God, I was pathetic.
And obviously, I knew deep down, once the clock struck eight, I'd be scrambling to the sofa, grabbing the remote, and clicking the television on. Not to mention, I'd already set up an automatic recording for every The Doctor Is In episode that would ever air.
Yeah, I really was pathetic.
But the sad reality was that I wanted to watch the show because I missed Nick. And more than that, it was pretty much all I had left of him.
Well, I guessed it was either the show or social media stalking. And since Nick wasn't really the type of guy to keep his Facebook profile updated, I had to obsessively watch his reality docuseries in hopes that I'd see his face grace the camera during Dr. Obscene's and Dr. Erotic's episodes.
But now, his episodes were getting ready to air, which meant that Nick's face would be on camera nearly the whole damn time. Depending on what footage they used in the early filming process, I also might make a cameo or two.
I silently prayed that wasn't the case. The last thing I wanted was a reminder of how happy I used to be.
But more importantly, I wondered, would his episodes of the series somehow be completely different from his counterparts? Or would they use everything they could find to make the show as juicy and sensationalized as possible?
I knew the true answer to those questions, and I had a strong feeling tidbits of our past relationship would end up broadcasted for the world to see.
I thought back to that one day in his office, when we'd been just in the midst of having sex on his desk, and the cameraguy's knocking presence on the other side of the door had startled us both. Nausea rolled up my throat at the reminder.
Fucking hell. I wanted to watch it, but I feared those episodes would make me face the reality of the situation-Nick's episodes were about to show all of the things we had tried to keep secret.
What would that do to him? To Winnie?
And subsequently, to his relationship with his daughter?
The last thing I wanted was to see a worst-case scenario outcome for Nick and Lexi.
I glanced at the clock again and watched as the minute hand clicked into the eight o'clock place. Showtime.
Before I could stop myself, or even try to stop myself, I snagged the remote from the coffee table and flipped on the television. Immediately, my eyes caught sight of the familiar The Doctor Is In logo on the screen.
Shit. It was really happening. Nick's episodes were getting ready to air right the fuck now.
I attempted to sit down, but when the camera footage zoomed in to Nick's office, and then his handsome, gorgeous face filled the screen, I hopped off the couch and turned my back to the TV.
His smooth as honey voice filled my living room as he introduced himself and his practice and invited viewers into his world of medicine.
God, just the sound of his voice made my heart ache.
I fucking missed him, and nothing was more painful than missing someone you knew you could never have. It was like your soul throbbed painfully over the reality that you'd have to spend the rest of your life missing that special person. That there was nothing you could do to fix the situation.
By the time the music started up again, and what I assumed were the flash of words related to stir intrigue with the viewers, I couldn't take it. Even though I wasn't even looking at the screen, I still couldn't take it. Just the sound of his voice was too much for me.
I flipped off the television and walked into my bedroom, cursing myself the whole way there. I felt like a pathetic coward. We hadn't been together for a while now, but yet, I couldn't even watch his stupid reality show. It was insane. What was wrong with me?
You still love him.
Yeah. I still loved him.
That was the crux of the situation. And when you still loved someone, just the mere sight of them or the sound of their voice was enough to intensify the already difficult emotions of losing them.
A text notification pinged from my phone and echoed into the hallway.
Even though it was probably Harper or Ivy or Doreen, I walked back out into the living room and grabbed my phone off the kitchen counter. The instant I unlocked the home screen and tapped on my message inbox, I couldn't believe my eyes.
Nick: Can we talk?
My heart screamed, Yes! Go to him now!
But my brain protested, No … don't even go there. Seeing him in person would be too much right now.
Holy hell. I didn't know which was the right option.
I mean, we weren't together, hadn't been together for months.
What more was there to talk about?
Instead of responding to him right away, I locked my phone screen and slipped on my shoes. I grabbed my keys and purse and headed for the door.
I needed a walk. I needed to breathe in the city, the people, the buildings, the life. I needed to clear my head and find some semblance of peace from the constant tug-of-war my head and heart were providing.
Instead of losing my mind inside of my apartment, while watching a fucking reality series make a mockery out of my life and career, I decided to take a day off and get away from the city-and hopefully away from streets filled with people who now thought they knew something about me.
Twenty-four hours ago, I'd sent Charlotte a text message, asking her if we could talk. She still hadn't responded, and I wasn't sure if it was because she was scared or she really had moved on from us-from me.
God, I fucking hated the idea of her already moving on with someone else.
It felt like the absolute most wrong thing in the entire world.
She belonged with me.
As I walked up the gravel driveway, my shoes crinkling against the rock and sand, I realized it'd been years since I'd stood here, on the threshold of all of my mistakes.
My childhood home in Staten Island was beautiful. Elaborate moldings and decorative sconces, along with a nine-foot, iron-embellished solid wood front door.
Of course, my parents had sold that when my father had stopped working in Manhattan and settled into Chip's, the hardware store my grandfather had founded a few blocks from my grandparents' house.
The house they moved into, the one I stood at the door to today, was a shoebox at 900 square feet, and the fixtures were all from the seventies.
I'd spent so long looking at it with disdain, I'd barely even noticed how much happier my dad seemed.
Three concussive knocks to the door and a press to the doorbell for good measure executed, I stepped back and waited for my mother to answer. She would, I knew, as my dad would be somewhere tinkering with something with greasy hands and a stained shirt while she toiled with baked goods in the kitchen.
I miss them.
The door swung open with the drama of a curtain on opening night of a Broadway show, and I felt my heart jump into my throat.
My mom's eyes were worn with age, but they weren't anything but wide and bright as she recognized me. Now she knew me. Unlike the millions of people who'd seen a highly edited version of one aspect of my life, she'd raised me. I'd lost my way from her for a while, but a mother's heart never changed.
"Nick!"
"Hi, Mom," I murmured demurely. She didn't conform.
All zeal and action, she dove into my arms and hugged me tight with both thin arms.
"Oh my God, I can't believe you're here. It's so good to see you. What are you doing here? How are you off work?"
I laughed at a mother's ability to ask so many questions at once, and I pulled her clinging arms off of me to give her a smile. "Can we maybe go inside before I start answering?"
Her giggle was light and delighted. "Yes! Yes, of course. Come in, come in!"
But before we could step into the house, she dove into my arms again.
"Mom," I said through a laugh.
"I'm just so glad to see you," she whispered in my ear. Emotion rolled through her voice like a wave and broke all over my heart.
I tightened my arms around her. "I'm sorry," I whispered right into the line of her neck. She smelled exactly like I'd always remembered. "I was such an idiot, staying away this long."
Her head shook against me. "All that matters is that you're here now."
Safely in a chair in the kitchen, after half a cup of tea consumed and a bunch of mother-son mooning behind us, my dad walked in and did a double take when he spotted me. "Jack," my mom cooed with a smile, "Look who's here."
As much as my mother's exuberant greeting was normal, the tear that leaked from my father's eye at the sight of me, there, in his kitchen, smiling, was not.
"Dad?"
I stood up and walked toward him, worried.
He pulled me into his arms as soon as I was within reach and pounded at my back like a carpenter with a hammer. I got choked up immediately.
Jesus Christ, I wasn't used to this much emotion.
"I'm sorry, Dad. I was an idiot."
"You were," he agreed easily, and I laughed.
He scooted back and grabbed me by the jaw, pride in his eye. "But you sure made something of yourself. A big-time doctor and a TV star all in one. Most parents only have one thing to brag about."