The Doctor (Nashville Neighborhood 1)

The realization hit me with a physical impact, and I jolted in Greg’s hold. He’d hinted more than once he’d had feelings for me while I was with Preston. In fact, he’d told me, but I’d brushed the statements off.

Had he felt like he was my second choice this whole time? Because he wasn’t.

“I . . .” I started, speaking before I had my thoughts.

What difference did it make now, laying all the cards on the table? We’d kept our relationship a secret, and it hurt Preston, and Greg had kept Preston’s betrayal from me. How could the truth be any more painful?

“I think I might be in love with you,” I whispered.

He sighed and closed his eyes. His expression was unreadable, and his silence was fucking terrifying.

“Forget I said it.” I shifted out of his hold and sat back in the bed. “It’s the drugs you’ve got me on.”

A slow, sad smile warmed his lips. It spread and spread, until he was grinning, and I’d never seen him look more beautiful.

“I made a promise to him,” he said, “but I fucking swear, today won’t be the last time I touch you.” He seemed reluctant to put distance between us, but stood. “You have to trust me. Okay?”

I swallowed a breath and brushed a lock of hair back, out of my eyes. “Okay.”

“Good.” Relief swept through him so hard, he looked ten pounds lighter. “Then I’ll see you in recovery.”

THIRTY-THREE

THE LAST DAY AND A HALF had been an ordeal for my mom and me, but she’d been much stronger than I had. She didn’t leave my side, choosing to sleep on the cramped window bench in my hospital room last night. Now it was time for breakfast, and I’d pretty much thrown her out of the room, urging her to get a decent cup of coffee or a meal she wouldn’t have to eat out of a Styrofoam container.

God. I’d spent the summer wanting to be an independent adult, not realizing how nice it was to have my mom around—not until I’d needed her.

The surgery had gone well, or so I’d been told. In recovery, I’d been out of it from the sedation and didn’t remember a thing. My mom said Dr. Lowe came by to check on me soon after I’d woken up, but she hadn’t said anything else, even when I pressed her on it.

And I hadn’t seen him since.

I shifted in the bed against the pillow propping me up. My incisions were in my belly, but my back hurt no matter what position I was in. The hospital was nice, yet everything about the room was uncomfortable, and I turned my gaze toward the window and the sunlight outside. The morning nurse said I’d probably be discharged this afternoon, and I was desperate to be home and in my own bed.

There was a knock on the door, jolting me. I expected it to fly open—none of the busy hospital staff waited for a patient to invite them in. The knock seemed more of a courtesy announcement. But whoever had tapped on my door, they lingered outside, waiting.

“Come in,” I called.

The oversized door was pushed open, but the boy remained in the hallway, staring into my room with disbelief.

I couldn’t believe who I was seeing either. “Preston?”

He moved hesitantly inside, shutting the door behind him, and then glanced around the room, checking to see if there was anyone else. Satisfied we were alone, he set his focus on me.

What the hell was he doing here?

His expression was full of worry, almost like seeing me in a hospital bed, an IV hanging at my side, had him rattled. I found his presence right now unbearable. My tone was so harsh, it even surprised me. “What do you want?”

Preston jammed his hands in the pockets of his jeans and drew in a deep breath. “Hey. How’re you feeling?”

I was tired of sugarcoating things and no longer cared about how the truth was going to make him feel. “I’m feeling like you’re the last person I want to see right now.”

He nodded. “Yeah, I figured.” His face was grim, his posture tense. “Greg told me what happened. I was worried about you.”

So, he was back to calling him Greg. I hurt for his father, and it made me angry. I gave my ex-boyfriend a flat look. “You didn’t care about me when we were together. It’s a little weird to start now.”

He had the nerve to look wounded. “Don’t say that. Cassidy, you know you—”

I lifted a hand, cutting him off, because I had no patience left. “Why are you here?”

He was restless, unable to stay in one place or hold my gaze. He paced a circuit from one end of the room to the other. “What he said, about the girl in the hot tub? I fucked up. I’m sorry, okay?”