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For Patty Tennyson, Sharon Dunn, Anne Morrillo, Stacy Hahn, Christine Stanley, Julie Kerchkof and Dee Montoya, thank you for being the best and most supportive group of women imaginable. There is NO WAY I could have made it through this one without you.
And for my stepmother Alta, who groomed me as a reader and cheers me on as a writer.
“Best love story I have ever heard. Not one of them is perfect, not one of them is easy, but the good ones are always worth it.”—Room 212
Dean
Now
“Dean, Dean Martin!”
The pain was instant as I turned to look in the direction of the voice, even if it was not the person shouting my name that made it painful, but the memories it recalled. Rob, an old frat buddy of mine, was approaching on the street. He was far from the drunken, disheveled mess he was in college. Though he was dressed for business, he looked out of place on the streets of New York, like he did not belong, and yet he strode up to me with an air of confidence as if he owned Manhattan.
“Hey, man,” I greeted with a handshake and half-hug. “Apparently, New York didn’t get the memo to keep your Texan ass out.”
He gave me his signature ‘I know shit you don’t know’ smirk with his reply. “Dean Martin, did you really think you would be the only good-looking, successful, rich man to come out of Austin?”
“No, but I knew you damn sure wouldn’t make the cut, at least in the good-looks department.”
“Ahhh, but what are looks when you can buy affection?” he sighed as he patted me on the back in condolence. “To me, you had it the worst because they wouldn’t leave you alone. When you are only semi-good-looking it’s not an issue.”
We walked for a few minutes as he caught me up on my other old frat buddies and their progress. I had not bothered to accept their invitations to catch up on annual trips. I had been too busy trying to finish medical school when they were starting their careers.
We stopped at a coffee vendor as Rob told me he was only in New York to pitch an idea for his ad agency back in Dallas.
“You do remember Dallas, right? The place in which you are a refugee from?”
It was an instant tear, a recognition that life had not stopped back home because I had left there. His presence alone felt like a confrontation of what I had left behind. A confrontation I had avoided for so long that I could no longer ignore. Though that slap in the face had already occurred twice in the last few years, having Rob in front of me shook me to my core.
“I’ve been back once or twice. But I had plans bro, unlike you, slacker. Did you say you were in advertising?”
“Nope, I said I owned a firm. It’s small but growing. This campaign I decided to land myself. It really could be a big break for me.” He looked slightly winded as he spoke and I secretly hoped it worked out for him. Rob was a good guy, always had been. He looked up at me then shook his head before looking around the crowded street.
“You know as much as you talked about coming here, I always thought you would stay back home, marry Dallas, have kids, the dog, that kind of thing.”
His words were like razor blades tearing into my resolve, provoking the sinking feeling I thought I had rid myself of. The mention of her name paralyzed me with guilt and awareness. I shrugged my shoulders, shoving my hands in my pockets. “Yeah, well we were young, and she’s probably doing all of that right now.” I walked faster, trying to mask the sting in my chest.
“No, she isn’t,” he said, throwing his cup in the trashcan next to me. “I saw her last month at a restaurant. Jesus Christ, fine as hell, and no band on her left hand. She’s working at Memorial.”
Every single fiber of my being lit up in recognition as I stared at him as though he told me Santa was i
n fact real and it was Christmas Eve.
Rob’s brows lifted as he gave me his famous grin. “And I can see you weren’t interested in that information at all.”
“She’s good, then. That’s good.”
Jesus, Dean, your heart is pounding.
“Yeah, man, she’s really good.” He gave me a careful look as I stayed motionless on the sidewalk. “So let’s go have a beer after my meeting and after your day?”
“Yeah, sounds good,” I replied, knowing it would not happen. My whole world had just been rocked with what he had told me. I felt my pulse skyrocket as I pushed through a hasty goodbye, giving him my cell number then heading toward my building. Every muscle in my body suddenly weak, my movements were pushed and deliberate.
Unrelenting shocks of pain and recognition coursed through me as I heard her voice in a whisper through my racing thoughts.
“I’ll still love you.”
Those words tore through me for the hundredth time as I tried to take a calming breath. I stopped mid-stride down the corridor between patient rooms as I tried to slow my heart rate.
“Dr. Martin,” Lori, my nurse addressed me. I raised my hand in protest and averted my eyes so she could not see the panic on my face.
“Lori, cancel my next two appointments—no—” I swayed on my feet as I reached reception, feeling the cold sweat as it seeped from my every pore “—cancel my day.”
