Dr. Brandt: Billionaires’ Club Book 5 (Billionaires’ Club Series)

When we walked up the steps to Cam’s beach house, my nerves were still tense from Jackson’s episode.

“Where can I get him some water?’ I questioned. Jackson was always thirsty and highly exhausted after a seizure.

“Already ahead of you,” Cameron said, walking over to his outdoor kitchen, which was nicely situated on his patio.

He was back before I could blink, handing the water to Jacks. “How’s the grip?” Cameron asked.

“Okay. Not as good as it should be, though,” Jacks answered.

“You just need to rest a little bit, buddy,” Cam said, walking to the sliding glass doors and leading us into his home.

“No kidding,” I heard Jacks answer with a smile in his voice.

It was almost eight in the evening, and if we were at home, Jacks would’ve probably been out for the rest of the night after having a seizure this late. It was his second seizure of the day, forcing me to acknowledge how badly he needed the surgery even though I was struggling to accept that, by going forward with it, he would lose the ability to do what he loved, play sports.

I needed to talk to Cam.

“I have a game room and theater downstairs. This level has an indoor pool, spa, gym, and, best of all, lounge seating. You know, all the good stuff for enjoying the view of the shore. Upstairs is all bedrooms, so if you just want to crash, pick your room,” Cameron announced while we walked through his immaculately decorated home.

“Wow, you sound like you’re selling us this beachfront real estate, Dr. Brandt,” I said with a smile, seeing Jack’s lips turn up into a lazy grin.

Jacks smeared his hand over his forehead and took a sip from the bottle of water Cameron had handed him. “I’ll just chill here,” he said, walking across the large living area surrounded by opened floor-to-ceiling sliding glass walls.

The cool breeze flowed nicely from the shore over the patio lining each side of this square home. The house wasn’t too cold, given the wall that didn’t have the ocean views, and it had a long custom gas fireplace that had warmed the room just enough to knock any extra chill out of the air.

I walked over to where Jackson sat on the chaise part of Cam’s soft cream-colored sofa. Everything was so relaxed in this home. But of course, it was Cam’s, and I would expect nothing less than a Cape-Cod style beach home décor. It was airy, spacious, and spotless with zero clutter.

“Damn, looks like you’re still Clean-Cam, eh?” I teased.

I was met with a dark stare from Jackson when my motherly instincts took over, and I grabbed a throw from the other side of the sofa and placed it over Jacks as if he were three.

“Seriously, Mom?” Jacks said as if I’d embarrassed him in front of a girlfriend.

I heard Cameron stifle a laugh, prompting me to turn back and look at him, watching me piss off my poor kid.

“Moms, right?” Cam said as he smiled at Jackson with a wink. “Don’t worry, my mom would’ve done the same thing to me too, kid.”

“Sorry, Jacks,” I cringed at my behavior. “Instinct, I guess?”

Jacks yawned, his eyes looking heavy, and I knew it was time to let him quiet down and relax. “Mm-hm,” he said, gazing out at the horizon and watching the sun’s fiery sparkles on the water as it began to set.

“We’re going to be just outside; you cool in here?”

“All good, Mom,” Jacks mumbled in response, doing everything in his power to stay awake after the seizure.

This was normal. Routine. His life, and the reason I wanted these seizures eradicated. They stole so much from him, and it killed me to watch him go down like this, knowing that most kids his age were out enjoying their summer nights while mine was drifting off to sleep, unable to enjoy the night he was looking forward to.

“This way, Jessa,” Cam said, standing in the open area across the room. “The porch wraps around the house, and all roads pretty much lead to the beach patio.”

I glanced one more time at my exhausted and now passed-out son.

“I’m sorry we ruined dinner,” I said. “It seems that carne asada you were barbequing out here was on track to be delicious until the damn seizure ruined things.”

“You always apologize for things that are out of your control?” Cam questioned as he walked through his patio. Party lights were strung throughout, adding a lovely ambiance.

“No,” I said defensively. “Well, I have no idea. I apologize if I feel bad for upsetting someone or disrupting plans.” I shrugged.

Cam fired up his kitchen grill to heat the meat he’d had on the grill before he came to greet us, then walked to a nook area into which a large stainless-steel fridge was inset. “Beer? Water, tea, juice?”

“Beer is good,” I answered with a smile.

He reached in, grabbed a beer, twisted off the cap, and handed it to me.

“Don’t ever apologize for your son having a seizure.” He brought his beer to his lips, eyed me, and then used the barbeque fork to flip over the meat.

“I just feel bad, Cam,” I said. “You went out of your way—”

“Jessa, don’t worry about it,” he cut me off, turned off the flames, and pulled the meat onto a large platter that he’d prepared for us to make our steak tacos. “But you will have to apologize to me if you don’t eat this delicious meal that I spent a whole twenty minutes preparing. Follow me. The table is set over here.”

He led the way through banana leaf trees lit with outdoor pink and blue lighting.

We followed a narrow brick path through landscaping that must’ve cost thousands upon thousands of dollars, concealing a private eating area with views beyond the patio of the ocean. It was a trip to see how tropical and lush this spot was, knowing that just through the trees to our left, the crazy boob-lady lived. You would never guess there were homes so close by with the privacy of all this landscaping and the outdoor brick fireplace that sat off to the back of the table.

“This is really nice,” I said, sitting and placing a napkin over my lap.

“Thanks,” Cam said. He took a serving of rice, beans, and two steak strips and placed them on my stone plate. “Cilantro? I know you hate sour cream, but I can’t remember if you like cilantro?”

“Love it. Where’s the guacamole?” I asked with a smile.

“Shit,” he said after popping a bite of steak into his mouth and licking the flavors off the tip of his fingers. “Give me a sec.”

He jumped up and disappeared through the tropical forest of trees behind us.

I sat there, inhaling the salty air. I didn’t know what I would do without this refreshing, therapeutic ocean air after we moved. I was becoming way too spoiled by it.

“Don’t think about that shit now. One stressful issue at a time,” I said under my breath.

“So, when did you start talking to yourself?” Cam asked.

I narrowed my eyes at him after he smiled, sat, and then set a large stone bowl in front of me filled with guacamole.

“Jesus, did you cut down an entire avocado tree to make this tonight?” I questioned while my stomach growled at the sight. I couldn’t dip a tortilla chip in it fast enough.

“One would think. Trust me, it tastes a lot better than it looks,” he said, nodding toward the steak on my plate that I hadn’t touched.

“It looks delicious, sorry,” I said.

“Sorry again, huh?” he questioned, arching an eyebrow of disapproval at me.

“That bothers you?”

“I just don’t understand what the fuck you feel you need to apologize for?”

“Hurting your feelings by not eating your food,” I stated while he shoved nearly half of his taco in his mouth and held up a finger for me to pause.

I grinned and proceeded to construct my steak taco while Cameron worked on chewing down his large bite of food.

“I don’t know. Enjoy it because I know you don’t ever remember a time when I apologized for shit with you,” I said.

He smiled and dabbed his napkin into each corner of his mouth. “Exactly.” He scooped some salsa with a chip and threw it back as if this were his last meal. “I guess what I find so bizarre is that you feel responsible for my feelings?”

“No,” I answered, “I feel responsible for hurting your feelings.”

“Right,” he said as if his point was being made, “and who said you hurt my feelings? Who gives a fuck if you hurt them or not? I’m a grown-ass man, and I can take it if someone doesn’t like something I do or don’t do.”

“Fine, then,” I rose to meet his challenging banter. “If you can handle it, then maybe you’ll be fine with me saying that I didn’t appreciate having to learn the hard way that Jacks will most likely be paralyzed for God knows how long after this miracle cure of a surgery.”

Cameron had eaten one and a half tacos in the time it took me to get all that out, all while putting a healthy dent into the guacamole.

“Now we’re getting to a place where we can actually have a conversation.” He placed a whole, guacamole-loaded chip in his mouth, and his dark blue eyes widened in humor as he chewed it up.

“Damn, when’s the last time you ate, a year ago?” I laughed, sat back, and proceeded to nurse my beer.

“I ate this afternoon, but lunch sure as hell didn’t taste as good as this does,” he winked, then leaned back and took a sip of his beer. “So, I need to understand what Jackson feels about the surgery. I’d hoped to get a little more out of him tonight, but the reason I need to perform this surgery in the first place got in the way of that.”

“If I’m honest—”

“And sorry?” he interrupted.

“Whatever,” I rolled my eyes. “I’m scared and sad for him.”

“Just scared and sad, huh?”

That response caught me off guard, “Yes, what were you expecting me to be?”

“You seemed pissed off earlier,” he said. “You have every right to feel that way.”

I grew more serious. “I am pissed off. None of this is fair to Jackson. The only way to stop him from having constant seizures isn’t by medication. Oh, no, no, no. That would be too easy. He’s got to have half of his fucking brain removed instead. That’s the solution.”

“And if that wasn’t unfair enough,” Cam said. His eyes locked onto mine, but his demeanor was cool as a cucumber. “He may not even walk again, much less play sports. It’s fucking bullshit, I know.”

“You know?”

“I fucking know. I’ve performed this surgery. You, yourself, met with one of my former surgical patients. So, you know what I’ve seen in Lisa alone.”

“Right,” I said. “It’s not fucking fair.”

“You’d rather have Jacks back on medication? After reading his charts, he was on, what, twenty pills a day to control them when they were steamrolling his ass?”

“That’s why he was walking around like a zombie.”

“But at least he was walking around, not having to deal with possible paralysis straight out of surgery and all the fucking work that goes along with rehabilitation?”

“Yep.” My frustration was rising, and I was glad I hadn’t eaten much because I was feeling sick. “What are the odds he may not survive the surgery?”

“Given that Jacks will be in my care and the care of my surgical team, the odds are very good, but there is always a chance of death in any surgery.”

“Why the fuck are you acting like this? I thought you had us over for dinner tonight to help us decide on this surgery.”

“That’s precisely why I invited you over for dinner, Jessica,” he said.

I was talking to Cameron the surgeon, the no-bullshit doctor, and he was an absolute dick.

“Is this how you pep talk all of your patients into having surgery?”

“Only the ones who will be on the fence for about a year or two while trying to make a decision.”

“Huh? That makes no sense.”

“It makes perfect sense. There are no gray areas here. Parents need to make a firm decision about whether they want to go ahead. Those who aren’t sure tend to call it off the day before, and I try my best to avoid that.”

“I’m not like most parents.”

“You’re a textbook fear-driven parent, Jessa,” he smiled. “It’s not a bad thing, but it can be if I don’t take care of this shit up front.” He took another sip of his beer, “You need to be faced with everything your mind will throw out at you to put a stop to this. This is a fucking serious surgery. It’s not to be taken lightly by the family or the patient. Unfortunately, Jacks is at the top end of the age for which we will perform this surgery. Within a year, he will no longer have this option, and there will be no other choice to help him. It fucking sucks, I know, and I wish there were more time to decide, but fuck me, there’s not. I would strongly advise that you not take long to decide.”

“Cam, sports are his life just like they were yours,” I said sadly. “It’s the life I was trying to get back for him, and now that isn’t going to happen either.”

“I completely understand that but shaking your fist at the sky and screaming that it’s unfair won’t change a goddamn thing,” he said softly. “Not every disease has a cure or even a treatment. But, lucky for Jacks, his condition is treatable. Will it leave him with a deficit? It very well might. Is that better than dropping into a seizure multiple times a day? You bet your ass it is.” He shifted in his seat. “It’s up to Jackson to find his drive to beat the odds. I, for one, am not programmed to let something defeat me, and I’m hoping Jacks may have gotten some of those wild genetics from me because if he has, he might beat all the fucking odds.”

He laughed after he saw me smile in confirmation that Jacks was just as stubborn and determined as his father.

“He’s got my blood in him, too,” I said proudly.

“Well, fuck,” Cameron said, taking another sip of beer and staring at the ocean.

“Well, fuck you too,” I laughed at his dramatics. “It’s probably why I know he’ll be fine coming out of the surgery.”

“You realize that his speech and smile will be impaired when he wakes up from this surgery? It could take nearly a month of solid determination just to get those two motor skills back.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, so while you’re proudly proclaiming the boy has your genetics and will pull out of it fine, we won’t know until after he apologizes for being unable to speak for a month.”

“Oh God,” I rolled my eyes. “There is not enough beer for your inability to be serious about anything.”

“You needed a break,” he grinned. “I could see the wheels turning in your head. Your eyes were nearly crossed, trying to stomach all of this shit, and I needed to knock you off balance a little bit.”

“Be honest, Cameron. I need to know what we’re up against.”

“All right, then,” he said, and then I wished I hadn’t asked for his candor. “Given his age and how mature his brain is at this age, honestly, he may never speak again. He may never regain function on the right side of his body. This is all dependent on the right hemisphere of his brain being able to pick up the functions that the left hemisphere normally is responsible for.” My hand instinctively covered the tiny gasp that escaped from my mouth as tears formed in my eyes.

“Jessa, I want to spend more time with him,” he said.

I brushed away the rogue tears and nodded.

“I need to see how strong he is,” he continued. “It’s not like there are any other options with this medical condition, as this hemisphere of his brain is storming and actively dying. But if you want reassurance, I need more time with him.”

“Yeah, okay,” I said.

“In the next couple of days, my friends and I are taking a trip to Monterey Bay to see the aquarium or some shit like that. You and Jacks should come. It will be fun, and aside from my friends, who I’m confident will adore you and Jacks, it will give me more time to assess him and form a better opinion. I don’t want to sugarcoat anything; I’ve got to shoot you straight because I do not want to give you false hope.”

I sighed in defeat. I was numb and didn’t care if we went to an aquarium, a park, or a fucking schoolyard for Cam to get more time with Jacks. Cameron offered to go above and beyond to assess the situation, which could only help things.

“It doesn’t matter whether you know Jackson’s personality or whatever the hell you’re looking for. What matters is the fact that he must do the surgery either way. He’s virtually fucked.”

Cameron stared at me sympathetically, then his lips parted into the sexiest smile, “Virtually fucked?”

“You heard me.”

“Loud and clear. Well, shit,” he rubbed his hand over mine, and I felt a spark of tingling sensations underneath his perfectly manicured fingertips. “Let’s hope to God he’s got more of my optimistic personality than yours because if that kid’s got a lot of you and not me, he is fucked.”

“You’re such an asshole sometimes.”

“He’s my kid too, Jessa. I mean, biologically. As I was talking with him tonight, I felt something insane, like some fatherly bonding.”

“Good grief,” I couldn’t resist running my hand along the sharp line of his jaw, “you’re adorable, Cameron Brandt. I love you.”

Oh fuck, I did not just say that out loud!

Worst of all, I said it with sincerity and tears in my eyes.

Cameron’s expression showed that all bets were off, and my ex just heard what I think he’d wanted to hear since we first saw each other at that resort.