Page 13 of Love Medley (Med Wreck Romance #1)

Chapter nine

Jake

Y esterday’s shift was Lucy-less, but I only ended up thinking about her more.

There’s no doubt that I’m drawn to her in every way.

I’m captivated by her courage; standing up to fucking Weston was no easy feat.

And this confrontation happened right after she suffered a major panic attack for the first time, which takes no small amount of bravery.

What’s more, the way she cared about her abused patient spoke volumes about her good heart.

Of course I’m beyond attracted to her—who wouldn’t be?

She’s the most spectacular woman I’ve ever met.

After only two meetings, this incredible woman has orchestrated herself into my thoughts, like a new favorite song that I can’t stop listening to.

She infiltrates my dreams at night—black tresses fisted in my hands, soft, pillowy lips on my skin, large brown eyes widening in lust as I bathe her in my tongue, musical gasps of pleasure as I make her come.

Then I imagine more tender moments: wrapping her in my arms, stroking her long, elegant neck and the smooth skin on her back, feeling her heartbeat against my chest.

But I’m under no illusions that this will ever happen. Even though Weston is a jackass, he was right about one thing: Lucy is out of my league. I need to remind myself that even though I’ll see her on Saturday for the Centennial dinner, it’s not a real date.

I grab a Gatorade Zero out of the fridge. As I settle at my desk to check my email, I think about Lucy. I pull out my phone, my fingers hovering over her name. I need to call her, figure out the details for the dinner. But the reminder that it’s all pretend makes my stomach turn.

Setting down my phone, I recall the moment in the ER ambulance entrance.

Helping Lucy through her anxiety attack stirred up old memories.

While my mother could have done more to protect me from my father, she did find Nina, my child therapist, when I suffered from increasingly frequent panic attacks.

My father doesn’t believe in therapy, so he couldn’t have known about Nina—he would have put a stop to it immediately.

Only now as an adult do I realize this may have been why my mom always paid Nina in cash, rather than by card .

Maybe part of me will always long for some sort of connection with my mother. I know she’ll never reach out, but maybe…I can?

Hesitating only for a moment, I pick my phone back up and dial her number.

“Hello?”

“Hi, Mother. It’s me.”

“Jacob. How are you?”

As usual, her cadence is formal, measured and distant, so I’m not sure how to read her tone.

“I’m doing well, thank you,” I say, my speech automatically becoming less colloquial.

It’s different than when I was at the house five months ago, fighting for every bit of independence, even down to what I was wearing and what phrasing I was using, so I could get the job done.

But now? I want her to feel comfortable.

I shift, feeling awkward. Just because slipping into a role comes naturally doesn’t mean I enjoy it.

My mother breaks the silence first. “And your job—I trust things are moving smoothly?”

Maybe I’m not the only one struggling. “Working in the Blackwell ER is fast-paced and never boring. Just today, a patient care tech who wants to become a nurse shadowed me. That was more satisfying than I was expecting.”

There’s a pause on the line. “Satisfying in what way?” She doesn’t seem critical, but rather, surprisingly, interested.

Encouraged, I continue. “Thomas—that’s the name of the tech—made the experience rewarding, actually. He had insightful, intelligent questions about some of the interesting cases we saw together and was a keen observer, learning quickly on the fly.”

I remember the pride that surged through me whenever Thomas figured something out—it was better than if I did it myself.

“You’ve always been adept at instructing others.”

Her words surprise me. When I was with Thomas, it didn’t even occur to me that I might be responsible for his learning. Frankly, that was all him .

But I also can’t remember the last time I’ve heard anything like a compliment from a family member. Wyatt and I have always gotten along, but we’ve never talked about anything serious—we've kept it light. And my mother, while not outright unkind, has always been stern and emotionally remote.

I shift the phone to my other ear. “What? Me?”

“Yes,” she says, her voice distant, as if she is watching a movie of the past. “Do you recall how Sterling could never put on his tie properly? You directed him step by step even when he ended up throwing a tantrum. Or when Wyatt was too apprehensive to climb that big tree in our backyard? You guided him from branch to branch until he made it to the top safely. You have a way about you that steadies others.”

I had completely forgotten about those times in my childhood. They didn’t stand out—they just felt like what anyone would’ve done.

And the fact she noticed hits me hard. But she obviously had to have a reason for doing those things for me—the therapy and the piano lessons.

Perhaps she was more perceptive than I gave her credit for.

Maybe she wasn’t able to express her love for me in ways I could appreciate back then—like hugs and smiles.

But I see it now.

The realization batters against my carefully constructed armor—fear and hope warring equally in my chest. It’s so risky to expect anything from my family. In some ways, it’s easier to keep that door closed, keep the lid on that box and bury it deep.

“Your father tends to be hard on all of you,” she continues. “And while I may not voice my observations of you at the time, I do take note.”

My eyes sting unexpectedly hearing her words. From my mother, so composed and even, this admission is huge.

When I dialed, I wasn’t sure exactly what I’d say. What she’d say.

At first, I just wanted to hear my mother’s voice. But what will happen if I open that door between us just a crack?

If I don’t, I’ll always wonder.

“I want to thank you,” I say finally.

Her voice is surprised. “To thank me?”

I’ve opened the door, and now I need to step through. “Yes. Even though Dad would have disapproved, you still got me the piano lessons and set me up with Nina. Music comforts me. It gives me a way to express myself. And from Nina, I learned how to calm myself when I was stressed. ”

I pause. Bringing up Lucy is a bigger leap than I’d intended for this phone call, but the words come out anyway.

“In fact, I was able to teach someone else one of the techniques that Nina taught me. A woman was having a panic attack during one of my shifts, and I guided her through it.” Another beat.

“I may not have said it at the time, but I appreciate you doing those things for me.”

Something breaks loose as I speak. I don’t usually say things like this to anyone in my family. It’s always felt too fucking risky. But even though I have no control over how she’ll react, I don’t regret speaking the words out loud.

My mother is silent for a moment. “As you know, I came from old money in Boston. When I met your father, he was always intimidated by my family’s wealth and high standing in society.”

I’ve never met my grandparents on my mom’s side, probably because of the bad blood between them and my parents. I know some of my parents’ backstory, but not all of it, and they rarely speak of it. Because of this, I’m undeniably curious.

Even though this call is heavier than I expected, I want to know more.

“Your father wasn’t from the same background as I was.

His parents were blue-collar workers who died in a factory accident right as he graduated high school.

After their death, he put himself through college and business school, and that’s when I met him.

Regardless of how smart and hardworking your father was, my parents were dead set against me marrying him.

He was determined to prove to them that he could amass his own fortune and keep me in the lifestyle I was accustomed to.

He thought if he accomplished this, then they would embrace him into the family. ”

It doesn’t escape me—the irony that my father was once in the same position I’m finding myself in now. Longing for someone out of his league. But in his case, she returned his feelings.

My mother sighs. “But new money is not the same as old money, and my parents didn’t care about how much he could eventually earn.

They told me I would be disowned if I insisted on marrying him, this boy from the wrong side of the tracks.

Obviously, I married your father, and we’re here in Missouri, and they’re still in Boston. I haven’t talked to them since.

“When we got to Blackwell, your father was successful because he astutely got into agriculture and manufacturing early on. Business was booming, and we did well. But he was desperate to change my parents’ minds and worked himself to the bone, becoming a shadow of the man I used to know.

I just wanted the man who had swept me off my feet back then. ”

Nothing she’s saying is recognizable to me. I can’t imagine my father being anything even close to romantic.

“Then the stock market crashed in 1987—before any of you were born—and your father changed, not in a good way. We lost not everything, but almost. He had to rebuild his businesses from the ground up. Because he was terrified that this could happen again, he became obsessed with you boys making your own fortunes in case we didn’t have anything to pass on to you. ”

“Wait… what?” I’m flummoxed by the idea that my father ever had a period of uncertainty .

“You didn’t know. He never wanted any of you to know. But that’s part of the reason he’s been so hard on all of you. He’s terrified that you’ll end up with nothing.”

Frustration builds inside of me. This is all due to some…misguided fear? “But he’s the one who cut me off. It’s not like I’m unemployed.”