The Choices I've Made Read online

  Copyright © 2017 by J.L. Berg

  All rights reserved.

  Visit my website at www.jlberg.com

  Cover Designer: Sarah Hansen, Okay Creations, www.okaycreations.com

  Cover Photography: Regina Wamba, Mae I Design, www.maeidesign.com

  Editor: Jovana Shirley, Unforeseen Editing, www.unforeseenediting.com

  Ami Waters, Book Glam, www.bookglambyami.com

  Interior Formatting: Champagne Book Design

  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without the written permission of the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  ISBN-13: 978-0-9983912-3-6

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Other Books by the Author

  Dedication

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Epilogue

  Coming Soon…

  Other Books by the Author

  Playlist

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Other Books by J.L. Berg

  The Ready Series

  When You’re Ready

  Ready to Wed

  Never Been Ready

  Ready for You

  Ready or Not

  The Walls Duet

  Within These Walls

  Beyond These Walls

  Behind Closed Doors

  The Cavenaugh Brothers (includes Within These Walls, Beyond These Walls, and Behind Closed Doors)

  Lost & Found

  Forgetting August

  Remembering Everly

  The Tattered Gloves

  Fraud

  Dedicated to my very own high school sweetheart. Thank you Chris for giving the crazy girl who dumped you twice in junior high another chance. Who knew it’d last forever? I love you babe.

  ALL MY BAGS WERE PACKED. The back of my truck was full to the brim.

  I was really leaving.

  With one last look at the bright blue house I’d called home since birth, I hopped in the truck and started the ignition.

  I knew he was watching me from the window. I knew he wanted to run out here and beg me not to go and hug me good-bye, all at the same time.

  But I’d told him not to.

  And, after everything my father and I had been through over the last few months, it was the least he could do for me.

  The sun had barely risen over the tide as I made my way out of town. Seeing the last few shops fall behind me made my heart squeeze tight in my chest. I swallowed hard and kept going.

  There was one last stop I needed to make.

  Several miles out of town with no marker or sign to indicate it was coming, I pulled off the road and turned off my headlights. The light from the sun was enough now.

  And I knew this spot like the back of my hand.

  Grabbing what I needed from the front seat, I shoved it in the pouch of my hoodie and began the short walk to the beach.

  How many times had I made this same path over the last eighteen years? A hundred times? A thousand? It had been my playground as a kid and a place we could escape to as teenagers. Growing up in a small town gave us few choices to act out and be kids, especially when your graduating class was a grand total of five.

  By the time I reached the exact spot I’d set out for, the sun was bright, and the day was new. Looking down at the sand, I let out a sigh. Without room for tools or shovels in my truck, I guessed I would be doing this the old-fashioned way.

  With my hands.

  Dropping to my knees, I began the tedious process of digging a hole.

  A deep one.

  All those years of building castles had at least given me some skills. Within no time, I had a narrow hole in the sand for my tiny treasure.

  I was officially a pirate.

  Reaching into the pouch of my hoodie, I pulled out the small wooden box. My fingers ran over the intricate pattern. It had taken me all semester to carve them. Art class at our school usually consisted of simplistic things, like painting and modeling clay. A small grant won by our school had afforded us a few woodworking tools this year, and I’d gravitated to them. I loved the precision and detail required. My hands were naturally steady, and I worked well under pressure.

  My friends all thought I was nuts, obsessing over a box. But it had become the one thing I could focus on when everything fell apart.

  When I lost my anchor.

  But, now, it was time to bury the past and everything with it. The wooden box and all the promises it carried within it.

  Dropping it into the sand, I carefully covered it, one layer at a time.

  There was no need for markings.

  I’d remember this spot for as long as I lived. This place, this island, was etched onto my skin forever.

  The blue house, the little inn with the yellow room, and the beautiful girl I’d be leaving behind.

  Nothing but a distant memory scattered to the wind.

  “BUSINESS OR PLEASURE?”

  I turned in my seat after just boarding a plane at Chicago O’Hare. There, settling in next to me, was a petite blonde, dressed neatly in a trim suit that did amazing things to her body.

  Smiling, I answered, “A bit of both, I guess.”

  Hearing my response, she paused.

  “You’re Southern, right? Do I detect a hint of a North Carolina drawl in there somewhere?”

  The accent. It always stumped people.

  It was the exact reason I’d hoped to be alone for this flight.

  After booking it at the last minute, I’d managed to claim the last first-class seat on the small jet, giving up my preferred aisle seat for the window.

  I’d planned on bribing the person in the front row to switch. When you were six foot four, any amount of extra legroom was appreciated, but seeing my possible companion for the next two hours, I swiftly changed my mind.

  “You’re correct, ma’am,” I answered, adding a little extra to the accent I usually tried to mask.

  If it led to me getting laid, I’d use all the charisma my Southern roots had afforded me. It worked like a charm. I watched her face light up like a damn Christmas tree in the dead of winter.

  “How’d you become so savvy in detecting the subtleties of Southern dialects? Or are North Carolina boys just of particular interest to you?”

  She giggled.

  A damn giggle. Jesus, I was wasting my time.

  She pushed a strand of hair behind her ear, giving me a quick glance, and her face flushed as I took her in.

  She was young. no more than twenty-three I’d wager. She sat in first class like it was a habit rather than a luxury. I took another moment to study her—the professional suit and megawatt smile—and it suddenly made sense.

  Probably a sales rep, I decided.

  “I went to the University of North Carolina at Cha
pel Hill,” she explained. “My roommate was a native, and it didn’t take long to memorize the way she said certain things.”

  “We are a specific breed,” I joked, watching those baby blues light up with delight. “So, tell me, how did you get from UNC to selling pharmaceuticals?” I said, glancing down at the large black carry-on under her seat with a bright white company logo I instantly recognized.

  A look of surprise crossed her flawless features.

  “How did you know?” She laughed before adding, “You must be a doctor!”

  I scrunched my shoulders. “Guilty. Actually, I’m a surgeon at MacNeal, here in Chicago.”

  “Well, isn’t that a coincidence? I work MacNeal. What specialty?”

  “I’m a Cardiothoracic surgeon,” I answered, watching her gaze linger a bit on my empty ring finger.

  This no-name pharmacy rep had a thing for doctors, I was guessing. And damn if she wasn’t trying to hide it. She was most likely making a fortune, flirting with lonely doctors and their hospital staff, as she searched around for Dr. Right.

  Too bad for her, that wasn’t me.

  But I’d enjoy the hell out of flirting with her.

  I didn’t deal with pharmaceuticals much, but I’d probably buy anything she threw my way just to spend a little more time checking her out. With those good looks and killer set of green eyes, she could have worked her way to the top in a matter of months.

  “Well, it’s a shame we’ve never met before now,” she said. “Makayla Roads.”

  She politely held out her hand, but I knew it was undoubtedly just a ploy to touch me, one that I graciously acknowledged.

  I stretched my hand out toward hers. “Jake Jameson.”

  Her small hand felt warm and silky in my large palm. I lingered, running my thumb over hers before letting go.

  “Jake? Is it short for anything?” she asked, clearly flustered by the intimate gesture.

  “No, ma’am,” I replied. “My mother—God rest her soul—wasn’t fond of formality. So, I’m just Jake. Plain and simple.”

  “I doubt there’s anything plain or simple about you, Dr. Jameson.”

  My jaw twitched as I tried to keep the dazzling smile plastered across my face.

  I took the compliment, nodding as I gave myself a moment to regain my composure. Mentioning my mother had been an accident.

  One I rarely made.

  Just the mere mention of her had a thousand memories swimming back to the surface. I quickly stuffed them back down.

  “So, you’re headed back to North Carolina then?” I asked in an attempt to keep the conversation rolling. Now that I knew her proclivity for nailing doctors, I might not be ready to join the Mile-High Club with her, but she was entertaining nonetheless.

  “My best friend’s wedding,” she answered. “We always knew she’d be the first one down the aisle.”

  I couldn’t help but notice the twinge of jealousy in her voice.

  “And why’s that?” I asked as the flight attendant came around and took drink orders.

  Makayla ordered a glass of wine while I stuck with a Bloody Mary.

  “She’s been with her boyfriend for ages. High school sweethearts. Can you believe it? We’re twenty-four, and those two have already been together for ten years.”

  I cleared my throat, regretting my choice to relocate now.

  Rather than an easy distraction like I’d hoped, this girl had managed to once again leave me speechless as the years seemed to melt away before my eyes.

  “We’re the lucky ones, Jake. How many people find each other at fourteen?”

  It felt like yesterday when she had said those words to me. I could still hear the sound of the waves lapping at our feet as we’d curled up on the beach just before sunset.

  We had been the lucky ones.

  Or at least, we could have been.

  But I’d chosen a different life. One that didn’t include her.

  “And what about you?” she asked. “Visiting family back home?”

  I nodded. “Yeah. Something like that.”

  “That sounds nice. I’m sure they’ll be thrilled to see you.”

  “I’m sure,” I answered passively, eager for that Bloody Mary that was soon to come my way.

  We continued to make small talk as the final passengers boarded the plane, and then we took off for Raleigh, but my heart wasn’t in it anymore.

  It was miles away.

  Years away.

  Because, soon, all those bottled-up memories would filter back to the surface…and I wasn’t sure I was prepared for the consequences.

  With a crumpled-up phone number in hand, I said my good-byes to the overly eager Makayla and headed out of the airport.

  The first breath of that sticky Southern air just about knocked me backward.

  It was barely April, and already, the humidity had found its way to North Carolina. It smelled sugary, like sweet tea on the porch. It smelled like flowers and sunshine and afternoon bike rides.

  It smelled like regret and sorrow.

  Although I hadn’t been here in years, I hadn’t forgotten my way around. I took a quick glance across the baggage claim area, locating the rental car area almost immediately. The Raleigh airport hadn’t changed a bit, and as I ambled my way toward the shuttle that would take me to the rental area. I found myself smiling as fond memories of college football with the gang and long road trips to this small airport with my family to pick up relatives came rushing back.

  A life that had long ago since passed.

  I should have flown to Norfolk, I said to myself.

  It was the shortest distance by car and didn’t carry nearly as many memories as this town did, but I’d wanted the driving time.

  The preparation time.

  No doubt, that feeling I was getting in the pit of my stomach would become a permanent fixture in my belly for the next several days.

  Hell, the next few months, I reminded myself.

  Especially when I saw her.

  Molly McIntyre.

  The girl who had once been my entire world…until, one day, she wasn’t. I’d thought I’d never see her again. I’d counted on it. I had left that life behind and everything that went with it. But, when I’d gotten the call last week, informing me of my father’s death, I had known our paths would soon cross.

  No one ever really left Ocracoke Island.

  At least not when you were a native. To the eight hundred or so people who called it home, Ocracoke Island was a treasure. A glimpse of the past, where life moved slower and the word neighbor still meant something.

  To me, however, it was simply the place I had grown up. A stopping point that had eventually catapulted me to where I was now, and I’d never had any intentions of returning.

  But my father had worked his magic, making it impossible for me to stay away.

  I should have known.

  “You must be present at the reading of the will,” the lawyer informed me over the phone. He was formal and to the point, ignoring the fact that, twenty years earlier, I’d been one of his best friend’s kids rather than just a nameless benefactor.

  “That’s horseshit, Alan. You and I both know my father wouldn’t have put such a ridiculous stipulation on his will. Besides, I don’t want anything anyway,” I said, hearing his immediate sigh, knowing he’d been caught in a lie.

  “He said you would say that.”

  “Then I guess I’m predictable. Just send me a copy in the mail, and give away his stuff to someone else, or donate it—hell, I don’t care. I don’t want anything to do with it.”

  “We need you here Jake.”

  My hands went through my hair. “I’ll come back for the funeral and make all the arrangements. That’s all I can give you—a single day.”

  “He left you the practice, Jake,” he finally said.

  “Jesus, Alan,” I said, hearing the regret in his voice. “Why would he have done that?”

  “Because he knew it was the only way t
o bring you back for good.”

  And he was right.

  If I chose to ignore it, the medical practice my father had kept and maintained for more than forty years would fall apart in a matter of weeks. With only one doctor and a single nurse doing the jobs of five, I knew they’d never get anyone in their right mind to take the position.

  At least, not right away.

  As much as I wanted to ignore it, to forget about every person who could be affected by his death, I knew I couldn’t.

  Do no harm.

  That was the oath I had taken when I became a doctor.

  I had to go.

  I had to help.

  And he’d known it all-too well. Even in his death, my old man was pulling the strings, navigating my life from the grave, as he tormented my conscience. So, here I was, about to leave the airport to drive three hours through North Carolina to go back to my hometown.

  Back to everything I’d left behind. Everything I’d tried to forget.

  The chief of surgery at MacNeal Hospital had been oddly gracious over my plight. Giving me an extended leave had left him short a surgeon. It had taken some serious work to rearrange my schedule. But, now, I had two months ahead of me to get my father’s practice back on track and out of my life for good.

  Revving the engine of the practical little car I’d adopted as my own, I headed onward. The car was nothing fancy, but it’d get the job done. I’d never been overly attached to cars. Having driven a beat-up truck through most of college had taught me to remain humble. Or maybe my father would have taken credit for that as well.

  Nevertheless, living in downtown Chicago for the last several years had required more trips on the Red Line than an actual car.

  But I did love a nice ride in the country every now and then. Settling into the nondescript black sedan, I tried to convince myself this was no different.

  Just a leisurely drive.

  I managed to keep this mantra going for a few hours until I hit the coast. Then, reality set in.

  I really was going back.

  Still in off-season, the Outer Banks of North Carolina was still quite peaceful, catering to mostly locals until the population tripled almost overnight the second summer hit. Soon, these quiet shops and empty beaches would be filled with families from all over the world, spending their precious money for a slice of what locals enjoyed year-round.