Page 33 of Dr. Brandt

“You’re sixteen years old,” I said with a smile. “Stop acting like you’re twenty-five.”

“You’ve always said I act older than my age, and now you’re insulting me for it?”

The one trait you didn’t inherit from your father, the man who forever acts like a big kid, I thought, looking at Jackson and seeing how much he resembled his father.

“It’s not an insult, kid,” I said. “You’ve always kept up with the adult conversations, and sometimes I forget you’re only sixteen.”

“Well, take advantage of my wisdom, then, because I’m pretty sure these Uber fees will add up to more than what Dr. Brandt paid for his Porsche.”

“Don’t worry about buying a car right now, Jacks. First, we need to decide if you will be comfortable with this surgery. After that, depending on your decision, we’ll worry about finding a place to live. Then, finally, we need to decide if you want to stay here and go through rehab or maybe go to Seattle near my parents. Believe it or not, I have given this some thought. I’m not just out here running around, throwing twenty-dollar bills into the wind.”

Moving near my parents in Seattle was not on the top of my list, but I wanted Jackson to have options. This was not about me.

“Okay,” he responded distractedly, grabbing his phone from where it buzzed in his pocket.

I checked the Uber app, seeing our driver was down the street, and I shouldered my purse.

“Jacks, let’s head out.” I shoved the last of my bagel in my mouth and marched up the steps toward the door. “Jackson,” I called again, wondering where the hell my boy went.

“Right behind you,” he said sadly, prompting me to look back and see what had happened.

“Everything okay?” I asked as I shuffled through my purse to find the keys to lock up the place.

“Paige just dumped me. Perfect timing, right? I’m on my way to find out what life will be like after losing half my brain, and she sends me this. So, yeah, everything’s great.”

“Oh, shit,” I said, my heart broken, seeing this look of grief and fear crossing Jackson’s face.

Without warning, I reached out and hugged my son.

“Mom, don’t,” he said, standing there rigidly as I clung to him. “I’m fine. I really don’t care.”

I stepped back and studied his bright blue eyes, “Saying you don’t care just means that you—”

“Mom,” he said, cutting me off. “Let’s just go. I don’t want to talk about it. I’ll be fine. Can we please meet with this Lisa girl and hear more about this surgery? Please?”

His eyes pleaded with me, and I knew it was best to shut my mouth and go with the flow for now. I wasn’t going to try and play mother protector of the year because I could feel my fears growing the closer we got to meeting this girl.

We sat in the car and drove in silence. I didn’t know what to say anymore. I was scared as shit, realizing this surgery was a reality. It wasn’t some abstract conversation anymore. It was real, and someone who’d gone through it wanted to tell us what we could expect.

Reality was a bitch, and she was breathing down my neck.

I wanted to text Warren like I would’ve before, just to get some reassurance, but that wasn’t exactly an option anymore. I hated that I’d come to depend on that man’s strength after all these years.

I knew the only way to gain confidence was to embrace my fears and these uncomfortable, scary moments. I didn’t have a partner to bolster me anymore, which was okay. I didn’t need anyone for that. I had to be strong again. The tests of faith were coming, and I had to be ready.

Once we reached our destination, I inhaled a breath of confidence and stepped out of the car.

“Well, where to go now?” I said, scrolling through my emails and trying to find the one that detailed this meeting.

“Fifth floor, consultation room B,” Jackson said.

“How the hell do you remember every damn thing?” I questioned with a smile, feeling nervous with each step toward the hospital.

Something told me that I would hate this place soon enough, that I would associate it with Jacks’s surgery and all the worries that went along with it.

I shook my head briskly, expelling these negative thoughts from my mind.

“Dr. Brandt, you’re needed in OR-3. Dr. Brandt to OR-3, please,” the intercom announced over the hospital speakers. It didn’t take much to figure out that Cameron wouldn’t be joining us for this consult.

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