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I want to scream. Tear down the walls. Rip everything in front of me to shreds. But at the same time, I feel guilty as hell for those thoughts.How can I feel this way when my father is being slowly killed by a disease?
I really am a selfish bastard.
“He can have visitors now,” the nurse says.
I stalk into his room, not caring who comes with me. Anger wars with grief. But the moment I see the intravenous lines and nasal cannula hooked to my father, I freeze. And I know everything I’ve worked for, the future I’ve skated toward since I could walk—it’s ice thinning over dark water now. I picture myself slipping under, the weight of family expectations dragging me down. Signing with the team, the games, the scouts—I see them all through the fogged glass of what might never be.
And my castle walls crumble around me.
CHAPTERTHIRTY-FIVE
AMANDA
The receptionist flashesme a reassuring smile. “I’ll see if he has time to meet with you.” Despite her kindness, my nerves are still jangled as I stand in the administration’s office waiting area. It’s Monday morning, and I had a knee-jerk reaction on my way to check on Blake to meet Dr. Johnson and find out why I didn’t get the scholarship. If I can figure out where I went wrong, then maybe I can improve for future opportunities. At least, that’s what I’m telling myself. Part of me is just pissed.
“Thank you,” I say as I take a seat.
“Dr. Johnson can meet with you now. Just follow me.”
I stand and follow the tall woman down a long, sterile hallway lined with doors. We stop at one with a nameplate that reads Dr. Johnson, MD. “Just go right on in. He’s expecting you.”
“Thanks again for your help.”
“No problem.” She smiles before heading back to her desk.
I take a deep breath to calm my nerves and knock twice before pushing open the door.
“Hello, Miss Hoyt. What brings you here today?” Dr. Johnson greets me with a friendly handshake across his mahogany desk, surrounded by shelves filled with medical texts and family photos. My nerves are still high, but I try to appear confident as we shake hands. He motions toward the chair in front of his desk. “Please have a seat.”
“I don’t want to take up too much of your time, Dr. Johnson, but I was hoping you could give me some insight into where I fell short for the internship. I’d appreciate any information or insights you have for future applications.”
His eyebrows raise in question as if I caught him off-guard, but he quickly recovers. “Of course. First, let me say that your credentials are impressive. Your GPA may not be at the top of the class, but given your heavy workload, it’s quite impressive.”
I nod, trying hard not to show my disappointment. “It came down to me and another candidate, didn’t it?”
Dr. Johnson nods. “Yes, it was a tough decision. We haven’t had such strong candidates in years.”
“Could you tell me what ultimately gave the other candidate the edge?” Or more like the quality I lacked?
“Both of you had similar qualifications: good grades and volunteer work. However, the deciding factor was your performance of duties.”
“What do you mean?” I have always fulfilled my responsibilities.
“I am a major supporter of the shelter where you volunteer. They are always in need of assistance, as you know. It was brought to my attention that you missed one of your commitments to spend time with the hockey team. The other candidate fulfilled all of their duties.”
My jaw falls slack. This asshole makes it sound like I intentionally skipped out of the soup kitchen to go partying. And how did he even find out about it? Who would have told him where I was and what I was doing?
He continues spouting bullshit to justify his rather shoddy reasonings as my insides reel. I could try to defend myself. Explain that my coworker called out sick during a large delivery, and I had to prioritize my paying job over the volunteering commitment. But that would only sound like an excuse. Nope, I own this. I made the choice to stay at the job and go with Blake.
Straightening my back, I lift my chin and say, “I understand your disappointment. I can assure you I take my commitments seriously, and there was a legitimate reason behind my decision.” Rising from my seat, I offer my hand. “Thank you for meeting with me.”
Dr. Johnson leans to shake my hand. His forward motion creates a large enough gap to show a framed photo behind him. I bite back a gasp. It’s a picture of him with what I presume to be his wife and three children. Two of them look young, but the eldest is none other than Juliette Heyday.
My head spins. The words “It’s a shame when we don’t get what we want” come rushing back. Oh my God, his informant is Juliette! But their last names are different. Maybe she’s a stepdaughter?
“Miss Hoyt, it was a pleasure to meet you. I have no doubt you’ll excel as a doctor.” Dr. Johnson’s voice snaps me out of my chaotic thoughts.
“Thank you.” I manage to choke out. Then I spin on my heels and get the hell out of his office. Instead of turning toward Mr. Morton’s floor, I head toward the exit. There’s no way I can talk to anyone right now. I’m livid.
