as we drive to the clinic, a high-end establishment with a wing named after the Westbrooks. It’s a reminder of the new reality I’m still grappling with—being Mrs. Westbrook.
A name that feels both foreign and strangely right. The changes are progressive. I’m still living with my roommates, and nobody except our close friends knows about it. I’m not wearing the ring Cole bought yet. But as more time passes, I know it’s not “if” I’ll wear the ring but “when” I will.
As we sit in the waiting room, my mind races with anxiety and a flicker of hope. I’m here to see Dr. Mahoney, someone who might give me back the full use of my hand, the part of me so crucial to my music, my passion. It’s a chance to regain a piece of myself that I thought I’d lost forever.
“Mrs. Westbrook?” The receptionist’s voice pulls me from my thoughts, and for a moment, I don’t look up. Nobody calls me Mrs. Westbrook.
Cole nudges me delicately, his presence a steady anchor. “It’s us,” he murmurs, and there’s a warmth in his voice that makes me feel seen, known.
I stand up, feeling a rush of gratitude for his support. I haven’t told him yet, but him being here means the world to me. I want to share this with my dad, too, but the thought of raising his hopes only to potentially dash them holds me back. And then there’s the part about explaining my impulsive marriage to Cole—a story I’m not ready to unpack yet.
In the examination room, the bright-white walls and the sterile smell are a stark contrast to the whirlwind of emotions inside me. He sits beside me, his face a mask of determination. His hand, warm and comforting, holds mine—the good one. His thumb traces circles on my skin, a small gesture that speaks volumes.
“Thank you for being here with me,” I say, my voice reflecting my gratitude and vulnerability.
Cole’s face softens, his eyes filled with a sincerity that reaches deep into my heart. “There’s nowhere in the world I’d rather be,” he replies, and the simplicity of his words wraps around me like a warm blanket.
Dr. Mahoney comes in. She’s a woman in her mid-forties looking quite strict, and I feel the apprehension when she turns on the wall screen showing images of my hand and opening files in front of her as she sits down.
“Mrs. Westbrook, thank you for coming today.”
“I… thank you for having us.”
She looks down at her file, reads for a minute, and looks back up. “So we received the results of your nerve tests and the MRI of your hand as well as the mobility shots. In all objectivity, it would have been easier if you had come here from the start. It is more challenging when the tissues are already healing, but…”
My heart sinks at her words, but Cole cuts her off midsentence, his voice cold, carrying a commanding tone so reminiscent of his father’s. “I mean no disrespect, but we’re not here to discuss the past. The what-ifs have no bearing here.” He fixes the doctor with a firm gaze. “We’re here now to improve my wife’s future, and I’ll ask you to concentrate on that.”
Turning to look at him, my heart swells with awe and affection. How much do I love this man? His assertiveness, his unwavering focus on the present and our future together fill me with a sense of security and appreciation.
The doctor, taken aback, quickly regains her composure and nods. “Of course, Mr. Westbrook. Well, there is a lot of scar tissue. But I have discussed this with my team and Dr. Malbourne, who is the most renowned orthopedic surgeon in the country, and we came up with a treatment plan. While we are not certain it will give your hand its full mobility, there’s a potential for significant improvement.”
“How significant?” Cole asks for me, as I’m too lost in my mind to speak.
“Well, conservatively, I would say at least sixty percent better, but I hope to reach at least eighty percent improvement.”
I look down at my hand. Eighty percent better would change everything. I may not be the prodigy I once was, but with that, I would be a damn good violinist, and I’d be able to play again—maybe give actual classes—open my school one day. The possibility of playing my violin again, of reclaiming a part of my identity that I thought I had lost, fills me with cautious optimism.
Looking back at Cole, who’s meeting my eyes with so much hope, I almost weep.
“It seems that it’s worth the shot,” I say, turning back to the doctor.
She nods but rests her elbows on the desk. “Yes, but I won’t lie or sugarcoat it for you. It will be a long, tedious, and painful process.”
Of course, it would be; nothing ever comes easy.
The doctor’s explanation is thorough, a blend of professional detachment and empathetic understanding. She talks about the journey ahead—time-consuming, filled with hard work, but also laden with potential. Her experiences with similar cases bring a ray of hope, yet she emphasizes the importance of not delaying the treatment.
She turns off the screen after the explanation. “I know it is a lot to take in, but I really need to insist that if you wish to proceed, we need to book the surgery as soon as possible. I already have some artificial nerves ready for you, and we need to remove the damaged nerves and scrape all the cicatricial tissues to ensure that the muscles of your hands don’t get damaged.”
“I—” I turn to Cole.
“Can we have some time to think about it?” he tells her, keeping his eyes on me.
“Yes, of course. Whenever you’re ready, call Rebecca, and she’ll book you for the procedure.” She stands up. “Mr. and Mrs. Westbrook, it was a pleasure to meet you.”
“What do you think I should do?” I ask him once the door closes behind her.
“I’ll support you, whatever you choose to do,” he says, and the conviction in his voice bolsters my own resolve.
“It will be time-consuming, painful…” I trail off. “Not the best way to start a marriage, right?” I say with a little laugh.
“For better or worse, Angel. For better or worse. I want to be here for the painful and chaotic bit just as much as I want to be for the laughter and orgasms. I don’t want to be your husband only in the good moments; I want to be here in the darkness, too, to hold you so it doesn’t swallow you whole.”
Bringing my scarred hand up, I cup his cheek. “I want to do it.”
He turns his head and kisses my scar. “Then I’ll be there with you every step of the way.”
As we stand to leave, I notice his gaze drift to my hand, to the finger that remains bare. Instinctively, I follow his eyes, and a small, uncertain smile plays on my lips. “No ring yet,” I remind him.
“Yet?” he echoes, a flicker of hope lighting up his features.
“Yes, yet,” I affirm, allowing myself to entertain the possibility of what that “yet” might mean. It’s a small concession, an acknowledgment of the potential future we might build together. The word hangs between us, laden with unspoken promises and the weight of a decision not yet fully made.
As we walk out of the clinic, Cole lifts my hand, his lips brushing lovingly against the back of it. The simple gesture is filled with a depth of affection that resonates within me, warming my heart.
“I think it’s time you introduce me to your father,” he suggests as we step outside into the bright light of day.
I can’t help but roll my eyes playfully. “My father knows you. He was your coach for three years.”
He chuckles. A light-hearted sound that eases the tension from the clinic visit. “He knows Cole Westbrook, the billionaire player, not Cole Westbrook, his son-in-law.” There’s a playful glint in his eyes, but underneath it, I sense a serious undertone.
I sigh, knowing he’s right. My father knows him in one context, but this? This is entirely different. “Okay, fine. Cole Westbrook, the boyfriend. What do you say?”
The corners of his lips turn up in a satisfied smile. “I say that sounds perfect.”
“Let’s go this weekend,” I say as we get in the car. “I want to do that before the surgery. I don’t want him to have to go through all the rehab and anguish again.” I grimace. “I know you think you’re ready, but it’s not a pretty thing to witness.”
I see the pain in his eyes as he swallows hard. “I should have been there the first time around, but I sure as hell won’t leave your side this time. It may not be a pretty process, but it’s part of you, and everything that pertains to you is beautiful.”
I want to do things progressively with Dad. He went through enough in his life with losing Mom and then my accident. I want to introduce Cole in this new role, but also, there’s a part of me that isn’t ready to share the full weight of our recent decisions and the impending surgery. I want him to meet Cole, the man I’m learning to see in a new light, without the shadows of fear and uncertainty that currently hang over us.
As we drive back, my mind is abuzz with thoughts of how the weekend will unfold. It’s a step I’m both nervous and excited to take.
I glance at him, his profile set in concentration as he navigates the traffic. There’s a determination in his posture, a readiness to embrace whatever lies ahead. It’s this strength, this unwavering resolve, that gives me the courage to face my own uncertainties.
“Can we stop at the community center? I need to tell them I’ll be away for a while.”
“You really like it there, don’t you?” Cole knows me so well. He can read me like an open book.
“I never thought I would, but yes. I love working with these kids. It’s so… rewarding.”
Cole nods, a gentle smile playing on his lips. “Then let’s stop there. You should do what makes you happy.”
You make me happy, I think but don’t say it, not yet.
As we pull up to the community center, I feel a wave of affection for the place. It’s become a sanctuary for me, a place where I can give back and connect with these incredible kids. Each one of them has a story. A struggle. And being part of their journey, even if for a brief period, has been more fulfilling than I ever imagined.
Stepping out of the car, I take a deep breath. This is part of the life I’m building, a life that now unexpectedly includes Cole. I want him to see this part of me, the part that finds joy in the small moments, in helping others find their way.
As we walk into the center, the sound of children’s laughter fills the air, bringing an instant smile to my face. I introduce Cole to some of the staff and kids. He interacts with them with such ease and charm, showing a side of himself that’s gentle and genuine. Seeing him in this environment, away from the glitz and glamour of his usual world, adds another layer to my understanding of him.
After informing the staff of my upcoming absence, we head back to the car. His hand finds mine, his grip warm and reassuring. “They really like you here,” he observes, his voice filled with pride.
“Yeah, they’re amazing kids. They need someone to believe in them,” I reply, my heart full of joy.
“Maybe the Westbrook Foundation could make a donation to the center; what do you think?”
“That would be great. More children should have the opportunity to come here.”
Cole’s smile turns tender as we cross the street back to the car. “Our children will be lucky to have you.”
My stomach jolts, and I miss a step. It’s only his strong hold that is stopping me from falling down.
“Too soon?”
“You think?”
He laughs. “Relax, Angel. I don’t want our babies now. We’re far too young for that, and we need to have a lot of fun together before. I’m just saying when the day comes, they’ll be lucky to have you.”
I shake my head, trying to calm my racing heart. I’ve fantasized about such a future before.
His words, playful yet profound, are so typical of him. Moments like these, where he hints at a life together, stir a mix of excitement and fear in me. The idea of starting a family with him feels both overwhelming and wonderfully captivating.
As we settle back into the car, my thoughts drift to those dreams of a future where Cole and I build a life beyond our intense romance. With his hand in mine, what once felt like a far-off fantasy now seems tantalizingly close.
The drive back to my apartment is quiet, filled with meaningful glances and unspoken promises. Upon arrival, Cole’s earnest blue eyes meet mine. His soft, reassuring kiss is a testament to our deep bond — one that has weathered storms, mistakes, passion, and pain. As we part, I feel a renewed sense of resolve to embrace whatever lies ahead with him.
“I’ll see you tonight,” he says as I step out of the car, his gaze lingering on me for a moment longer.
I watch him leave, and I’m filled with fear, uncertainty, but also a growing sense of hope. Hope that maybe this unconventional path we’re on could lead to something beautiful.
As I head inside, I’m greeted by the familiar faces of Poppy and Nessa, their expressions filled with curiosity and concern. I know they’re eager to hear about the appointment.
I take a deep breath, ready to share my story—our story. It’s a story that’s still being written, one filled with unexpected twists and turns, but it’s ours. And as I start to speak, I realize that no matter what the future holds, I’m not facing it alone. I have Cole, and I have my friends, my support system.
No matter what, with them, I’ll be okay.
