Page 17 of If Cain Were Able

Not five minutes after checking in, the familiar face of Perry, Cain’s nurse, calls me back from the waiting room.

“Mr. Miller, how are you feeling?” he asks with a smile.

“Fine, thank you,” I reply succinctly, trying to keep my walls high, already feeling pressure in my chest simply from knowing Cain is somewhere in this building.

Perry leads me to an exam room and takes me through the usual questions. After several clicks on the computer, he says, “Dr. Rosemont will be in shortly.”

He keeps me waiting for half an hour.

I’m this close to leaving, assuming he’s pulling another power move, wanting to see how long I’ll stick around, when the door opens and Garrett, Cain’s PA, comes in.

I ignore the disappointment that floats through my veins.

“Dr. Rosemont was needed in the OR emergently, so I’m going to take you through your final visit.”

I nod, too afraid of what will come out of my mouth if I speak.

Ten minutes later, Garrett’s hand is on the doorknob, while I’m working to keep my breathing in check, when he looks back at me and says, “Check out is down the hall to the left. Hopefully, we’ll never see you again.”

He says it with a smile, and I know he means he hopes I stay healthy and have no more heart trouble, and won’t need their services in the future. But it still feels like a knife to the gut.

God, I hate this.

I hate that I still fucking want him—need him—on a visceral level. It’s never been more apparent than it is now that our decades apart didn’t equate to healing. The time and distance just sent the monster of my desire into hibernation, only to be woken months ago, hungrier and more desperate for Cain than ever.

I leave the office without closure. No more appointments. No more excuses to talk to Cain, let alone see him. I should be glad this door is closing, but all I feel is melancholy.

Cain Rosemont is like a cancer. He consumes you without permission, spreading throughout your cells, infecting you with a need that will never be satisfied.

The drive to the airport is a blur. I don’t have any bags to check since my stay was only one night, and I make my way to the airport lounge where I sit at the bar nursing a gin and tonic as I stare blankly at the melting ice in my glass.

My phone vibrates, and immediately, it feels like there are horses galloping in my chest. Maybe he’s calling to apologize for missing the appointment.

Suddenly, the strings of lust pull at my heart. If he asks me to stay with him tonight, will I have the strength to turn him down again?

Pulling my phone out of my pocket, it’s Liam’s name flashing on the screen. There are no words to describe the amount of shame that washes through me at the disappointment that it isn’t Cain.

“Hey, Li.”

“Hey, Dad. What’s wrong? Did everything go okay at your appointment?” he asks, unable to conceal the worry in his voice.

“Oh, yeah. It went fine. They discharged me. I’m good to go,” I say, trying to stir some life back into my voice.

“I thought you’d be happier about the news,” Liam says.

“I’m thrilled. Just tired. I didn’t sleep well last night,” I offer in explanation.

“Well, I’m glad it was good news. You, uh, want to come over for dinner tomorrow?”

I never turn down a dinner invitation from Liam these days. They’re precious, and I was dangerously close to never receiving one ever again after what I did to Taylor, but I’m too raw, too emotionally stripped after today to keep it together while staring at the mirror image of my ex across the dinner table.

“Can I get a raincheck, Li? I’ve fallen behind at work after being out of the office yesterday and today, and I’m planning to work late tomorrow to try to catch up.” The lie is bitter on my tongue and adds another tick in the column of reasons why I hate Cain.

“Sure,” he answers. “Just let me know a good time.”

I wish I could say I spend the rest of the time in the airport catching up on some of that work I’m so far behind on, but I don’t. I spend it doing Google searches of Cain and incessantly checking my email in case he reached out.

But I check in vain, because no email or text ever comes.