left that you’d be back on the horse probably the next week. That as far as anyone else would see, nothing had touched you. That’s who you are—you don’t let anyone in far enough to hurt you.”

That stung. “
You
hurt me, Michael,” I said with venom. “You pretty much broke me in half.”

Silence crashed over us like a wave.

“So yes, I tried to move on,” I said, more quietly now. “And yes, I had relationships. But they blew up. Because of you.” I looked directly at him and said levelly, “Because when you left it just about destroyed me—but I never let myself deal with that.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” It was a plea.

I gave a dry laugh. “Well, for starters, you went AWOL.” He acknowledged that truth with an inclination of his head, silent apology written across his face. “But even if you hadn’t I wouldn’t have told you. For the reason you said—I never wanted to let anyone get close enough to be able to hurt me. Which was foolish, I’ve come to learn. Because hiding your feelings doesn’t protect anything—and keeping my heart under such tight guard was exactly what blew up the thing I wanted most.”

I wasn’t sure who I was talking about anymore. I felt his eyes on me as I stared into the bookshelves I’d deliberately positioned to help my clients deal with overwhelming feelings.

“You’ve changed so much, Brook.”

“Yeah. So have you.”

“Jesus. I was such an ass.”

At his words I couldn’t help the grin that crept across my lips, and I shifted my gaze to him. “Speaking of which…Want to see something?”

His eyebrows bunched. “Yeah…?” he said cautiously.

I put my computer on the desk, then shrugged out of my gray suit jacket. Michael watched with an expression I couldn’t read as I turned farther to my right to expose to him my bare right shoulder in the halter-neck blouse I wore.

“What is that?” he asked behind me. “A bruise?”

“Look closer,” I said, knowing that the embarrassing tattoo I’d gotten one drunken night in the lowest part of my breakdown in the aftermath of Michael’s decampment wasn’t quite eradicated yet, despite the months of tattoo removal I’d already undergone.

I felt Michael’s breath warm on my shoulder as he stood and leaned closer to see.

“What does…Oh, my God.”

I didn’t even remember getting the giant donkey tattoo, let alone directing the tattoo artist to endow it with massively engorged genitals. But the caption I’d had inked underneath it certainly sounded like me at the time: “No more jackasses.”

When I shrugged the jacket back on and turned to him, I had to give him points for how hard he was trying not to laugh.

“Well, Brook, everyone has the right to express themselves. I applaud your originality and willingness to take risks.”

I shoved him. “Shut up. I was drunk off my ass.”

“No pun intended…” Michael shot me a sly grin I couldn’t help returning.

And then, contrary to every tenet I once held about keeping things to myself, I plunged into the full story of my rebound relationship with Kendall Pulver, who’d dumped me via text message when things seemed to be moving faster than he was ready for. After Michael, it was the proverbial straw that broke the stoic’s back, and my spectacular breakdown had ensued, complete with drunk-dialing, stalking, snooping, the infamous tattoo, and finally making an enormous public embarrassment of myself by screaming and hurling a drink at Kendall at a bar downtown in our final showdown, when he revealed that he’d been married for the first several months of our relationship.

“It was the lowest point I’d ever been at,” I said to Michael, who’d sat on the chaise mesmerized during the whole sordid tale. “And yet, in a weird way it was the best thing that ever happened to me. It sort of…I don’t know. Shook something loose here.” I popped a fist to my chest in a mini Celine Dion. “As Sasha said, it was like someone who’d been deaf all her life had suddenly had her hearing restored.”

He grinned. “Trust Sasha to provide a colorful metaphor.”

He used to know her so well. I’d lost a lot when Michael and I broke up, but he’d lost an entire social network.

“And what about the other relationship?” he asked. “You said there were two.”

I stood, busying myself shutting down my laptop. “That one didn’t work out either.”

I could feel him watching me. “That was renovation guy?”

“Yes.”

“What happened with him?”

I swiveled around, planting a playful smile on my face. “Uh-uh. I told you one of my stories. Now you have to tell me one of yours.”

“You mean from after we…after I left?” He shrugged. “I don’t have any to tell you.”

I raised my eyebrows. “Come on, now. From your reaction earlier I’m guessing you didn’t get serious with anyone—and God knows I don’t want dirty details—but let’s hear your lowest point. Which meaningless hookup with a skank finally told you you’d hit rock bottom?”

“None of them. I mean, they didn’t.”

I leaned back in my chair, arms folded, and shot him a mock glare. “Fine. You don’t want to confess? Let me guess, then. An underage band groupie. A half-passed-out girl hopped up on E? Oh, my God—a dude? No judgment if that’s what—”

“There’s no story because there were no hookups, Brook. I haven’t been with anyone else since you.”

Air drained out of me as if someone had pulled out a stopper. “Two years?” I asked, incredulous. “You haven’t had sex in two
years
?”

He held up his right hand, wiggling his fingers. “Are we counting—”

“No,” I stopped him quickly. “Jeez, Michael. Are you about to explode?”

He shrugged, and now it was his turn to focus intently on my book titles. “At first I had no urge. Like, at all. I could barely remind myself to eat, let alone summon up any kind of…” He made a vague gesture toward his torso.

I held up a hand. “I get it.”

“And after that…I don’t know.” He pushed to his feet, walking over to the shelves closest to the far corner, pulling out a book. I was distantly amused to note that it was
Women’s Bodies, Women’s Wisdom
. “I just…didn’t do it. It’s sort of like when you get the yips in baseball, and pretty soon you’re on a real losing streak. After a while you don’t even have the game in you anymore—you’ve whiffed before you even step up to the plate.”

He opened the book, thumbing through pages I was certain he wasn’t seeing. I watched him, sympathy I hadn’t thought I could feel for him tugging at me.

“I smoked a lot,” he went on as if speaking to the pages of the book. “Too much. Too many different things. Drank myself into a blackout most nights. Who’d want to be with that anyway?”

“You were punishing yourself,” I said.

“No.”

“You still are.”

Finally he looked up and met my eyes, and I caught my breath at the naked anguish in his. “Shouldn’t I be?” he said softly.

Two years ago I would have said yes without hesitation.

With my clients I was quick to root out areas where they were beating themselves up, causing themselves more pain and making healing that much more difficult. But Michael hadn’t been a client. He’d been the love of my life, or so I’d thought, and he’d done me the greatest of wrongs. If he’d told me then that he deserved to be punished, I would have wholeheartedly agreed.

But so much had happened since then—between us, and to me. And what I saw in front of me now wasn’t the man who’d broken my heart and ruined my life, but someone I’d once cared about deeply—and still did. Someone I couldn’t bear to see launching missiles at himself.

“No,” I said firmly. “You shouldn’t. Don’t you think I know that you weren’t trying to intentionally hurt me?”

“But I did. And I screwed up your whole life.”

“You’re giving yourself an awful lot of credit there,” I said dryly, but Michael didn’t crack a smile. I pushed up off my chair, standing to face him. “Who can say if things got screwed up? I wouldn’t be where I am if that hadn’t happened.” I would never have met Ben. “I wouldn’t have my Breakup Doctor practice. And I love it, Michael—it’s literally my dream job. And you said I’ve changed since then—I have, in ways I like. I don’t think I would have without going through…what we went through.”

“But the way I did it…”

“Sucked. And was cowardly.”

Shame filled his face. “I know that.”

“But it was the best you could do at that time. Wasn’t it.” It was hard to believe I was defending his actions—to the very person responsible for them, who’d crushed me—but I meant every word. “I forgive you.”

“No.” He looked as if I’d hit him.

“Yes,” I insisted. “I forgive you. I did a while ago—when you came back and we talked. And it felt like the greatest gift I’d ever given myself, to let go of all that anger and hurt and pain. I should have told you that then.”

“I don’t deserve your forgiveness.”

“And yet I’m offering it.”

“Stop it.”

“I forgive you, Michael,” I said inexorably, stepping closer. “Now forgive yourself.”

He stared at me with a wash of emotions crossing his face—disbelief, anger, denial. And then his face eased almost imperceptibly. “Forgive myself,” he said, as if trying the thought on for size.

“Yes. I can’t believe I’m the one exhorting you to do that, but I mean it. Forgive yourself and, in the wise words of Elsa, let it go. That’s the only way you’re going to move past this.” I put a hand on his wrist where he still held the book, felt his pulse beating under my fingers. “That we are.”

The ghost of a smile played across his lips, and he finally closed the unread book and slid it back into its spot with the hand I wasn’t touching. “Okay. You’re the expert. I’ll give it a try.”

“Good.” We shared a smile that reminded me of old times, and before I realized what I was doing I closed the small gap between us and reached to hug him.

His arms came around me immediately, as if they’d only been waiting for me to initiate, and he held me close. His familiar scent filled my nose; his warmth seeped into my skin from chest to thighs through our clothing.

I pushed closer, relishing the strength of the arms holding me, the feeling of being wanted, cherished. Stroking his back, I found muscles that hadn’t been there before, but knew exactly where my fingers would encounter the raised mole under his left shoulder blade. Something tightly coiled inside me began to unwind as our bodies pressed together.

And then something else pressed insistently into me too.

I jumped away as if he’d burned me, my heart suddenly racing, my face on fire.

Michael reached out a hand to touch my arm, but I took a quick step out of range. “Brook…I—”

“No, no, it’s…I shouldn’t have…I mean, especially given your, um, you know…dry spell…” I gave an awkward laugh. “I know the chamber must be loaded and the safety off.” I moved to my desk, desperate to avoid his searching gaze, my own rattled emotions. “So, I’ll fine-tune these proposals and get them to you ASAP?” I said, trying to school my tone back to business.

“Okay. That’ll be good.” I heard the words through the curtain of my hair as I kept my gaze determinedly focused on shutting down my laptop. Slowly.

It felt like a long, long time before I heard footsteps and then a soft click, and only then did I dare to look up, staring at the door that had shut behind Michael.

sixteen

Michael had decreed that I could do my radio show that afternoon, with the caveat that if the offer from the station was lacking, I would be willing to play hardball and sit out further appearances while he negotiated.

I was ridiculously grateful not to have to miss it—particularly today. I needed to take my mind off of what had just happened.

I’d known that whatever had once been between me and Michael had never fully died on my part. And he’d made it perfectly clear since he’d come back that his feelings for me were very much alive as well.

But the clear physical evidence of it had made everything feel much more real. And immediate.

I couldn’t put off letting him know my decision forever.

By the time my ninety-minute radio segment was finished, my thoughts had begun to settle and the ground underneath me felt solid again. I couldn’t imagine if I had to give these shows up as a bargaining chip in Michael’s business plan. I loved when someone who called in sounding broken or defeated hung up after our conversation with a burst of strength in their tone. With the radio shows I was able to help more people—at least on some level—than I could reach in that amount of time any other way, and I thrived on that.

I worried that Michael and I would find that I needed the show a lot more than the station needed me.

As soon as I went off-air at six thirty I trucked back down Winkler to my house and picked up Jake. No matter how brief a time I was gone, he was always as happy to see me as if I’d been away at war.

This was why people loved dogs, I thought as I clipped his leash on and wrangled him into my Accord: because we got enough uncertainty and indifference from the people in our lives—at least our dogs made no secret of their giddy delight in our company every time we showed up.

Unlike their humans, I thought disappointedly as I pulled into Ben’s driveway, the front of the house dark. He must be working especially late tonight, but I was surprised he hadn’t texted to tell me so.

Although maybe it was for the best, I reflected as I fetched the key from under the paving stone. I’d been able to back-burner my muddled thoughts while I handled other people’s problems on the show, but as soon as we were off the air, worries swarmed my head like no-see-’ums.

I’d been trying to keep things on an even keel with Michael, hoping to move slowly, not only to find out what might still be there between us, but to give myself time to figure out what was going on with me and Ben.

But I was no closer to an answer.

I fumbled with the lock in the deep shadows on the porch, reaching inside to grope for the light switch so we didn’t stumble in the pitch-black. But as Jake pushed past me, pushing the door wider, I noticed a faint spill of illumination from the back of the house.

Ben never left lights on.

Suddenly I heard voices.

A chill passed through me, literally raising the hair on the back of my neck. Jake, whose vaunted Pyrenees hearing and finely honed guard instincts were responsible for his endless alert barking in the middle of the night, somehow failed to respond to this actual threat, glancing up at me contentedly and wagging his tail.

I knew what you were supposed to do with a suspected intruder: Leave the house immediately and call the police. But that excellent advice fails to take into account the surge of adrenaline and outrage that courses through you when someone has breached the security of your home—or the home of someone you care about—and before I could stop myself I had in my hand the canister of pepper spray I always carried and was charging back to where the voices were coming from.

“Get the hell out of here!” I barked in as ferocious a growl as I could manufacture, my lips pulled back in a snarl as I rounded the corner still holding Jake’s leash in one hand, wielding the pepper spray in the other like Lady Liberty with her torch.

Only to find Ben and Pamela standing in the kitchen, a bottle of red wine open on the counter between them, one glass held in Perfect Pamela’s beautifully manicured fingertips. Her perfect mouth was open in a perfectly round O as she took in my aggressive entrance, and Ben was looking at me as if I’d walked in with my hair on fire.

I felt my face heat. “Oh—sorry. I thought you were a burglar.”

“Hi, Brook,” Pamela said, recovering her composure in an instant. Of course.

“Hello, Pamela,” I said brightly, trying (and failing) to match her poise. “How lovely to see you. You’re looking great. As always!” And she was—in a black-and-white wrap dress that hugged her wasp waist before flaring out in a feminine spill, and perfect sensible black low-heeled pumps. Instead of the jeans and well-fitted cotton shirt I’d grown used to in the last week, Ben wore khaki pants and a white button-down.

Understanding dawned. He had a date.

With Perfect Pamela.

And I’d walked in on the middle of it.

Nausea boiled up in my stomach.

I laughed somewhat maniacally as I tried to casually drop the pepper spray back into my purse, as if it were a lipstick I’d just used. I was thrown by the homey, intimate scene, Pamela occupying the position against the counter I’d already come to think of again as mine, Ben standing a few feet away, hands jammed into his pockets.

He was frowning. “Why did you come tearing into the kitchen if you thought we were intruders, Brook? That’s dangerous. You should have left and called the police.”

I rolled my eyes. “Yes, I know. Good thing I didn’t, though, right? Wouldn’t want you two hauled off to the pokey together or anything—ha, ha, ha! Oh,” I rambled on. “Congrats on the Doctors Without Borders interview, Pamela. I hope you win! I mean, I hope you get it. Get chosen, I mean. Not that I want you to move halfway across the world or anything! Ha, ha, ha!”

Ben was eyeing me with concern. “Would you like a glass of wine, Brook?”

No, but maybe a Valium?
I thought wildly.

But Pamela, of course, was gracious enough not to react to my verbal incontinence, just arced a glance across to Ben with a secret smile that sent a sudden shard of ice sliding into my belly. “Funny you mention that,” she said. “We were just talking about it. There’s a partner program that works with the Doctors Without Borders organization to help build the clinics in various villages. That sounds right in Ben’s wheelhouse, doesn’t it?”

The ice spread to my fingers and toes, and the bottom dropped out of my stomach. Ben was thinking of going with her?

To freaking
Africa
?

If I’d needed clarification about the mixed messages I thought I’d been getting from him, they’d just become utterly, painfully clear.

Suddenly I was more than a little concerned about the prickling heat building behind my eyes. I might be able to pass off my mania as an overindulgence in caffeine, but it was going to be a lot harder to explain to Perfect Pamela why her boyfriend’s pal and dog-sitter was blubbering in his kitchen.

“Brook?” Ben asked, his eyebrows bunched together, and I realized I hadn’t made any response in too long a time.

“Oh…mm-hmm,” I managed, having long forgotten Pamela’s question and hoping it would do as an answer. All I wanted to do was get out—quickly, before I embarrassed myself. And Ben. “Well, I don’t want to horn in on…I mean interrupt…Friday night—date night, amiright?” I sounded like a bad Vegas comedian. “I’ve got plans of my own. Definite plans. I need to get going. Catch you later!” I said inanely.

I turned on my heel to block out the sight of Pamela and Ben and Jake in a happy huddle in the kitchen, but the cozy scene was still burned onto my retinas. The only thing intruding on the sweet little picture of domestic bliss was
me
.

I was moving so fast I had the door to my car open before I heard the hydraulic arm of the screen door slam it shut behind me.

My phone rang just as I pulled into my garage—Ben.

I debated whether I should answer. I pictured Perfect Pamela standing at his elbow, an expression of concern across her lovely face as she kindly exhorted Ben,
You should call her and check on her. She seemed upset.

But not answering would only confirm it. Swallowing, I closed my eyes and hit answer.

Sure enough: “Hey…just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

Mortification heated my face.

“I’m sorry about that,” I said. “I know that was weird.”

“It wasn’t weird,” he protested halfheartedly.

“It was weird.”

“It was a little weird.”

“Sorry. I…I had a long day,” I said. “A long week.”

There was a pause, and then: “Listen, about what Pamela said…”

“Yeah, sorry, I was just…It was unexpected. You didn’t mention you were considering that.”

“That’s because I wasn’t. She just mentioned it to me before you came in.”

There was a long silence in which my grief warred with relief. So this hadn’t been planned all along. And Pamela had asked
him
…not the other way around. I wondered whether he was clarifying that on purpose. And whether Pamela was right next to him, hearing everything both of us said.

I didn’t know whether Ben had ever told her we’d dated. Knowing him, I assumed so—he wasn’t a big fan of keeping secrets (as I knew from painful firsthand experience). And in that case, she was too smart not to realize that my freakish reaction could only mean that I still had feelings for him.

If so, I’d put him in a very awkward position. And he wasn’t making it any better by calling me with her there. Whatever this meant, now wasn’t the time to talk about it.

“I really need to go, Ben.”

“Listen, Brook…” There was another lengthy silence, the sound of an exhaled breath, and I finally understood the phrase “heart in mouth” as I waited to hear his next words. “If you’d rather not watch Jake on Monday—”

“No! I’ll watch him.”

“Are you sure? I can—”

“I’m sure.” I had only a few more days before Adelaide came home. A few days left to find out whether there was any hope at all for me and Ben.

“Well, then…thanks. I’m glad.”

“Me too,” I said. Relentlessly, I wondered whether his words were only borne of gratitude.

“Okay, well,” I said finally, “you guys have fun tonight.”

“You too. What are you—”

I broke the connection.