The Choices I've Made (By the Bay #1)

Chapter Nine: Jake

It had been a long first day at the clinic.

After leaving By the Bay late last night, I'd found myself heading toward the clinic rather than the home I was trying to avoid.

I'd flipped on the lights as soon as I walked in and ventured down the empty halls until I reached the door of my father's office. Taking a step inside, I could smell the worn books and cologne he'd always used. It'd hurt—a visceral pain that dug deep into my gut—as I walked around this familiar space, knowing he'd never grace this building again.

We might not have been a perfect father-son duo—far from it actually—but I couldn't discount how much he'd meant to the people of this island. That night, I'd settled into my dad's old wooden chair, placing my feet on the solid wood desk, and counted down the hours until morning.

Sleep had once again evaded me. In the few moments that I had drifted off, I'd dreamed of a blue-eyed baby with hair the color of the sun. She'd looked up at me with wonder and trust, knowing I'd do anything to keep her safe.

When I'd awoken, I'd ached all over, hating the creaky chair more than I had as a kid. My dad had always been the type to keep everything until it was literally falling to pieces. He'd approached his clinic and office with much of the same. Every piece of furniture in this office was worn and filled with memories.

I could still see him, sitting in that shabby leather chair, worrying over the patients he'd seen.

Had he made the right decision? Should he have done more?

Could he have done more?

The stress of the job had eventually gotten to him, and he'd turned to the bottle for comfort. When you were drowning your worries in alcohol, the choices of the day didn't seem nearly as heavy. This one decision had changed our lives forever.

And I hadn't been sure how to return here, as if nothing had happened.

But, somehow, I'd made it through the day. I'd introduced myself to patients, most already knowing my name. Several old ladies had pinched my cheeks, saying how handsome I'd turned out. And everyone had offered their condolences on the death of my father, who was, in everyone's opinion, a stellar human being.

If they'd only known.

My father's drinking habits had been kept a secret from most of the residents of the town. Finding out their only doctor was a drunk wouldn't have been exactly the best idea for keeping the clinic in business. Those who had known kept their mouths shut, and those who hadn't known never noticed anything out of the ordinary.

A widower was entitled to his privacy after all.

During my first day, I had seen around fifteen patients. A full day of allergy meds, sprained wrists, and the common cold, both locals and tourists alike.

Of course, they'd all wanted to know if I was staying.

"It's up in the air at the moment," was all I'd say.

I didn't want to breach their trust in me on my very first day by announcing I had no intentions of staying and that I couldn't wait to get back to my normal life. There'd been a Jameson doctor on this island for decades. Naturally, everyone assumed nothing would change.

And, for now, I'd allow them to believe it.

It had been a stressful day, and that meant a lot coming from a man who performed twelve-hour surgeries. I felt emotionally exhausted. I'd done a stellar job of convincing myself that this wasn't actually happening. With the delay from the accident and the weekend with Molly, I could almost believe my stay here was temporary—a simple vacation back home.