Page 43 of Broken Dream (Steel Legends #3)

Chapter Forty

Jason

Can my life get more fucked up?

I spend the rest of my Sunday drinking bourbon and feeling sorry for myself until I pass out on my couch.

I awaken to my phone buzzing.

“Yeah?” I say, not bothering to look to see who it is.

“Jason, hi. It’s Louisa.”

My heart lurches as I check the time. Eight a.m. Damn. It’s Monday morning. “Hey. What’s up?” My voice sounds groggy.

“I wanted to find out how your meeting with Dr. Steel went.”

I sigh. “It sucked.”

She pauses. “I…was afraid it might not go well. Dr. Steel is a tough cookie, but she knows her stuff.”

“So you agree with her, then?”

“I agree she knows her stuff. I know that she wouldn’t come to a conclusion without thinking it through rationally, weighing all the variables. What exactly did she say?”

“She didn’t say no to the surgery.” I rub at my forehead. “But she does recommend postponing it until I get some therapy. But I really don’t want to go back to therapy, Louisa. It cost me everything I had left.”

No response for a moment. Until?—

“I may have a solution.”

My heart lurches again. “Don’t fuck with me, Louisa. Don’t give me more false hope. I’m not in the mood.”

“I’m not fucking with you. There’s a state-of-the-art surgical center in Switzerland where Gita first performed the surgery with an excellent outcome. She thinks she can get you in there.”

I don’t respond for a second, my heart pounding. Part of me wants to get angry, to tell her to go to hell, that I don’t want any more false hopes. But the other part—the part that sees the opportunity, the glimmer of hope—can’t just push it away.

“You should know up front that this wouldn’t be cheap,” Louisa continues.

“There’s always a catch,” I say. “But I have money, Louisa. And what I don’t have, I’ll get.”

“You’ll have to stay local during rehabilitation. You’d have to take a sabbatical from your teaching.”

I’m ready to agree now, but that’s not what Louisa wants to hear. She wants to make sure I know what I’m agreeing to, that I’m not jumping in headfirst when the best psychiatrist in Colorado just told me to take more time.

“I’ll think about it,” I finally say, my voice hoarse with raw emotion.

“You do that,” Louisa says. “Gita and I are in your corner, and so is Peter.”

“Peter said that?”

“Not in so many words, but this psychiatric assessment wasn’t his idea. It was the board’s.”

Of course it was.

“I understand. I’ll be in touch.”

“Good. Enjoy the rest of the weekend.”

The weekend is pretty much over, and I spent it being psychoanalyzed.

When the call ends, I stare blankly at my phone’s screen.

Could this be it?

Could this be the silver lining I was waiting for?

But Switzerland…

I love that place, and I always wanted to take Lindsay there.

I promised her an amazing trip filled with chocolate, skiing, and those breathtaking views of the Alps.

I pictured us wandering through quaint villages, hand in hand, sampling fondue in cozy little cafés, and laughing as we tumbled in the snow.

It was going to be perfect—just us, away from everything, living in the moment.

But life had other plans. Cruel plans.

Perhaps Switzerland is what will save me. Give me hope.

Hope…

The thought buzzes in my brain long after I’ve drained the last drop of bourbon from my glass.

I have money.

I have what’s left of the life insurance proceeds from Julia’s death.

I didn’t get anything when Lindsay died since her life insurance policy had a suicide clause.

Is it enough?

I could also wait it out. Do the therapy that Dr. Steel requires and see if I can convince the therapist that I’ve got good enough coping mechanisms and support in case of a negative outcome.

But the thought of therapy, of rehashing old wounds and bringing all my demons out in the open again…

It’s too much to bear.

I slug down another shot, the burn of the bourbon providing a temporary distraction from the turmoil in my mind. I glance at the photo on the table beside me—Julia and Lindsay, their smiles frozen in time. A reminder of what I’ve lost, what I’ll never have again.

I drag myself off the couch and walk over to my front window, gazing out at pine trees dusted with snow.

“Damn it,” I mutter to myself, rubbing my temples. Thank God I don’t have any classes on Mondays. I’m a freaking mess.

The phone rings again, and I have half a mind to ignore it. But when I see Louisa’s name flash on the screen, I pick up without thinking.

“Jason?”

“Yes?” My voice sounds rough even to my ears, heavy with unshed tears.

“You need to know something else,” she says in a rush. “About the center in Switzerland.”

“What?” I ask, bracing myself for another blow.

“Gita thinks you’re a great candidate…but apparently I was wrong about the timing. The facility has an unexpected opening, and one of Gita’s assistants thinks he’s found a cadaver nerve that would be a match. She needs your decision by tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?” I echo, my voice choked in disbelief. “How the hell am I supposed to decide by tomorrow?”

“I know it’s difficult,” Louisa says, her voice gentle in my ear. “But this may be the only chance you get, Jason.”

I stand silent, my breath hitching as I process her words.

“So if I say yes,” I begin slowly, “I’d have to leave when?”

“As soon as possible. Gita suggests within the next week.”

“A week…” I repeat, staring blankly out the window.

A week to arrange a leave of absence, and if that’s not possible, to quit my position at the medical school. A week to leave everything behind and take a leap of faith into the unknown.

A week.

That’s it.

“Yes. Look, Jason,” Louisa says. “I know it’s not ideal. But sometimes life doesn’t give us perfect choices.”

I hold back a scoff. If anyone knows the truth of that statement, I do.

To leave my teaching position, at least for the remainder of this semester.

To leave…

Fuck.

To leave Angie.

Angie.

But I’ll be back. And I won’t need my teaching position if I’m a surgeon again.

To hold the scalpel back in my hand… To be a healer again…

“I’ll do it,” I say. “Tell Gita I’m in. I have money, and if it’s more than I have, I’ll get it somehow. I’ll take out a loan. A mortgage on my home. I’ll make it work.”

“Good enough,” Louisa says. “I’ll email you the details tomorrow. In the meantime, get a flight booked to Bern.”

“I will.”

As soon as I end the call, I grab my leather jacket and walk over to Angie’s where I pound on the door.

She opens the door, a look of astonishment on her face. “Jason, what is it? I have to get to campus.”

I grab her, kiss her lips, and then break away.

“Come with me,” I say. “Come with me to Switzerland.”

She tilts her head slightly, eyes wide. “What?”

I wrap my arms around her waist, giving her a toothy grin. “The surgery for my hand. Long story short, I can get it done right now if I go to Switzerland. I’d have to wait a long time before they’ll allow it to happen here.” I cast my gaze to the ground. “If the board allows it at all.”

She stands there blinking for a moment before her gorgeous lips finally part.

“But I have school… You have school.”

I shrug. “I’ll take a leave of absence. And you can take a semester off.

They’ll need me to stay in Switzerland for a while to follow up on the procedure.

But school will be waiting for you when you get back.

” I cup her cheek. “You’re a good student.

I’ll bet you could hunker down once you get back and still graduate on time. ”

Before she can speak again, I reel her in for another kiss.

She breaks her lips from mine. “You’re talking about me going away with you. On a trip. We’re not even…” She blushes. “We’re not even official. We… We can’t be. You’d lose your job.”

I laugh at that. “I don’t need my job as a professor if I’m back in surgery. And no one will care if a surgeon is dating a medical student.”

She pouts her lips. “But still, Jason. Switzerland .”

“It’s beautiful. You’ll love it. I went while I was a fellow.”

“I’m sure I’d love it, but?—”

I cut her off with another kiss.

This woman. This beautiful, smart, young woman.

I let go of her, and she’s about to speak again when I place a finger over her lips.

“Just…think about it. I’m going to leave in a week. I’d love to have you come with me.”

And I turn, run back to my place, and get into my car.

I keep my passport in my desk at work. Seemed to be the smart thing to do in case I ever lost my driver’s license while on the job. At least I’d have another form of ID.

Christ, I hope it hasn’t expired…

No, it shouldn’t be. I renewed it right before my last trip overseas, when Lindsay was pregnant. That was a little over six years ago. Passports are good for ten years, right?

God, I hope I’m right.

I drive over to the school, ignoring the speed limit the whole way, and park in the fire lane. I’m only going to be here a few minutes.

I rush into my office. I reach for my keys when I realize the door is unlocked.

Shit. Did I forget to lock this? There are sensitive documents in here.

Won’t happen again. I’ll make sure the door is locked securely when I leave for Switzerland.

I open the door, and my heart races.

My office looks like a storm went through it.

Papers are scattered across my desk’s surface and onto the floor, some crumpled.

My computer monitor is tilted, and drawers hang open, their contents dumped out.

On the bookshelves, textbooks and journals have been pulled out and tossed aside.

The locks on my filing cabinet have been forced open.

I look inside to see that several file folders are ripped.

Someone in here was looking for something, and they were doing it quickly.

What the hell could I possibly be keeping in here that would be worth ransacking my office so crudely?

I close the door behind me, locking it. I walk over to my desk, looking through the papers.

It’s mostly copies of old syllabi, lecture notes, even some old patient-related files from when I was still a surgeon.

I couldn’t bear to part with them when I stopped cutting.

I needed some sort of connection to the past.

Speaking of connections to the past…

A single envelope, slightly wrinkled, is strewn to the side carelessly by whoever searched my office.

To Jason…

Christ. It’s the note that Lindsay left behind the day she killed herself.

I’ve never read it.

The day she died, I stuffed it in my pocket. I gave it to one of the cops who eventually came over. He gave it one look and then returned it to me. It was pretty easy to tell what had happened.

That night, I came into the hospital and placed this envelope at the bottom of my lowest desk drawer. Far away from my everyday files and documents, but a small lifeline to the woman who was once the love of my life if I ever needed it.

I don’t know why—I really should be focusing on more important things right now—but I pull the note out of the envelope. Maybe now that I’m about to get some of my life back, I can handle the letter’s contents.

Then a knock on my door. “Dr. Lansing?”

“One second.” I look at the first words.

Jason, I’m sorry, but I can’t carry this weight any longer.

I feel a sting in my gut. But there’s another feeling, one I can’t quite place. Is it…wariness?

Another knock on my door, louder this time. “Dr. Lansing! Please open the door.”

“Be there in a minute,” I say.

Probably some student trying to get extra office hours, despite the fact that mine are by appointment only. I return to the note.

Losing her shattered me in ways I can’t put into words. I’ve tried to be strong—for you, for us—but the pain is relentless, and I can’t see a way forward.

Please know this isn’t your fault. You gave me everything, but I’ve lost myself in the void she left behind. I hope you find peace someday, even if I couldn’t.

I squint at the note. Something is wrong here. Lindsay did blame me. She could never say it out loud, but I could tell every moment of the rest of her short life that she harbored resentment toward me for the death of our daughter.

I’ll love you forever. See you on the other side, babe.

Lindsay

Three more sharp knocks. “Open the door now, Dr. Lansing.”

I whip my head back to the door. “Christ! I’ll be there in a second. I’m…changing.”

“You have thirty seconds, or I’ll knock the door down.”

Knock the door down? Definitely not a student, then. Maybe it’s Peter. He probably heard about how my meeting with Dr. Steel went, and he’s concerned I’ve gone off the deep end.

“I’m fine. I’ll be out in a sec.”

I look back at the letter, read over it again. Once, twice, three times.

And an anvil drops in my gut as I realize…

This isn’t my wife’s handwriting.