Chapter 7

Seven

Dean

I don’t know what to do with myself. Don’t know how to keep myself from following Charlotte, so I go to the rooftop and swim. My arms pound through the water, creating a current with the urgent momentum of my body. I swim so long that my muscles begin to scream, my throat raw from breathing so heavily. But nothing, nothing, can rid me of the panic. Or the memory of the betrayal registering on her face. Her loss of faith in me.

And she had every right.

She had every fucking right to leave me—that’s the hardest pill to swallow.

I’m not going to allow her to go, but her actions were justified. I can see that now with some space and the stark clarity that comes from having one’s heart ripped out of his chest. One of the many million reasons I’m in love with Charlotte is her astuteness. Her intellect. Yet somehow I thought I would get away with humoring her. Letting her play what I considered hard to get until she finally caved and let me support her. How utterly foolish of me.

I’ve become the exact kind of doctor I swore I would never be.

I do have a god complex, don’t I?

All through medical school and my entry into the surgical field, I silently scoffed at the arrogance of my colleagues. Their superiority was only surpassed by my father and his contemporaries. Their egos were massive. They could never admit to making mistakes. I told myself I would never be like them. That I would see each case individually, that I would maintain my humility. All along, I thought I had. But I was wrong.

I thought I knew what was best for Charlotte. Even more than she did.

I’m going to keep her. I can’t even think straight during my days unless there is a plan to see her, touch her, hear her voice at night. That being said, if I want her to be happy with me, I…I think I have to change. I have to be a man who is comfortable with his stubborn girlfriend doing things her own way. Even if that means she cleans houses at night to save money—which frankly, might kill me. It’s a noble profession, but it will drive me absolutely insane to see her exhausted. Scraping by when I can so easily remedy the situation.

Nonetheless, that’s what Charlotte wants.

I pretended to accept her conditions for a relationship and that arrogant mistake has left me bereft. Without her. Desolate. So now it’s time to put my money where my mouth it. There’s no choice. There’s no other way to keep the person who puts breath in my lungs, purpose in my step. The girl who makes me burn hot twenty-four hours a day.

Goddammit, how can I miss her to the point of pain already?

My ribs are on the verge of caving in.

I stop at the edge of the pool and cross my arms on the ledge, my sides heaving from exertion. It has been two hours since she walked out of my office and my head is pounding. I feel seasick. Like my heart has been tossed into a fucking woodchipper. Has it been long enough for her to realize I made a mistake, but that I’m not going anywhere? Probably not. She’s probably still pissed as hell, but I can’t take this anymore. My fate hangs in the balance and it’s not in my nature to sit back and let events unfold. To be passive.

But I’m not showing up empty-handed.

That’s right. I’m doubling down.

She breaks up with me? I’ll propose marriage.

Because where this girl is concerned, there is very little logic involved. How I love her can’t be reasoned with or explained succinctly. It’s an unbroken stallion that rips across an open field, no hope of being caught. I just have to pray like hell she feels an ounce of this undiluted obsession. I just have to hope she’ll give me another chance to live up to her expectations. I won’t fail her again. I refuse. But can I make her believe that?

* * *

Charlotte

I walkthrough the front door of my apartment, my legs weighing two tons each. As soon as I close it behind me, I slump back against it and slide to the ground, staring ahead dully.

All the way home, I’ve been a ghost. A transparent, slow moving entity just haunting Chicago’s public transit system. Every few seconds, I have to reach up and touch my throat to make sure the hole I feel there isn’t real. Nor is the one in my chest. I only feel riddled with bullet wounds, they’re not visible. This pain. I can’t handle it. People can’t really survive with this much hurt occupying their veins, can they?

I drop my head forward onto my raised knees, a keening sob coming from my mouth.

Oh God, I miss him. Already I miss him, even after everything. How am I going to stay away? How am I going to keep myself from giving in and showing up on his stoop, begging him to make me feel better? Please, please, cure me.

Swallowing hard, I shake my head. No, I won’t do it. I won’t.

I’ll throw myself into work. I’ll get a third job. I’ll focus so hard on saving money and contributing to the household that I won’t have time to feel this terrible—

“Charlotte?”

I jump to my feet when my mother walks into the room, my next sob getting stuck in my throat. “Mom. I didn’t know you were home.”

My mother, Priscilla, comes toward me with a look of concern. “Tonight’s appointment for a cut and color got rescheduled.” She hesitates a moment, studying me, then comes forward to take my elbow, guiding me toward the couch. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

I hate burdening my mother with problems. She’s had enough of her own to last a lifetime and doesn’t need to add mine to the list. “Nothing. Really, everything is fine.”

“Char.” She tilts her head, a small smirk playing around the edges of her mouth. “You’ve been spending the night somewhere. Now, you’re a grown woman and you can do whatever you want. That’s not the issue. I’m just speculating that…this crying jag has to do with a man.”

“He’s not a man. He’s the Messiah. Haven’t you heard?” I say bitterly, swiping at my cheeks. “Sorry I’m being a jerk. I’m just hurting…everywhere. Everywhere.”

Priscilla makes a sympathetic sound and begins to rub circles onto my back. “Oh honey. I’ve never seen you like this. Please talk to me.”

I look down at my hand where it claws at the center of my chest and drop it down to my side, sighing shakily. “You’re right. I’ve been seeing someone…” If that’s what you call pretending to clean his house, before spending the rest of the night on a sexual and emotional high. “He’s a surgeon. You remember him—he spoke at my college graduation.”

My mother starts a little. “Not…Dean Fletcher? The man who operated on the president?”

“The very one.” Even though I’m angry at him, I can’t help but feel a squeeze of pride in him over that. “We met backstage that day at graduation and he pursued me. To put it very lightly. After some twists and turns, I eventually agreed to see him and…” I blow out a halting breath. “I fell in love with him, Mom.”

She presses her lips together, visibly torn between sympathy and interest. “Then it was him that broke it off?”

I have to laugh at that. “If you ask him, nothing has been broken off. But he’s wrong.” Saying those words makes the nerve endings behind my eyes throb. “He’s wealthy. Family money, plus the income he makes as an in-demand surgeon. And he wanted to use some of it to send me to medical school.”

My mother slowly draws her hand away from my back, shrinking into herself. “I see.”

“I refused to take it,” I say quickly. “Just like I promised. I’ll never let a man hold money over my head. Never let myself owe a man. I wouldn’t do that, Mother.”

It takes her several moments to speak. “Charlotte, tell me about this man. Dean.”

“I did tell you. He’s a respected surgeon. People part like the Red Sea when he passes. They talk about him like he’s the second coming and really, he is…he’s just so brilliant. And thoughtful and passionate.” My face heats at that, but I force myself to continue, because talking about him is lessening the agony slightly. It’s a reprieve from having to forget him. “He’s protective and…generous. In a lot of ways.” I think of what he confided in me about lung transplants when we were at the rooftop pool. “He internalizes his stress, but he opens up to me when we’re alone. He’s determined and ambitious and compassionate,” I finish in a whisper when I remember how he held me, kissed me so sweetly when I told him about my father. “Really, he’s such a good man. He’s just too used to getting what he wants and—”

“He’s stubborn.” My mother leans into my line of sight to catch my eye. “I know someone like that. When she formulates a plan, the plan is set in stone.”

“I’ll own that,” I sigh. “But I wouldn’t try and interfere with someone else’s plan.”

“No, my girl wouldn’t do that,” my mother says, patting my hand. She seems pensive for a moment. “Why did Dean want to pay for medical school, Char?”

I lift a shoulder and let it drop, suddenly feeling a tad jumpy. “He thinks I’m gifted. He’s read some of the papers I submitted to the medical journals and…well, we have a lot of conversations about various methods and clinical trials and procedures. I can keep up with him and even challenge his theories. And well, he just can’t stand that I’m putting off becoming a doctor when it’s something I’m clearly suited for, I guess.”

“Is that what he said?”

“Only a dozen times or more.”

Priscilla leans back against the couch cushions. “When I first came out of the only relationship I’ve had besides your father, I didn’t have my guard up. It was shattered. I didn’t notice that all of the praise that second man gave me was…directly related to his requests. If he liked an outfit on me, it was only because he picked it out. If he liked a meal, it was one he’d requested I make. And so on. He never encouraged me—God no. Never built me up or made me want to believe in myself. I was nothing without him.” She pauses. “Does Dean make you feel like that?”

“No,” I gasp, shaking my head vigorously. “No, he tells me the medical field needs me. He makes me feel like I’m not an imposter. Like I’m important with him or individually. He even said…once he even said I could surpass him.” I say that last part dully, because my chest is starting to feel odd. Achier than before.

“These men are very different, it sounds like,” my mother murmurs, watching me closely. “Char, it wasn’t my intention to disillusion you about all men when I asked for that promise. It sounds like Dean has pure intentions. And honey, you are in a far stronger state of mind than I was after your father’s death. If you start to feel controlled by money, you will find a way out. You won’t stand for it.”

I stare at her in shock. “You think I should let him pay for medical school?”

“That’s up to you.” She brushes my hair back. “I just think you should consider a couple of things. One, he should believe in you. You deserve that confidence. If he thinks the medical field needs you, maybe he’s right, Char.” A beat passes. “And two, if you love him, he must be a good person. Otherwise you wouldn’t feel such a way for him. Not you. You know, I never loved anyone but your father. That second man…my gut never settled around him. My heart remained guarded. If you were able to let the love happen with Dean, there’s a reason. It’s hard to let ourselves trust, but when it’s the right person, there’s nothing to fear. Weirdly enough, trusting another person can often be the ultimate freedom.”

As soon as she says those words, the clouds in my head part and a light shines through. Of course there is nothing to fear. Not from Dean. Not from this man who has helped foster my love of medicine every step of the way. This man who wants so badly for me to be happy and reach my potential. I can relate to his stubbornness. His inability to let go of the idea that he would pay for school. I’m still mad at him for pacifying me, but…my anger is nowhere near the magnitude of my love.

Is my mother right?

Would trusting Dean be the ultimate freedom?

God knows I gave him total trust with my body and that decision has afforded me pleasure like I never knew was possible. What if my heart could experience the same euphoria?

Isn’t it more than worth a try?

Trembling and out of breath, I stand up, wetting my parched lips. “I…think I need to go see him. I think I was really hasty breaking things off. W-we should have talked about it more. I should have…”

“Trusted him?” finishes my mother with a knowing smile.

“Yes,” I whisper. And that’s when I realize I already do.

I already trust him. Implicitly. I let this pact with my mother and yes, my stubbornness, get in the way of my happiness with Dean. God, he makes me so happy. What am I doing?

“I have to go,” I mutter, starting for the front door. Picking up my purse where I left it on the floor and pulling the handle—

Dean is standing in front of the door, taking up every inch of daylight with his big frame, hands propped on either side of the entrance. His hair is wet. “Charlotte,” he says raggedly, devouring me with a head-to-toe look. “I’m sorry. I was a goddamned idiot. Having an ulterior motive was inexcusable—”

“I love you,” I blurt. “I love you, too. That’s what I should have said instead of leaving.”

He doesn’t seem to be breathing, but I hear the doorframe creak in his grip. “You love me? After what I’ve done…”

“What did you do?” I step close and wind my arms around his neck, aligning our bodies, making him moan low in his throat, his huge hands settling on my hips. “Believe in me? Build my confidence and encourage me? Want to give me everything under the sun?”

His eyes close, his mouth an inch from mine. “I can’t help what I want. But I need you. Just my Charlotte. You’re my requirement. I’ll do whatever I have to do to keep your love. To keep you in my life. I’ll accept your wishes, I’ll stand guard outside of the houses you clean and drive you home at night. Anything, sweetheart. Anything.” He groans, dropping his mouth that final inch, interlocking our lips without kissing me. “God, I love you so much.”

“I love you, too,” I whisper, playing with the ends of his hair. “And…I think, just as importantly, I trust you, Dean.” I take a deep breath, looking him in the eye. “I’ll let you put me through medical school. I’ll accept that you want what’s best for me. Because I believe it.” Moisture blurs my vision. “And I believe in us.”

Dean presses his forehead to mine, exhaling unevenly. “Thank God. Thank God.” I think he’s going to kiss me, but he steps back and goes down on one knee instead. There’s a loud gasp behind me, reminding me that Priscilla has been an audience to this entire reunion.

I give a watery laugh when Dean raises an eyebrow, looking past me and giving my mother a lopsided grin that turns my heart to mush. “Ms. Beck, I’m guessing?” My mother must be nodding, because his smile broadens. “Is it okay with you if I ask your daughter to be my wife?”

“Anyone who can tie my girl up in knots must be a worthy soul.” Priscilla’s laugh is wobbly. “Yes, you have my permission.”

“Thank you.” Dean’s intense gaze captures mine once again and he takes a ring box out of his pocket, opening it in front of me to reveal a jaw-dropping diamond. And oh, my jaw does drop, both knees turning to jelly. “Charlotte, I’ve had a glimpse of losing you and I won’t let it happen again. You, sweetheart…you’re my other half,” he rasps. “You’re a beautiful dream I never want to wake up from. Coming home to you, waking up to you, being with you any way I can…will be the greatest honor and privilege of my life if you take me as your husband. Marry me, Charlotte. Say yes.”

Throat constricting, heart rejoicing, I nod. Emphatically. “Yes.” With a hoarse sound, he slides the ring onto my finger and surges to his feet, wrapping me in a desperate hug. Our mouths meld together, my head tipped all the way back and resting on his bicep, his powerful body bending over mine. Vibrating with need. My thighs itch to wrap around his hips, my skin beginning to pebble with goosebumps, awareness thickening inside me like humidity. Need him, need him.

But he breaks the kiss, his breath pelting my mouth. “Charlotte, your mother is—”

“Don’t mind me.” With a jangle of keys, my mother walks out the door. “I’m heading to the store to pick up ingredients for a celebration dinner. Shouldn’t be more than an hour. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” she calls, her voice fading as she steps into the building elevator.

Dean wastes no time picking me up and carrying me into the apartment, my legs slung around his waist, fingers plowed into his hair. Clinging with no intention of letting go.

“My room is on the right at the end of the hallway,” I whimper, sinking my teeth into his earlobe and tugging. “Faster, Daddy.”

Dean lets out a guttural grunt and throws me up against the hallway wall. “Not going to make it.” He jerks down his zipper, shoves a few layers of material aside and pumps into my ready sex, my scream of satisfaction bouncing off the walls. “Besides, little girl. Your room is at my house now, isn’t it?” He drives into me. Savagely. Teeth bared and pressing to my ear. “You eat, sleep, bathe, study and fuck with Daddy now. Don’t you?”

“Uh-huh,” I wail at his increased pace, his leather belt chafing the insides of my thighs. “I want to do everything with you,” I say breathlessly. “Everything.”

“That’s a very good thing, because I’m going to be your husband.” He drives home, grinding the trunk of his shaft against my clitoris, looking me right in the eye as he does it, watching me come apart, as if memorizing my gasping climax. “And you’re going to be my wife. My smart, beautiful well-fucked wife. Every day for the rest of your life.”

“Every day,” I agree, bucking my hips, working him closer to his own release, my buttocks flattened between him and the wall, creating a friction that has us both in a frenzy, fucking and humping and writhing and biting. “Every single day. With you, Dean…”

He stiffens, his heat blooming inside of me, groaning his pleasure into my ear. “With you, Charlotte.”