Page 29 of Forced Proximity

The doctor talked to me in a muted voice before surgery. My body and brain were numb, a combination of reality mixing with the pain medication like a rancid cocktail. It created a horrifying, waking hallucination where my brain struggled to absorb the information and distorted my physiological response.

I was hit. So was the CEO.

The guilt consumed me, drowned me, forced me awake for months, gasping for air as the metallic, sharp, shame acid cut at my soul. The CEO lived, but still … I caused this. But so did Katey. And the resentment grew.

Katey flew to Germany, but I couldn’t even look at her. On day three, she left the hospital, seemingly exasperated that I wasn’t talking. But I couldn’t talk. I failed and my worst nightmare had occurred.

An hour later, the door had opened, and Marcus stepped into the room. He didn’t speak. He didn’t hug me. He didn’t do anything but pat my hand once, pulled up a chair and spent the next ten hours staring out the window with me in silence.

Two months later, I left the home Katey and I shared. I couldn’t look at her after what happened. Shame followed me like a black cloud, threatening to expose my greatest failure, my inability to protect. It was my fault. And I’d never forgive myself.

And no matter my feelings toward Justin, I will never let anything like that happen again.

Chapter 13

Justin

After a day of meetings at the studio, Doc and I arrive back at my house, and I dutifully wait in the den while she completes her sweep. The tension has lessened this last week since I accused her of bringing drugs into my home.

Accused Doc. Of bringing drugs. Into my home.

My gut coils. How the hell did I jump to that conclusion? Doc is the healthiest, fittest person I’ve ever been around, drinking nothing but green juice and protein shakes. But when Mia was sick, I had no idea. And Mia is my sister. Family members mentioned it, I flew to Seattle to check on her myself, and I still couldn’t see it.

So, when I saw Doc hiding something, I just couldn’t deal. My brain completely glitched. I’ve been in a downward spiral since then, a reel replaying in my head of what I said, coupled with every horrible thing I’ve ever said to anyone.

‘I’m starving. You hungry?’ I try not to show it, but after discovering Doc has diabetes, I’m obsessed with making sure she’s eating.

‘I could eat.’ She grips the corner of the wall in the sitting room and stretches her back.

‘Sushi?’

A crack releases from her back. ‘Sounds good.’

I pull out my phone to scroll through the menu, but my thoughts distract me. Today, Doc must’ve been bored as hell. She stood guard outside the producer’s office for hours. I asked one of the assistants to bring her a chair, otherwise she probably would’ve stayed standing in that militant position for the entire three-hour meeting. What does she think about during those times? Yes, it’s her job, but I always feel guilty that she’s being inconvenienced.

Oddly, I don’t feel this same guilt with Jack.

After typing in the order, I slump onto the couch in the living area. ‘I’m gonna lay low tonight, watch a movie.’

I’m all tense from today and need to relax. The producer for my next film is great. So is the director. But anything besides the actual filming feels like work. Casting changes, table reads, rehearsals, reviewing script changes, training, eating nothing but plain, unsalted chicken breasts for a week before a shirtless scene. That’s where I earn my salary. I’d do the filming for free. ‘Do you watch movies?’

‘Are you wondering if I’ve ever seen one of yours?’ She takes a seat on the opposite end and flips open her notebook. It took a full week of daily invites for her to sit by me instead of the chair by the front door, and now it feels natural to have a TV mate at the end of the night.

My back stiffens. ‘Ah, no. But now I’m curious.’ I want to know but also don’t. When someone in my personal life watches my films, it makes me uneasy. I feel exposed, almost. Like they’ll be disappointed in me – the person – if I didn’t do a good job. Maybe this stems from a lifetime of my parents making me feel like I wasn’t good enough. And maybe it’s inherent and it would’ve happened even if I was raised by people like Doc’s parents.

‘I saw a couple,’ she says, glancing up from her notes.

‘Oh yeah? Which one?’

Doc’s lips tug into a half-smile. ‘Adrenaline Heist.’

‘Oh my God, you’ve seen my ass!’ I laugh. The idea of Doc seeing my naked ass in my steamiest sex scene I’ve had so far is amusing, slightly mortifying and kind of hot.

‘Oh yeah, I forgot about that.’ A hint of rose climbs across her cheeks.

Is she blushing? Doc shifts and bites the side of her lip, only for a second, but she does it. A heat flows down my chest and lands in my lap. I grab a blanket to throw over myself and my hardening appendage.

She scribbles in her notepad. ‘Which movie do you want to watch?’