Chapter 19

Patrick resisted the urge to throw his phone across the room. Texting with Michaela was an agony he'd never before experienced. Well, that wasn't quite true. Watching his sister nearly kill someone ranked up there. Losing credibility in his work wasn't great either. He couldn't be quite sure what was worse; texting with Michaela or the dreams he had at night featuring her. Her signature effervescent smile. The bright red lipstick. The way her eyes would darken as he drove her up toward pleasure. All of it had a staring role each night as he slept. Waking to discover it wasn't true was a new kind of torture.

He set his phone on the side table after saying goodnight to Michaela and pulled out the studies he was reading about the effectiveness of medication combined with therapy for certain mental health diagnoses. After a few days in the office, this idea had become a pet project of his. Not that the concept was new. But it hadn't been formulated by a pharmaceutical company before.

When fatigue had him nodding off, he set the papers aside and let sleep take him. Maybe tonight Michaela wouldn't haunt his dreams. Maybe this night he'd finally start to get over her.

The next day,Patrick entered the offices of his father's company. The lobby bustled with activity. He crowded into the elevator, several people saying hello, but most didn't know who he was yet. The official announcement hadn't been made that he'd be taking over for his father. He was hoping he wouldn't have to especially since he discovered his father had been discharged from the hospital with a case of prinzmetal angina, a spasm of the heart's arteries that temporarily reduces blood flow. Patrick was certain his mother knew his father's condition wasn't as dire as she suggested on the phone. Like he'd done as a child, he'd kept his resentment over her manipulating the situation so that he'd come home, ending the happiest time in his life, to himself. But it wasn't easy.

Not that his father couldn't benefit from rest, but he wasn't on death's door. Nor did he need to retire. He also didn't believe he needed to take over. His father surrounded himself with highly capable people. Dak Hughs, the second in charge, would be a much better choice for CEO as far as Patrick was concerned. But he was nothing if not loyal. He'd cover for his father until he could return, and then take his place somewhere else in the company. He hoped to eke out his own path through his research and program ideas.

Patrick headed straight to the conference room for a meeting with the VPs. As Dak droned on about quarterly projections and market shares, Patrick's mind drifted. The tranquility of Kincaid Lake, the laughter of young Tate, the warmth of Michaela"s embrace – these were the things that truly resonated with him now.

Dak cleared his throat, his gaze intent on Patrick as if he knew Patrick wasn't completely present. Patrick gave a nod to show he was listening. But God, the thought of being trapped behind a desk, buried in spreadsheets and reports, as the company pumped out pill after pill filled him with a sense of dread. This office, these boardroom discussions, felt alien to him. Not so long ago, he'd stumbled his way around the woods feeling like a fish out of water. Now it was the city and boardroom that made him feel like he didn't belong.

Patrick"s fingers drummed absently on the polished wood, his gaze unfocused. He understood how medicine could help with mental illness, but pharmaceuticals had never been an interest of his. People needed connection. Coping skills. Genuine support. That's what he wanted to offer. In the last few days, he'd determined that for his work in his family's company to be meaningful, he wanted to do something that would integrate medication and therapy.

After the meeting, Dak met him in his father's office.

"You were quiet today. I'm not sure if you have issues with the reports," Dak said sitting in the chair in front of the desk. Patrick sat in his father's chair, but it was uncomfortable. This was not his place.

"I have no issue. I'm just thinking of a new program we might implement."

"Oh?"

Patrick had always liked Dak. He was smart but practical. He also wasn't an egomaniac like many high-level businessmen could be. Patrick handed him a folder. "These are studies that look at the effectiveness of medication, therapy or both in the treatment of depression, ADHD, and a handful of other diagnoses."

Dak arched a brow as he took the folder. "What are you thinking?"

"I'm thinking that if we really want to help people, we need to recommend both."

"We're a pharmaceutical company, not a mental health clinic."

"True, but that doesn't mean we can't lead research, prescription or treatment recommendations."

Dak's brows furrowed. "That's the prescribing doctor's call."

"You know as well as I do that many doctors and psychiatrists prescribe medication but nothing more."

"That's all many people need."

Frustration grew in Patrick. "Not true. Diabetics have medication but are still counseled to eat well and exercise. The same for cardiac patients."

Dak set the folder back on the desk, telling Patrick he wasn't going to consider this idea. "Those are health conditions?—"

"And depression, anxiety and other mental illnesses aren't? Better living through chemistry alone isn't the answer. The medications stabilize patients, but they don't give them the skills they need to cope. A child with ADHD hasn't learned how to focus or wait his turn. Medication calms him down but doesn't give him the skills. With the medication he can learn the skills. Someone with depression might feel less depressed, but the medication doesn't give them insight into triggers or coping skills."

Dak sighed. "I understand what you're saying, Pat. I even agree, but that's not what we do."

"Why not? Why not provide the treatment recommendations that will make our medication the most effective?"

"It's complicated you know that. We've got doctors with their own thoughts. Insurance companies that may or may not cover therapy."

Patrick sank back in his chair. "We're a company that make medicine to help people, but we don't actually want to help people."

"Have you passed this by your father?"

"No." But he would. He'd find away to make this work otherwise he'd go mad.

At lunch,Patrick left the office and headed to Bedford Hills. He hadn't yet met with Julia since his return, but he knew he couldn't put it off any longer. As his driver drove to the facility, Patrick mentally prepared himself to see her. She'd likely be mad that he'd been gone. She wouldn't care to learn how happy he'd been.

As he approached the large fence topped with barbed wire surrounding the facility, the guilt at his failure to help her filled his chest until he could hardly breathe. The guards at the entrance nodded, no doubt recognizing him from previous visits. He produced his identification, his movements stiff and measured, betraying the turmoil within.

The walk to the visitation room was a blur, Patrick"s heart felt heavy. When he finally stepped through the doorway, his eyes landed on Julia, her gaze intense and unwavering. The years of incarceration had etched deep lines into her once vibrant face.

"Patrick." Julia greeted him, her voice devoid of warmth. "I see you finally were able to make time for me in your busy life."

Forcing a tight smile, Patrick took a seat across from her, the cold metal table a physical barrier between them. Perhaps a barrier had always been there. They'd each built a wall to survive the cold home they grew up in.

"Julia. How have you been?"

Julia"s lips curled into a humorless grin. "How have I been?" Her gaze drifted towards the guards. "How do you think I"ve been, Patrick? Locked away in this hell. And the one person I thought cared about me, abandons me."

If Sydney were here, she'd be telling him that living his life wasn't abandonment, but he felt Julia's words deep in his soul. He'd tried to protect her and look out for her since they were children. But he's failed.

She pursed her lips. "Did you see Sydney? Tell me she's leaving that redneck."

He sighed. "I did see her."

She arched a brow.

"She's happy, Juls."

Julia slammed her hands on the table, the sound of it echoing through the room and causing the guards to take notice. "She can't be. She needs to be with you. We need to be together. The Three Musketeers."

"We could have all been friends."

She sneered. "So, this is my fault."

Annoyance flared. "Yes, Julia." He leaned forward. "You shot her husband. Jesus." He turned away not wanting to engage in a shouting match with her.

"You just don't love her enough."

"Oh, for God's sake." He stared at her. When had he lost her? He began to realize that it was before the shooting, but he hadn't been paying close enough attention. "I care for her, but she's in love with Mitch and I—" He stopped before he mentioned Michaela.

Her eyes narrowed and she leaned in toward him. "You what?"

He rolled his shoulders. "It's nothing. I'm back in New York so I'll be?—"

"It's not nothing."

For long moments they sat in silence, the tension building.

"I met someone," he admitted, although he wasn't sure why. It wasn't like she was going to be happy for him.

"I knew it. I knew you didn't love her."

"You're right. I don't love Sydney like that."

"So, is this woman in Virginia? Are you leaving me again?" She crossed her arms over her chest like a petulant teenager.

"No. No because what I want, my happiness doesn't matter. Not to you. Not to mom and dad."

"Oh, boo hoo. Poor Patrick."

Sydney's words came back to him. If your parents and Julia cared one-tenth of how much you care for them, they'd support your love for Micki.

"What's her name?"

Patrick didn't want to share it. He wanted to keep his lovely Michaela away from the taint of Julia's spiteful tongue.

"I'm not here about me. I"m here to discuss your progress--"

"Progress?" Julia interrupted, her eyes flashing with wild heat. "The only progress I've made is in learning to live with the fact that I"ll never be free again. Thanks to Sydney. And you." She rose. "You know what? I'm done. You act like you care but you don't. Since you think I'm so self-centered anyway, you can just go."

"Julia." He sighed as he looked up at her.

"Go!" she yelled. The guards approached her. "I want to go back to my cell."

Things didn't go any better at dinner with his parents. Patrick sat uncomfortably in the ornate dining room, the heavy silence punctuated only by the clink of silverware against fine china. His parents presided over the table with their usual cool detachment.

"How did the meeting go today," his father asked, cutting into poached chicken.

"As you'd expect." Patrick hadn't listened close enough to give his father details, but he was sure Dak had already sent over the reports to his father.

"You left early," his father said.

"I went to see Julia."

His mother's sharp gaze bore into Patrick. "Why do you waste your time. Business time?"

Patrick bristled at her tone but forced himself to respond evenly. "Julia is still my sister, Mother."

Emilia scoffed, her lips pursing in disdain. "The girl is a criminal, Patrick. Wasting your time and energy on her is nothing short of foolish."

Patrick"s grip tightened on his fork. "Julia made a terrible mistake, but she"s still a human being deserving of compassion." He didn't have the energy to confront his parents on their contribution to Julia's psychopathy. In fact, looking at his parents, he suspected it was in her DNA.

"Compassion?" Emilia"s voice dripped with contempt. "That girl forfeited any right to our compassion the moment she ruined our family. You should be focusing your efforts on more productive endeavors - like taking over the family business. Goodness, first you're traipsing through the woods with God knows who--"

Patrick"s jaw tightened. "My time in Virginia was invaluable. I"ve gained a new perspective on-"

His mother's brow arched in disdain. "Honestly, Patrick, playing at country living in that backwater resort? It"s time you stopped this nonsense. Get your head in the game."

The muscles in Patrick"s neck tensed as he fought to control his rising temper. "This "nonsense," as you call it was meaningful?—"

"Meaningful?" She scoffed. "Don"t be ridiculous. That place is nothing more than a quaint distraction. I don't know how the Prestons stand how Sydney has thrown her life away."

He might have mentioned how happy Sydney was but knew it would fall on deaf ears.

"Your place is here, in New York, running the family business. Your father and I have indulged your... eccentricities for far too long."

Unable to stomach another moment of his mother"s condescension, Patrick abruptly pushed back his chair, the legs scraping against the hardwood floor. "Thank you for dinner. It's time for me to leave."

"Well!" his mother exclaimed. He didn't stick around to hear anything more she might say.

After a car ride home, he stepped into his apartment. It didn't have the serenity of Kincaid Lake, but it was away from his family. He poured himself a double scotch and walked out onto the terrace of his apartment. Weary, he dropped into a chair and sipped his drink. This was it. This was his life now.

He looked up, his heart clenching that he couldn't see the stars. The bright lights of the metropolis obscured the night sky, robbing him of the dazzling display of stars he had grown accustomed to. The absence of those twinkling lights felt like a metaphor for the darkness that was consuming his life.

Patrick"s gaze drifted to the phone on the table, the screen dark and silent. How he longed to hear Michaela"s voice, to feel the warmth of her presence once more. Even the mere thought of her had the power to lift his spirits, to remind him of the simple joys he had discovered in that rustic Virginia haven. And simultaneously, made him feel hallow. Alone.

Reaching for the device, Patrick"s fingers hovered over the screen. She'd always been the first to reach out since he left. Tonight, he wouldn't wait for her message.

He considered calling her, but hearing her voice might break him. Instead, he typed out a message.

Still no stars.

Would she even understand the depth of his yearning? Would she be able to see the loneliness that threatened to consume him?

I wished on a shooting star tonight.

His lips curved into a bittersweet smile. He was about to ask what she wished for, realizing that he wanted her to wish for him. A pang of frustration twisted in his gut. He couldn't go on living like this. But trapped in the cage of his family"s expectations, Patrick felt the weight of his life crushing him until he couldn't breathe. Trapped. The word replayed in his mind.

There was nothing he could do to change that. And it was abundantly clear that staying in contact with Michaela would only serve to prolong the torment he was feeling at being away from her. Perhaps it was time to sever that connection, to fully embrace the path that had been laid out before him. It was time to say goodbye for good.