Page 65 of Come to Me

Not that his father couldn’t benefit from rest, but he wasn’t on death’s door. Nor did he need to retire. He also didn’t believe he needed to take over. His father surrounded himself with highly capable people. Dak Hughs, the second in charge, would be a much better choice for CEO as far as Patrick was concerned. But he was nothing if not loyal. He’d cover for his father until he could return, and then take his place somewhere else in the company. He hoped to eke out his own path through his research and program ideas.

Patrick headed straight to the conference room for a meeting with the VPs. As Dak droned on about quarterly projections and market shares, Patrick’s mind drifted. The tranquility of Kincaid Lake, the laughter of young Tate, the warmth of Michaela's embrace – these were the things that truly resonated with him now.

Dak cleared his throat, his gaze intent on Patrick as if he knew Patrick wasn’t completely present. Patrick gave a nod to show he was listening. But God, the thought of being trapped behind a desk, buried in spreadsheets and reports, as the company pumped out pill after pill filled him with a sense of dread. This office, these boardroom discussions, felt alien to him. Not so long ago, he’d stumbled his way around the woods feeling like a fish out of water. Now it was the city and boardroom that made him feel like he didn’t belong.

Patrick's fingers drummed absently on the polished wood, his gaze unfocused. He understood how medicine could help with mental illness, but pharmaceuticals had never been an interest of his. People needed connection. Coping skills. Genuine support. That’s what he wanted to offer. In the last few days, he’d determined that for his work in his family’s company to be meaningful, he wanted to do something that would integrate medication and therapy.

After the meeting, Dak met him in his father’s office.

“You were quiet today. I’m not sure if you have issues with the reports,” Dak said sitting in the chair in front of the desk. Patrick sat in his father’s chair, but it was uncomfortable. This was not his place.

“I have no issue. I’m just thinking of a new program we might implement.”

“Oh?”

Patrick had always liked Dak. He was smart but practical. He also wasn’t an egomaniac like many high-level businessmen could be. Patrick handed him a folder. “These are studies that look at the effectiveness of medication, therapy or both in the treatment of depression, ADHD, and a handful of other diagnoses.”

Dak arched a brow as he took the folder. “What are you thinking?”

“I’m thinking that if we really want to help people, we need to recommend both.”

“We’re a pharmaceutical company, not a mental health clinic.”

“True, but that doesn’t mean we can’t lead research, prescription or treatment recommendations.”

Dak’s brows furrowed. “That’s the prescribing doctor’s call.”

“You know as well as I do that many doctors and psychiatrists prescribe medication but nothing more.”

“That’s all many people need.”

Frustration grew in Patrick. “Not true. Diabetics have medication but are still counseled to eat well and exercise. The same for cardiac patients.”

Dak set the folder back on the desk, telling Patrick he wasn’t going to consider this idea. “Those are health conditions?—”

“And depression, anxiety and other mental illnesses aren’t? Better living through chemistry alone isn’t the answer. The medications stabilize patients, but they don’t give them the skills they need to cope. A child with ADHD hasn’t learned how to focus or wait his turn. Medication calms him down but doesn’t give him the skills. With the medication he can learn the skills. Someone with depression might feel less depressed, but the medication doesn’t give them insight into triggers or coping skills.”

Dak sighed. “I understand what you’re saying, Pat. I even agree, but that’s not what we do.”

“Why not? Why not provide the treatment recommendations that will make our medication the most effective?”

“It’s complicated you know that. We’ve got doctors with their own thoughts. Insurance companies that may or may not cover therapy.”

Patrick sank back in his chair. “We’re a company that make medicine to help people, but we don’t actually want to help people.”

“Have you passed this by your father?”

“No.” But he would. He’d find away to make this work otherwise he’d go mad.

At lunch, Patrick left the office and headed to Bedford Hills. He hadn’t yet met with Julia since his return, but he knew he couldn’t put it off any longer. As his driver drove to the facility, Patrick mentally prepared himself to see her. She’d likely be mad that he’d been gone. She wouldn’t care to learn how happy he’d been.

As he approached the large fence topped with barbed wire surrounding the facility, the guilt at his failure to help her filled his chest until he could hardly breathe. The guards at the entrance nodded, no doubt recognizing him from previous visits. He produced his identification, his movements stiff and measured, betraying the turmoil within.

The walk to the visitation room was a blur, Patrick's heart felt heavy. When he finally stepped through the doorway, his eyes landed on Julia, her gaze intense and unwavering. The years of incarceration had etched deep lines into her once vibrant face.

"Patrick." Julia greeted him, her voice devoid of warmth. "I see you finally were able to make time for me in your busy life."

Forcing a tight smile, Patrick took a seat across from her, the cold metal table a physical barrier between them. Perhaps a barrier had always been there. They’d each built a wall to survive the cold home they grew up in.

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