Page 2 of The Potter

Honestly, I’m not proud of my behavior. I’ve waited years for this moment with Dr. Potter. He was the whole reason I endured hours of torturous physical therapy.

He was the light at the end of the tunnel.

And in twenty minutes, he snuffed out that flicker of hope.

My breath hitches as I inhale past the sob building in my throat. “You’re my last hope. All the other surgeons I’ve consulted turned me down, too.”

His entire demeanor changes as his body pulls taut. But I hold his gaze, conveying all the desperation and pain I’ve learned to live with for the past four years. “I need you. Please, just think about it. Give me time to earn the rest of the money you need to perform the surgery.”

“It’s not about the money,” he clips, turning away.

Is he saying the surgery is too risky? “But you take risks. You heal the broken.” At least that’s what I’ve heard.

A tear slips down my cheek, just thinking about walking out of here without his help.

His heavy gaze tracks the tear as it falls to my chest. “I can’t heal you, Halle.” His gaze lifts as he pulls in a weighted breath. “I’m sorry.”

Maybe it was the fact that I traveled eight hundred miles on a bus with no radio or the fact I was so excited for this appointment, I only got two hours of sleep. Whatever the case, the thread of sanity I had left, snaps. “You suck!”

I snatch the stack of cash tied together with a hair tie off his desk and stuff it back inside my purse. “You know what, Dr. Potter? You can go to hell. You’re not the man the media said you were. You’re a liar… just like every other man.” I might be a little jaded in the men department.

The corner of his full mouth pulls up in a lazy tilt as if he’s enjoying my meltdown in his office.

And it flips my freaking crazy switch. Again. “Fuuuuuuuck Yooooou!”

This time he does smile, softly chuckling as he takes me by the upper arm and guides me to the door, throwing it open and yelling, “Serena!”

I huff. “Sounds like Serena thinks you should go fuck yourself, too.”

Warm breath coasts across my neck, tickling the sensitive spot under my ear. “Like you, Ms. Belle, Serena requires one thing from me—my skillful hands.”

He shoves me forward, and I flip around to meet his eyes, swirling with emotion.

“I’ll save you a seat in hell, Ms. Belle.” He flashes me a wink that I’m embarrassed to admit sends tingles down low. “Right next to mine.”

And then he closes the door in my face, effectively ending our appointment.

This mother—ahh!

I beat my fists on the back of his office door. My behavior is entirely unprofessional, but Dr. Potter’s was unprofessional, too. How dare he insinuate that my actions are worthy of a fiery eternity. I came here to Texas for him. The newspaper promised he was different and wasn’t like all the other surgeons I’d seen before. He would see through my past and change my future.

And he refused.

He was a coward, just like the rest of them.

All of this. Quitting my job, moving across the country, leaving my parents, my home, my entire life behind was all for nothing.

A sob bubbles up in my chest, but I swallow it down. I will not cry outside Dr. Potter’s door. I will not give him another reason to think I’m unstable.

I’m not.

I’m hopeful.

And utterly devastated.

Inhaling, I situate my purse on my shoulder and stand up straight like a lady. My mother would be appalled that I used the F-word and insulted a world-renowned surgeon.

But she didn’t see the way he looked at me as if our meeting was a complete waste of time after I had worked and saved for years, waiting eight months just to get on his calendar for a consultation.

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