Page 31 of Broken Dream (Steel Legends #3)
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Jason
Angie’s eyes go wide as she chews on her swollen lower lip.
“Everything okay?” I ask.
She nods. “Yeah, fine. It’s just my aunt.”
“The psychiatrist?”
“Yeah. She’s coming to town.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know. But apparently she’s flying in, and she’ll be here this afternoon. She’s invited me to dinner.”
“Free dinner is always good,” I say.
But I want to smack myself. Angie doesn’t have to worry about paying for food or anything. She’s a trust-fund baby.
I’ll do well to remember that.
She begins to dress, so I do the same.
I want to say something to her. I want to tell her that this meant something to me. But honestly, I don’t know what to say.
The fact that it’s all so wrong still lies heavy on my mind.
And the feelings that are creeping up on me—things that I haven’t felt in so long, maybe never felt—have me disoriented.
“See you later, Angie,” I mumble, forcing a smile onto my face.
She returns it, but her eyes are distant. She’s already preoccupied with thoughts of her visiting aunt.
She leaves the lab first, while I stay behind for another fifteen minutes to keep up appearances. I look around. The cadavers no longer seem to be judging me.
No.
I’m only judging myself.
And the fact is that Angie being a student isn’t the thing that’s weighing the most on my mind.
No.
What’s weighing most on my mind is that I’m feeling something new. Something more intense than I’ve ever felt.
And Lindsay didn’t cross my mind once.
As I leave the lab, I feel a cold wave of loneliness. I shake my head, swallowing down the lump in my throat. It’s not like Angie and I are dating or anything.
Do I want that?
There was a time when I was certain I’d never be with a woman again. I’d live out my life in solitude.
But now? If Angie weren’t my student, I believe I’d want to pursue this. Find out if we’re compatible in ways other than physically.
I trudge down the hall, my steps heavy and slow. Laughter and chatter from students fill the hallways as I make my way to my office.
The brass plaque stares at me.
Dr. Jason Lansing, Professor of Anatomy
It may as well say Dr. Jason Lansing, once an up-and-coming general surgeon.
Dr. Jason Lansing, who may not get the surgery he needs because he’s a fucked-up mess.
Dr. Jason Lansing…who may be falling in love with a student.
I unlock the door to my office, walk in, and fall into the first chair across from my desk.
The walls seem to pulse. My undergrad degree, my medical degree. They all seem to laugh at me in a dark way as they close in on me.
I clutch the armrests of my chair, my knuckles whitening. The walls of my office are closing in on me now, the multitude of degrees and honors that once signaled a promising career now taking on an ominous, mocking tone.
Dr. Jason Lansing, a man who had everything, only to lose it all.
Dr. Jason Lansing, a brilliant mind wasted on a broken body.
Nausea travels up my throat as I stare at the surgical diplomas lining the walls. They symbolize everything I’m supposed to be. Everything I should be.
Dr. Jason Lansing, hopelessly, pathetically in love with a student.
No.
Won’t go there.
Can’t go there.
I’m not in love with Angie Simpson.
Love isn’t sex. Love isn’t easing loneliness.
I drag my gaze away from the damning degrees and let out a bitter chuckle. The future. A concept that once held promise and potential now holds nothing but uncertainty. The ghost of my past clings around me, haunting every corner of my office with chilling whispers of what might have been.
Three years earlier…
This is the worst day of my life.
Except it’s not.
I’ve had so many worst days that I’ve lost count.
Losing Julia.
Finding out I’ll never operate again.
And today…
My wife lies in the bathtub upstairs in our master bathroom.
Blood all over her.
Her wrists slit.
And I feel…
I feel nothing.
Numbness. Pure numbness.
Oh, the pain will come later. I’m well aware of that.
I’ve been through this before.
I walk over to the desk, the mahogany surface covered with bills and letters yet to be opened. Among the clutter is a solitary envelope—stark white, crisp, untouched. I pick it up, flipping it over to reveal two words on the other side.
To Jason…
She left a note.
I sit down in the leather chair behind the desk, the envelope trembling in my hands. Do I really want to know what’s inside? The last words of a woman who saw no way out but to take her own life?
Inhale, exhale. It’s just another worst day.
I open the envelope and pull out Lindsay’s final goodbye.
I don’t read it.
I can’t read it.
I simply sit, holding the paper, tempted to burn it.
But I don’t. I put it back in the envelope and stuff it in my pocket.
While my wife lies lifeless in our bathroom, blood congealing around her.
I sit in denial.
My breath hitches as a single tear rolls down my cheek, landing with a soft pat on the white paper. I gaze at it blankly, watching as the moisture soaks into the paper.
A sob rips through my throat, raw and jagged. The sound echoes around the room, bouncing off the walls and slicing through the heavy silence. It’s an alien sound, one that doesn’t belong in this office filled with accolades and prestige.
The letter lies forgotten on the desk as I lean back in my seat, staring blankly at the ceiling. The pain, long delayed, breaks free from its confines and washes over me in a relentless tide. It’s crushing, suffocating. I can hardly breathe.
I rise from the chair, the letter fluttering down to the hardwood floor. I pace, back and forth, my own footsteps echoing in time with the ticking of the clock.
Every tick, every tock, a reminder.
A reminder of the numbness that grips me, a deafening silence that fills my ears and clouds my mind. A reminder of Lindsay. Of her laughter, her smile…her lifeless body in our bathroom.
“Damn it!” I rake my fingers through my hair.
I’ve lost everything now.
I’m no longer a promising surgeon.
No longer a devoted father.
No longer a loving husband.
Just Dr. Jason Lansing, a broken man with a broken dream.
And a broken heart.