Dr. Mitchell: Chapter 7

By the time dad’s Monday appointment rolled around, I was physically and mentally drained. We reached the hospital medical offices where we were to meet with the doctor. Yes, the doctor, and if the man only saw me as his patient’s daughter, then that’s the relationship we would move forward with.

I thought about changing dad’s appointment to another cardiologist, but after I’d googled Dr. Jacob Mitchell, MD, Chief of Cardiology, cardiothoracic surgeon, I quickly changed my mind. He was a world-renowned heart surgeon who’d won multiple medical awards, he’d graduated at the top of his class at Harvard Medical School, he was known for innovative treatment for his patients, and his success rate was through the roof. My dad was in the hands of an angel—and I somehow met the devil in the guy a year ago.

I rubbed my clammy palms together, more nervous than Dad, sitting in this luxurious office that was nicer than the tiny two-bedroom home we’d closed on a month ago in Burbank. Dad demanded we purchase the place after I secured a job in the city at a fabulous art gallery. Then the heart attack hit, and now here we sat…in the office of a guy that I screwed like some crazy woman and thought I’d never see again.

Don’t get me wrong, though. I never regretted a second of it. In fact, a tiny part of me wished I’d meet him in some crazy way again. I just didn’t think it would take the grim reaper showing up to find the man I couldn’t get off my mind since leaving that hotel in Frisco.

“Thanks. Push them out to four o’clock on Thursday, then.” I heard his voice before he knocked twice and opened the door to his office.

“You’re still set for your transplant tomorrow,” a female’s voice said firmly.

I glanced over at the long white sleeve that covered his beautiful hand as it rested on the door. He stepped back out of the office, and I heard his voice lower. “Is there some reason you’re telling me this as I’m about to meet with a new patient? Can this not wait?”

“I just wanted you to be aware.” Her voice sounded bitchy in response.

“Thank you,” he said curtly, then entered the room. “Good afternoon, Mr. Taylor,” he said to Dad before he eyed me with those stark blue eyes, and my heart raced in response to his serious expression. “I see you brought your daughter.” He leaned up against his desk casually. “Has she threatened to take any pain meds from you lately?”

I watched the handsome man smirk at my dad, his dark green shirt and gray tie tucked into his sharply pressed slacks with his white overcoat—or doctor’s smock—revealing his name and title that kept any thoughts of our previous wild night together far from my mind.

In this environment, he was definitely not Mitch from the wedding. Mitch from my dreams nearly every night since I left him, or Mitch, the man I continued to fantasize about every day since he turned my world upside down mentally and physically.

Dad gripped my shoulder, and I popped up on the couch, finding myself staring intently at the slate floor that his massive desk sat in the center of. I looked over at Dad’s confused expression and smiled.

“Did I miss something?” I tried to recover. “Sorry, long week,” I said, looking to see that Dr. Mitchell had seated himself in his chair behind the massive desk.

He cocked his head to the side, his eyes darker than ever, and expression seemed like he was disgusted that my head wasn’t in the game.

Dad laughed. “Gotta love my Ashley. She’s one to wander off whenever she sees beauty and art.” Dad pointed to the stunning skyline of Los Angeles through the million-dollar-view windows behind the doctor’s desk. “Anything to take your mind off the subject of your old man’s neglected heart.”

Dr. Mitchell smiled at me for the first time since seeing him again. “I believe any view of a skyline can keep one’s mind healthy and sober,” he said, glancing back at the view that mirrored the one on the rooftop where we chatted in San Francisco, and then back to the file he had on dad.

“Yeah,” I sighed. “So, what’s going on with my dad? Why did you take him on as a patient when you weren’t accepting new ones? Is it that bad?”

“Ash.” Dad patted my leg. “Don’t put me in the grave just yet.”

I rolled my eyes at Dad. His sense of humor was weird, but that’s what I loved about him.

“I need both of you to have an open mind, as I know there will be many questions.” He looked between dad and me. “Your enlarged heart suffered seventy-percent death due to the heart attack. I’ve also noticed the defect that you and I discussed is one you’ve had since birth. All of these can easily be corrected with surgery.”

“What kind of surgery are we talking about, Dr. Mitchell?” my dad asked in the voice he always spoke to my mom’s doctors in when they had that please have an open mind look on their faces.

His eyes shifted between my dad and me. Shit, this isn’t looking good. I felt tears well up in my eyes. “Not again.” I let the words slip out. I looked at Dad and held his hand. “I’m so sorry. I said I wouldn’t pull this on you, but I can’t help it.”

“Do either of you want to know why I am asking for you to keep an open mind?” Dr. Mitchell’s voice was slightly humored but calculated in its delivery. I could tell he’d done this talk numerous times and most likely dealt with the same reaction I was having.

“Go on,” I said stiffly, folding my arms and nervously bouncing my crossed leg.

“Unfortunately, Mr. Taylor, your heart is not likely to last another year, and so I would like to present you with a life-saving alternative.”

Oh my God, I thought and swallowed the spontaneous cry that almost escaped my lips, pressing down every emotion I had so I wouldn’t throw up.

“Very well, then,” Dad said. “What’s the plan?”

“Your blood type is very common, and a transplant—”

“Absolutely not.” For the first time since falling in love with Dr. Mitchell’s humor, wisdom, and wit, my dad snapped harshly at the man. “I won’t take the heart of a grieving family’s loved one.”

I looked at Dr. Mitchell’s calm expression as he nodded. “You’d be surprised at how many people share your sentiments,” he responded. “However, after having done numerous transplants, I can assure you that we have an amazing program. I’ve witnessed families of organ donors who have met the recipients—such a thing is not required, of course—but it can be quite healing for the family of the departed. Some feel that it’s a way of keeping their loved one alive.” He rubbed his chin, and I could see his eyes must have been revisiting one of these situations he’d witnessed.”

“I won’t do it,” Dad said, his voice shaking.

“Are there any other alternatives?” I asked numbly.

Dr. Mitchell seemed defeated in that instant, where I thought he’d press Dad harder. Then his eyes grew fierce and his cheeks flushed red as he sighed. “I can arrange for a Ventricular Assist Device, otherwise known as a VAD,” he said mechanically. “This will be inconvenient, but you would have needed it while awaiting a new heart anyway. The implant surgery must be arranged immediately, and it will help the thirty-percent functioning part of your heart to continue to do its job. Please allow me to make it clear that this machine is an assist to the heart, and it may not last longer than two or three years. A new heart would rid you of the defect you were born with, however, and I would be able to correct a lot of the issues your body has dealt with since birth if you chose to do that.”

“I just can’t.” Dad started tearing up, and that’s when I grew more serious.

“When will he go in for his other surgery?” I asked, not remembering the doctor’s jargon he was using.

“I have already opened my schedule up for the VAD implant a week from today at six in the morning,” he said, eyes pleading with mine. “I understand this is a lot for both of you. I can see where you both have suffered a lot over the last few years, but I must insist that both of you consider it. Allow me to help you, Mr. Taylor.”

Dad tried to stand, Dr. Mitchell and I rushing to help him. “Damn it,” he said in frustration. “I will set the appointment for the implant,” he grumbled through his tears. “The other isn’t gonna happen.”

I looked at Dr. Mitchell’s saddened expression, feeling torn myself.

“Ashley,” he said, my name rolling off his tongue like honey, “do you work, or are you available to remain at home to care for your dad after this surgery?”

“I work,” I said meekly, “but I’ll—”

“There is no need to call out of work,” Dr. Mitchell practically read my thoughts. “I’ll be sending an in-home healthcare nurse. The hospital provides nurses to be there as long as needed for patients in your father’s condition.”

“Thank you for that,” I said.

“Lisa will see both of you out, and I’ll be calling to discuss issues further should they arise,” he said, knowing my dad was pretty much walking out on him.

“Yes, Lisa’s been the one checking in with him, and she helped us when we got here,” I said about his stupidly hot redhead nurse.

The doctor left us to load dad in the transport van with what seemed to be a pissed-off expression, and I couldn’t get any of it out of my mind.

By the time we were home and settled, the nurse arrived, and we spent at least three hours going over Dad’s new lifestyle plans together. She was a Mexican lady named Carmen, and for the first time since Mom was gone, Dad was flirting and enjoying the company of a woman his age who had an awesome personality. Nurse Carmen even took me up on my offer to sleep in my room since I’d pretty much gotten used to sleeping on the couch after Mom got sick, and Dad pulled his shit on me. I was always scared to be sound asleep in my room should anything happen.

Dad and I sat alone in the living room after Carmen left to pick up his prescriptions. It was the night before his implant surgery, and I was nervous as hell. I wanted him to get the damn heart transplant, but he wouldn’t have it.

The stubborn man was convinced he was too old to take a donor heart from someone else who was younger and needed it more than he did. Carmen backed me up on the fact that being sixty-five wasn’t a death sentence. He was young! He wasn’t an old man who should let his life go because he felt he was too old to receive a transplant.

The computer seemed to be my best friend these days since work letting me off until Dad was settled and progressing well. In-home nurse or not, I wasn’t leaving Dad—not at least until this implant to assist his dying heart was done.

“You’re being selfish, Dad,” I finally said, pissed-off that he could be on a donor list, but he was wasting time by sitting around and not having this discussion again.

“Now you sound like your mother.” He smiled at me from his comfy chair, oxygen machine and all.

“Don’t even go there to get out of this,” I said, my legs curled under me on the sofa. “Why would you be okay to put me through all of this shit again?”

“Ashley,” he said. Even with a weak heart, on oxygen, and hardly mobile, he still acted like stern, old Dad. “We’re not having this discussion.”

“Fine.” I looked away from him. I didn’t want to work up his blood pressure. Surgery was tomorrow, and the last thing I was going to do was fight with him when this could be the last time we spoke.

Carmen walked in at that point. She was a perfect shade of sexy, and I prayed to God that I looked as vibrant and sassy as the woman when I hit my sixties. She was a great confidant too, not just for Dad, but for me also. She kept both of us looking at the brighter side of all of this, and I was grateful for everything she was doing to help us.

“We need to try and get some sleep,” I said. “We only get a couple of hours before you’re in the hospital being prepped for surgery tomorrow morning.”

Carmen backed me, and it wasn’t long after that I laid on the couch, wide-eyed and unable to sleep. I knew it would go down this way too. Shit, I’d be a wreck tomorrow. No big deal, though. My dad was only going into surgery with the hottest man alive.

I sat in the waiting room with another family who sat a corner, most likely waiting for those doors to open and someone walk through them to possibly change their lives forever with whatever came out of the messenger’s mouth.

“Another coffee?” Carmen asked after the doors opened, startling all of us who were waiting for the words we all seemed to be scared to hear.

“If this girl has another coffee, she’ll probably ruin the floors after pacing them,” my Uncle Ken said with a laugh.

He and Aunt Carrie were the best, but since they were in their late seventies, it was hard to relate to most of their conversations. Everything was political with the two, and it was severely exhausting. Dad loved it, though—I think he just loved arguing with them over the news.

Fuck, I can’t think. I rubbed my forehead and moved around the large waiting area of the surgical floor.

“Can’t we get some kind of news?” I asked, wondering what the hell could be happening in Dr. Perfection’s operating room.

Carmen looked at her watch. “It’s only been four hours, mija. Dr. Mitchell said this implant could take up to twelve hours, given the condition of your dad’s heart.”

I tightened my lips. Dr. Mitchell may have had a flawless record, but that was my dad in there under his knife. My dad, who was going against his solid advice of getting on the donor list.

Carmen’s phone rang after I sat, crossed my legs, and let the nervous leg bouncing commence.

“Carm?” I could have sworn I heard Dr. Mitchell’s voice on the other end of her phone since the volume was turned up way too high. “How are we doing out there?”

“Is that Dr. Mitchell?” I asked.

She held a finger up, smiled, and nodded at me. “We have one nervous young lady out here,” she answered in her enthusiastic voice.

“Understandable,” he said. “Can you hand her your phone, please?”

She handed me the phone while I stared in disbelief at what the fuck was going on. “Yes?” I said softly.

“Ashley,” he said, while I heard machines beeping, people speaking to each other—surgical talk. “I wanted to update you and let you know your dad is fine. It’s just taking us a bit longer due to some unforeseen issues that were easily repaired.”

“Are you in the middle of surgery?” I asked in shock.

“Yes,” he answered. “You’re on speakerphone.”

“Thanks for the warning. I was about to cuss you out for talking on the phone while my dad’s life was hanging in the balance.”

He chuckled, and strangely enough, my heart reacted to the calmness in his voice, and the staff in the background that seemed to act like this is how these sorts of things went with Dr. Mitchell.

“Dr. Chi, please?” I heard him say, ignoring me. Obviously, the guy is in the middle of surgery. “Thank you, Doc,” he said. “Still there, Ashley?”

“Yes.”

“All right. Well, we are progressing extremely well. I wanted to ensure you were updated after the current time in surgery was brought to my attention,” he said. “I believe we’ll be in here for another hour or ninety minutes.”

“Thanks for the update. Please just keep him safe.”

“My every intention, Miss Taylor,” he said. “Can you please hand the phone back to Carmen?”

I handed her the phone and shrugged at the family in the corner who was staring at us oddly as Carmen ended the call. I couldn’t blame them. Getting a call from a doctor performing surgery wasn’t something I’d ever thought I’d experience. The doors opened, bringing my attention to the doctor walking through them. Naturally, my heart would be pounding in my chest, wondering if this doctor was here to deliver news to them or me.

“The doctor is still in surgery, but she sent me out to inform you all that everything looks great,” the man said. “It’ll be close to an hour before we’ll be taking your son to recovery.”

“Thank you, Nurse,” they responded.

I looked over at Carmen who just hung up with the doctor. “Care to inform me what the hell our doctor was doing calling us while theirs sent a nurse?”

She patted my leg and leaned over to me. “The difference,” she lowered her voice, “is your surgeon is Dr. Mitchell.” She leaned back and smiled, smoothing her shiny, black hair over her shoulder. “He is known for calling out to the waiting room, or if a nurse is with his patient’s family, he calls the nurse.”

“He hasn’t killed anyone by doing that? I mean, there is a reason phones are the cause of distraction and most accidents,” I snapped, nervous and bewildered.

“No, no.” She shook her head. “I’ve heard many stories about his OR and staff.” She sat back in her chair. “The man is a genius with his skill, and he has a very level head. He’s extremely focused while performing the surgeries. It’s pretty much second nature to him.”

“I’ve never heard of that.”

“Even with all the googling you’ve done on Jacob?” She arched her flirty brow at me. “Well, he’s known for not only treating his patients like family but also for making sure the ones in the waiting room aren’t distraught.”

“He’s a damn fine doctor,” a man my dad’s age said from across the waiting room. “I hear they’re doing some interview with him this week or next.”

Carmen nodded. “They sure are. He deserves the recognition, but knowing Dr. Mitchell, he probably hates the circus around it.” She folded her arms, totally chill, and had me intrigued with the man I’d ended up fucking all night in a hotel room.

There was no telling what the good doctor thought of me. He didn’t act like our night together—where I knew him as Mitch—was as big of a deal as I thought it was. How in the hell was I so spun out on someone who seemed completely different than the man fixing my father’s heart?

There was Mitch, the man who knew his way around my body like he’d created it himself, and then there was Dr. Jacob Mitchell, the man who blew everyone’s fucking mind as a renowned surgeon. Both were an equal turn on, and now the pressing question was this: How fucking old was this guy? He’d looked my age, maybe a little older, when I met him. But to be a chief surgeon—and highly skilled one— with the media on his ass?

If I listened to the side of my head that loved fantasy novels, then he was an actual angel, hidden in a human’s body, and I had the privilege of meeting both sides of this angel who held my dad’s life in his hands. Call it instincts, his steady and humored voice during his in-surgery call, or just my total fascination with him—but I knew dad was in good hands.

Two hours later, the double doors automatically opened to reveal utter hotness in the dark blue scrubs and hat that concealed his probably messed-to-perfection hair. His eyes popped against the navy color he wore, and the light beard growth on his face made his razor-sharp jawline enticing.

“Miss Taylor?” he announced with three others trailing him.

I held back my gawking as I stood. I wasn’t going to drool over this man who made scrubs look sexy. I needed answers. “Yes,” I said on an inhale.

“Your dad is in recovery. He did extremely well.” He smirked. “Though his heart is as stubborn as he seems to be.”

“Yes,” I answered. “Thank God.” I wanted to collapse into his arms and thank this man for saving my dad.

“You’ll be admitted to his room once he’s moved into the CCU. Other than that, I’ll see him in the morning during my rounds.”

Carmen called after Dr. Mitchell, and I stood there, watching her walk alongside the tall man as the doors slowly closed to the waiting room after he left. I naturally envied the two blonde intern girls who came into the waiting room with him, and the young man seemed to look at Dr. Mitchell as if he were a god to be worshipped. They all carried looks of pride on their faces, and I could understand why. Working for a doctor like him must’ve been a dream come true in the medical field.

I slumped down into the waiting room chair and closed my eyes for what seemed to be the first time in the last twenty-four hours, finally relieved this was over, and now Dad had a machine helping his heart do its job.