Surprise Delivery(8)

“Are you okay?” Preston asks.

I nod and purse my lips. “I’m fine,” I lie. “Thank you.”

No other words need to be exchanged since we both know the score. He’s doing what he can for me, but I have to learn to control my temper if I want to hang onto this job. I’d let Tyler push me into reacting. He’d scored a point and I’d given him a little ammunition to use against me.

I know Preston will do what he can for me, but I also knew he won’t go to the mat for me. Not entirely. He would never rise up against the others just to defend me. His protection most definitely had its limits.

He gives me a slight nod, his lips tight, then turns and heads into his office, gently closing the door behind him. I sink down into my seat, my heart still racing, the adrenaline making me shaky. My stomach lurches and a wave of nausea sweeps over me. I manage to hold it down and not puke in my trash can – but just barely.

I don’t know what I’m going to do. I need to get out of here, but I don’t have many options – no, I don’t have any options. I’m barely scraping by as it is and can’t afford a step down in pay. But, without an education, it’s not like I can demand more.

The feeling of being stuck and the overwhelming sense of dread I get, whenever I step foot inside this office, has never been thicker. All I want to do is cry my eyes out and then punch something really, really hard.

It’s only five after eight and I can already tell it’s going to be a pint of ice cream kind of night – maybe two.





Three





Duncan





“I’m so glad you can always find time to fit me into your busy schedule,” she says. “It’s nice getting together with you.”





I laugh softly. “I’ll always make time for you, Mom.”

“I just know how busy you doctors are,” she replies.

I reach out and take her hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. “Some things are worth carving out the time for.”

We’re sitting on the back deck, the sun shining down on us. The day is wonderful – it’s warm, but not too warm. It’s actually about perfect, truth be told. I make a point of getting together with my mother at least once a week – usually for lunch. She manages to keep herself busy with all the volunteer work she does, and various boards of charitable foundations that she sits on, but I also know that she gets lonely in this big old house by herself. Ever since Dad died, she really hasn’t had anybody. And it’s not like my brother Henry makes a lot of time for her.

Henry is so caught up in his own little world, expanding his financial empire, and of course, enjoying all the trappings of being a rich, eligible bachelor. It’s not like I don’t enjoy the finer things in life – I most certainly do – I just don’t make the spectacle of myself that Henry tends to. I don’t want flashy cars, supermodels on each arm, or outrageous displays of wealth. To me, that seems rather gauche.

It’s just one of the million different ways I differ from my brother. We may have grown up in the same house, but it’s like we lived with two separate families. While I can’t say my folks were necessarily the salt of the earth types, their humble beginnings made them appreciate what they had a whole lot more – and it made them, in my opinion, far less given to ostentatious displays of their wealth.

I take after them more than my brother. I can’t even begin to know who Henry takes after. I remember growing up, he always fit in with those spoiled, entitled, trust-fund kids I’ve always despised. He’s got a snotty, elitist attitude I’ve always found so boorish and he tends to look down on people not of what he considers his station.

“So, are you seeing anybody?” she asks.

I give her a small grin. “Not since you asked me last week,” I tease.

“I just want to see you happy and in love, Duncan,” she smiles. “And of course, I want grandbabies.”

I laugh. “Well, that certainly escalated quickly.”

“What?” she asks, a mischievous smile on her face. “What mother doesn’t want grandbabies?”

“Well, how about I start with just dating first?” I negotiate.

“Oh fine,” she huffs. “But don’t take too long, I don’t know how many years I have left, you know.”

“Don’t say that, Mom.”

She shrugs. “It’s true. I’ve never been one to shy away from the truth of things, you know that.”

“I know,” I sigh softly.

“And the truth of things is that I’m getting older. It’s no secret,” she says. “And I just want to be able to hold my grandchildren before I’m too old to do it – and to spoil them rotten, of course.”

Hearing my mother talk about dying is something that hurts me. Losing my father was a body blow in and of itself. I know that losing my mother, who’s been my rock and my steadying, guiding force in life, is going to hit me even harder.

I mean, I know death is a part of life. As a doctor, I see it almost daily. Even still, the thought of losing my mom is a tough, bitter pill to swallow.

I just hate to give her false hope about having grandchildren. I don’t see Henry ever giving up his playboy lifestyle, and I just haven’t found anybody who’s really captured my heart. I haven’t found that person who really resonates and connects with me. I’m not the kind of guy who’s going to get married and have a family just because it’s expected, or to maintain some sort of image.