The Doctor (Nashville Neighborhood 1)

“I know.” My voice was as broken as I was inside. “Maybe he’ll change his mind.”

I don’t know why I said it, because I didn’t believe it. Preston was outstanding at holding grudges. Panic poured into my stomach. It weighed me down and pulled me away, even when I wanted to stay put. I sensed the end coming like an out-of-control train approaching but fought to hold my ground.

The tense silence in the room grew thick and stifling.

Finally, Greg let out a long breath. “I don’t know what to do.”

I clenched my teeth together until muscles along my jaw ached. Was he saying this for my benefit? “Please,” I bit off. “We both know what has to happen.”

He frowned. And then he had the nerve to look confused.

My emotions were a mess and untrustworthy, but a tiny part of me wondered if this was an act. He was much too smart to not see the obvious answer, and yet it became increasingly clear I was going to have to say it out loud. Like he was forcing me to make this decision and be the one to end it. I sucked in a deep breath to muster up the courage. “We can’t see each other anymore.”

He blinked and delivered the statement the same way I imagined he told families how their loved ones were gone. Utterly emotionless. “All right.”

I thought I’d braced myself, but his quick acceptance stung so much worse than I was ready for. I pressed a hand to my stomach, keeping myself from doubling over.

“Well,” I snapped, “you could at least pretend that wasn’t easy.”

Heartbreak flashed through Greg’s dark eyes. “It wasn’t. It isn’t. I care about you so much and I—”

I shook my head. “Yeah? Did you even fight him?” I already knew the answer was no, because in his quest to win his son’s forgiveness, he had been a pushover. “Or did Preston immediately get his way, just like he always does with you?”

It wasn’t a nice thing to say, but I wasn’t feeling nice at that moment, and it was true. Greg knew it too, but his posture went stiff. “I know you’re upset,” he said flatly. “Believe me when I tell you this is the last thing I want, but I don’t have a choice.”

But he did, and my anger spilled over, running past the point of control. It brewed into a storm and my whole body began to shake. “Right. Because you made me make it for you.”

A whiny, patronizing voice whispered in my head. “Poor Cassidy Shepard. Her dad walks out, mom’s too busy, her boyfriend strays—even the new one won’t stick around.”

I let out a desperate cry, choking off a sob. “God, just once, I wish I could be someone’s first choice.”

He opened his mouth to say something, but . . . didn’t. He didn’t argue my accusation or defend what he’d done. There was no fight in him for me. No struggle over losing what we’d had, and suddenly I felt like there was nothing left between us.

Greg must have seen the realization flit through me, because he reached out, attempting to hold me.

“Don’t!” I blurted, stumbling backward. The memory of the last time we’d tried to say goodbye seared unwelcomed through my mind.

My refusal wounded him, but he nodded slowly, dropping his arms to hang at his sides. “I’ll drive you home.”

“No.” I didn’t want to be around him another second. I could barely look at him. Preston looked a lot like his father, and in my stress, it was becoming increasingly difficult to keep my anger compartmentalized. It bled from one Lowe to the other. “I’ll walk to Lilith’s.”

He sighed. “I can drive you.”

“No.” I was firm this time. “We can’t see each other anymore, and I’d like to start right now.”

I pushed past him, snatched the pair of heels up off the carpet, and strode on my bare feet into the kitchen, where I grabbed my purse. He followed me, making some statements about it being late and dark out, but I ignored him. I went back through the living room and into the entryway, propelling myself forward.

It will be easier, I told myself, when you are out of this house. Away from him. Outside, where you can breathe again.

“You know I don’t want this,” he said when I opened the front door and stood at the threshold.

I gave him a cool look. “I guess the only one who gets what they want is the spoiled boy downstairs.”

“I’m sorry,” Greg said when I stepped onto the front porch and walked out into the night, my bare feet moving across the concrete walkway.

I didn’t respond. Didn’t say goodbye, or even acknowledge him.

Maybe he was sorry. Maybe one day he’d think he’d made a mistake. A new one he’d been forced into to try to undo the one he’d made with Preston years ago. But that didn’t make any of this easier.