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Lucas
Iwoke up in the hotel with a smile on my face, but when I reached for the warm body beside me, I came up with cool sheets instead. Judging from the soft light filtering in from the window, it was early morning. Rolling over, I peered at the clock on the nightstand. Seven a.m. And Brooke was already gone. I should have been relieved it wouldn’t be awkward, but instead I was—what? Disappointed?
Stupid considering I preferred things this way. But normally I was the one to leave first. Maybe that’s what had me feeling out of sorts.
As I hopped into the shower, I was hit with regret she wasn’t here with me. Sex with Brooke had been incredible. She was beautiful, funny, sexy as hell, and I found myself wishing I could see her again.
Nope.
Those thoughts went against everything I ultimately wanted. We’d had one night of fun, and it was best to leave it that way. Despite this decision, I found myself pocketing the scrap of lacy black underwear I’d found tangled in the sheets.
The hour-and-a-half drive north to my house in Manhattan Beach was blissfully traffic-free. Pulling my shiny red Lexus LC sports car into my driveway, I opened the garage with the remote and pulled in next to the much more practical SUV I used for work.
I’d introduced the idea of home care to my practice and was proud to say it had taken off which meant I was on the road a hundred percent of the time, taking care of patients in the comfort of their own homes. It hadn’t been well received by all the other doctors in the practice, but my goal was to continue to carve out the niche and expand.
After lugging my garment bag and small suitcase out of the car and into the house, I sighed at the emptiness. I’d often thought about adopting a dog, but with the number of hours I worked, it wouldn’t be fair to the pet. Hell, I couldn’t even keep a houseplant alive.
I walked over to the picture window in my living room, overlooking the beach, and marveled at how far I’d come. My youth had been spent living in military base housing, none of which had been permanent. Owning real property now filled me with contentment. I’d made a nice life for myself, considering my mother had left me when I was young, and my father had been more interested in finding the next Mrs. than paying attention to his only son. Sure, I’d had my lapse in judgment when it came to marrying my ex, but unlike my father—who was currently on wife number six, or was it seven?—I only needed to learn from my mistake once.
Families. Man, could they fuck you up if you weren’t careful.
The thought snaked my mind around to what Brooke’s family had put her through last night. Did she regret quitting her job with her mom, or was she celebrating her newfound freedom?
What were the chances she was related to my friend Caleb? I racked my brain for anything he might’ve mentioned over the years about a sister or his family in general but came up empty. He wasn’t exactly an open book, and although I’d say we were friendly, it wasn’t the type of friendship where we laid our personal baggage on the table. Most dudes weren’t built that way.
Shaking myself from thoughts of Brooke or her possible connection to my divorce attorney, I put on a pot of coffee and surveyed my kitchen. Several baked goods sat on the granite countertop, including the walnut chocolate-chip cookies one of my patients had baked and given to me a few days ago. Grabbing two as breakfast, I washed them down with coffee and went about my day.
The next morning I woke up early to beat the unrelenting traffic commuting into LA. Normally I had Mondays off; however, Dr. Marshall, the owner and head of the practice, had called me in for a meeting. It was just as well. I’d slept terrible the previous night even after jerking off twice to the thought of Brooke. I needed to get into the office where I could completely turn off my personal life and make work the priority.
The clinic was located in Hollywood on a busy corner off Sunset Boulevard. Although I spent the majority of my time making house calls, the office was my home base where I stocked up on supplies and turned in my paperwork at least twice a week.
The practice consisted of about a dozen doctors with a mixture of specialties, although six of us were general practitioners who provided acute and preventative care along with treating chronic illnesses. My day varied between wellness checks, pain management, and dealing with injuries. Urgent calls also came in at least a few times per week.
I wore a warm smile for the receptionist. She’d started with the practice over a decade ago and knew most of our patients by sight. “Good morning, Ramona. How’s your new grandbaby?”
“Dr. Brennan, how nice to see you. Baby is growing like a weed and is the spitting image of my daughter. Wish I would’ve known you were coming in today, I would’ve brought you some of my famous blackberry cobbler.”
I grinned, not at all apologetic about my sweet tooth and love of homemade goods. “The kind with the lemon zest?”
“You know it.”
“Rain check definitely for next time. How is Dr. Marshall today?”
Her lips flattened, showing she knew exactly what I was asking. Dr. Phillip Marshall or, as Ramona called him, Dr. Two First Names, was a moody dude. I liked to believe I could adapt to any personality type, but his grump even got on my nerves. Yet in spite of his lack of people skills, he was a skilled physician with an encyclopedia of knowledge, making him invaluable to the practice.
Although I’d proven the in-home-care model was successful and had grown it to five doctors, my boss wasn’t completely won over about taking the practice in this direction. But I was an optimist and knew with continued growth, I’d eventually convince Dr. Marshall to let me lead this side of the business.
“He’s hovering about a nine out of ten. Found out Dr. Fitzpatrick went out on maternity leave early due to bed rest, and the temp replacement can’t start for six weeks.”
Bad news. Dr. Meredith Fitzpatrick was our resident obstetrician, and she hadn’t been due to go out on maternity leave until next month. Meredith was not only a colleague, but had also become a friend over the last couple years we’d worked together, so my concern was immediate. “Everything okay with the bed rest?”
“Yeah, just precautionary.”
What a relief. Unfortunately, it wasn’t as if there were a lot of skilled obstetricians who’d be happy with a temporary job waiting in the wings.
Without my permission violet eyes flash in my memories reminding me I knew at least one who was recently jobless, but I wouldn’t go there. “Appreciate the heads-up.”
I went into the small meeting room where Phil and three of the other physicians were seated. Once we were joined by one more of the practice’s doctors, Phil started talking. “Gentlemen, we have a crisis. Meredith is on bed rest and our planned replacement won’t start for another six weeks. Something about a vacation she had already planned. That’s the problem with this younger generation. They can’t appreciate the art of sacrifice.”
