Page 49 of Summer with the Single Dad

Ugh! She was the worst.

She really didn’t deserve a great guy like Bennett.

They’d probably ran almost two miles before he broke the silence. “This is worse than talking.”

She huffed and smiled. “I agree.”

“So, let’s talk.”

“Ooookayy …?”

“Why’d you stop being a surgeon?”

Grief and panic slammed into her chest to the point where she needed to stop running.

“Shit.” His hand landed on her back. “I didn’t mean … I’m sorry. Forget it.” He removed his hand, but the heat of it remained, warming her to her core.

He stepped away and she could see out of the corner of her eye that he’d pivoted to face the woods and was raking his hand down his face. His back muscles expanded and contracted beneath his shirt, and for just a moment, she was hypnotized.

“You just … you make me nervous. I don’t know … I don’t know how to do this anymore. And I don’t even know what this is. I don’t know how you feel. I’m not even sure how I feel. Then there’s the whole “You’re a guest.” thing … and temporary. And, fuck. I’m really sorry.”

Not just because of the run, her heart beat wildly against her ribs.

It wasn’t all in her head.

He felt it too.

Whatever it was.

“I … I don’t know either,” she whispered. “But, I know that … I know that I have feelings for you. That being with you makes me …” She swallowed. “It makes me happy. It also confuses me and … I don’t know if I’m allowed to be happy.”

His brows narrowed. “What do you mean? Because of the patient you lost?”

She nodded and her chest heaved. “It was a stupid mistake.”

“And people make stupid mistakes all the time.”

“But when a surgeon makes a stupid mistake, people can die. And in my case, someone did. How can I be happy when my patient will never get the chance to feel joy again? When his family is grieving?”

He exhaled a deep breath. “Clint, Dominic, Wyatt, and I, are all widowers.”

She’d been staring at the damp road, but her gaze snapped up to his.

“Our wives all died in a horrible car accident.”

“I—oh my god. I’m so sor—”

He held up his hand. “Thank you. It happened five years ago. And for a while, I felt that way too. The way you feel right now. Guilty to be happy. Anytime I felt joy or forgot about my wife being dead—even just for a second—the guilt was like a sledgehammer to the chest. It felt like a betrayal. How dare I smile? How dare I laugh? And I understand how it’s different, because you feel responsible for your patient, but everything in life is a risk. Going for a run is a risk. Getting in a car is a risk. Having surgery is a risk. Nobody gets out of life alive. And I think—no, I know—that my wife would be hella pissed if she found out I wasn’t living my life with any joy because it felt like a betrayal to her. She would be angry that I was depriving my children—and myself—of a happy and joyful life.”

A hot tear slid down Justine’s cheek.

“I don’t know the circumstances of your patient, but if he was a good man, a man with kindness and integrity, I don’t think he’d want you to give up on joy either. I think he’d forgive you and he’d want you to forgive yourself. Everyone makes mistakes, even doctors. But, you’ve shown him respect grieving him. It’s time to not let his death be in vain, and to learn from the mistake and reclaim the joy you deserve.”

The lump in her throat doubled in size and a buzzing sound in her ears had her checking for any signs of an approaching heart attack or stroke. Her shortness of breath was related to the run and the intensity of the moment. She had no back pain, no blurry vision, no sense of impending doom, or numbness down either arm.

Bennett huffed a laugh and glanced away. “Wow, that brought down the mood, huh? Like I said, I’m out of practice and obviously terrible at not only flirting, but making people feel better.”

That pulled a smile to her lips. “Did you use the word ‘hella’?”

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