Page 70 of Stolen Dreams
For three and a half days, all I’ve gotten from Ray is silence. No texts. No calls. Nothing.
One night in his bed andpoof, gone.
To be fair, I haven’t reached out to him either. I’m also not the person who suggested I leave minutes after we had mind-warping sex for the first time. That was all him. Which is why patching up the way we left things is on his shoulders.
As a single parent who has more to worry about than himself, I understand why he asked me to leave. I never anticipated a relationship with Ray would be easy. But his delivery ripped everything to shreds. And his timing. The sweat barely dried on my skin before he kicked me out of his bed.
“Ugh,” I huff out, shoving hanger after hanger left to right in my closet in search of something for the conference today.
Clarissa has been on the receiving end of my frustration since Monday morning. I didn’t want to disrupt her vacation, but she initiated the first text, asking how cooking school was going.She followed the text with several sexually suggestive emojis and GIFs.
So, I poured my heart out. Mostly. I left out the finer details.
She offered to fly back early and beat Ray’s ass with the stupid stick. I told her to stay put and do what she’s always done, what I’d do for her in a heartbeat—be there for me when I need her—just from a distance.
I settle on Yale-blue slacks with a matching double-breasted blazer, a black blouse that shows a hint of cleavage, and black heels. It’s rare I wear suits to work, but I enjoy the sporadic opportunity to put one on.
Slipping on the slacks and top, I cross to the bathroom and get to work on my hair. My fingers weave the long strands, braiding the length into a loose plait that rests over one side of my chest. Once secured, I dab on a light coat of makeup and lip gloss before a spritz of perfume.
Back in my room, I tie the leather cords on my quill and bead cuff bracelet, fastening it on my left wrist. Giving myself a last once-over, I slip on my heels, grab the blazer from the bed, and exit the room.
Tea-filled travel mug in hand and my bag slung over my shoulder, I walk out the front door, lock up, and slide behind the wheel of my car. Stomach in knots, the leather of the steering wheel complaining under my grip, I drive toward the Stone Bay Performing Arts Center. Ahead of schedule, I drive slower than usual. Do some breathing exercises to center myself.
Inhale… focus my energy on the seminar and how it can benefit my work. My career. My students. They are what matter.Exhale… eliminate every other thought and let the past go, at least for now. The past is invariant, so there is no sense in dwelling on it.
By the time I find a parking spot, a sense of calm replaces my earlier frustration. Exiting the car, I walk to the entranceand wait by the doors for my parents. In front of the three-story stone and glass building, I scan the sea of professionals crossing the lot to attend one of the largest conferences Stone Bay has held for the medical community. Unfamiliar people pass, a smile on their faces as they wave. I return the gesture and stand a little taller.
Pride washes over me as I join countless peers for a seminar some consider insignificant to my line of work. Some doctors refuse to look beyond their specific field to see all branches of medicine, including mental and behavioral health, are interconnected. The body has individual parts like a machine, but they all work in symbiosis for one purpose—to live. The sooner more medical professionals connect the dots and come to terms with how intertwined everything is within the body, the sooner we can find solutions for countless people.
Mom and Dad greet me minutes later, and we head inside to find our seats in the grand auditorium. The majority of the seats are filled, the din of buoyant chatter bouncing off the tall ceiling, mezzanine, and private booths along either wall.
We find our seats, and each pulls out our preferred method of note-taking, settling into the cushy center-stage chairs. As I scribble the title of today’s seminar on a fresh piece of paper, the crowd quiets.
“Good morning,” a woman greets, and I look up to see Felicity West—the current matriarch in the West family and one of the Stone Bay Seven. “I’m honored to announce our guest today, a renowned neurologist from Colorado, whose advancements in medicine are changing the way medical professionals treat their patients. His discoveries have not only saved lives but also improved them.” If Felicity West could smile any brighter, we’d all pay a visit to the optometrist later. “Please help me welcome Dr. Adriel Hatathli.”
The auditorium erupts into cheers as everyone rises to their feet and welcomes the guest of honor. Due to my height and that of the three men in front of me, I’m unable to see Dr. Hatathli cross the stage.
Part of me wishes I had done research before today’s seminar. An internet perusal to know the man behind the accolades. To at least know what he looks like, in case I saw him on the street.
But I’ve been a bit distracted.
We take our seats as the applause dies down. I set my paper and pen in my lap, poised to take notes, then glance up to see the opposite of what I expected.
Black hair slicked back and secured near the nape of his neck, a long, thin braid settles over his spine. Warm, golden-brown skin highlights his sharp jawline and soft cheekbones. Gait long and shoulders back, his presence dominates the vast stage at the head of the room.
He takes the microphone from Felicity and says something we are unable to hear. Then he turns and faces the audience, a radiant smile in place.
My stomach flips and pulse quickens.
This is bad. Very, very bad.
Not only is this man brilliant, he’s beyond handsome. Which makes telling my parents I’m not interested in spending time with him that much harder.
“Good morning,” he says, the baritone in his voice vibrating my bones. “I’d like to thank Dr. Sakari Imala and Dr. Tikaani Imala for inviting me to this wonderful town.” He tips his head in gratitude in our direction, and we do the same. “It is my honor to share what I’ve learned with you all.”
He shares details about himself, why he chose a career in medicine, and what he hopes everyone will take away fromtoday’s seminar. His tone is reposeful, pleasant, a timbre I could listen to for hours without tiring of it.
Everything in the room tunnels as I focus on Adriel. I mindlessly scribble notes as he lectures and goes through a slideshow. Jot down information I’d never considered with my students. More than anything, I try to focus on why I am here. But it proves challenging every now and then.