by K. Bromberg
“You’re such a drama queen.”
“Always. All I have to say is, damn, can I get a rebound like that? I know my divorce was years ago, but Momma needs some of that.” She adds a nod for emphasis, and I take the chance to segue the conversation away from Slade and the ache in my chest every time she mentions his name.
“Besides, the last thing I need right now is to be distracted by a man when I have my big interview to prepare for.”
“That’s right!” Kelsie reaches out, grabs my hand, and squeezes. “But I don’t think you need much preparation. I can feel it in my bones that you’re going to nail it. It’s your time to shine, and I can’t wait to put my sunglasses on so I can watch you glow.”
I squeeze her hand in return, letting the comfortable silence of two best friends settle in the space between us.
I’m more than certain she sees how nervous I am about my impending interview this week.
And I let her.
Little does she know I’m nursing a broken heart and am too ashamed to admit it to her. Even worse, I’m too much of a coward to think I deserve what it is I really want.
Reciprocation of that last task on the to-do list.
That, and one Slade Henderson.
Slade
“Desk duty looks good on you, Henderson.”
I look over the piles of binders stacked on the desk in front of me and glare at Prisha. We’re in the bowels of the hospital, a windowless room with white walls and not much else other than paperwork, an ancient laptop, and more paperwork.
“I’m starting to regret offering to help Dr. Schultz log all of these test results from his study, but I was going out of my mind waiting.” I lean back in my chair and scrub a hand over my bleary eyes.
“It has to be a good sign that he’s letting you back in the hospital, right?” She leans a hip on the desk opposite of mine and stifles a yawn. “I mean, if he was going to kick you out of the program, one could assume he wouldn’t let you touch all of his beloved data.”
“That was my thought when he called, but now?” I point to the endless stacks of statistics to be logged. “Now, I’m not so sure.”
Prisha cocks her head to the side and eyes me for a beat. “You haven’t mentioned her, you know. You’ve been here five days, and we text all the time, but you haven’t brought her up other than to redirect the conversation.”
“That’s bullshit,” I argue but know she’s right.
“You’ve moved on just like that?”
I rub my bleary eyes before looking over to Prisha.
“Moved on?” I ask.
“Yeah. You played mountain man with Blakely and then you washed your hands of her? Such a classic Henderson move. Should I assume you’re actively looking for a new project to fix?”
I chuckle as much of a laugh as I can muster. “I didn’t wash my hands of her, Prish. I’m just elbow deep in this shit and trying to get my life back.”
“And?”
“And being on the outside, watching you guys run from one place to another, exhausted, scarfing down a meal when you can, and sneaking moments to sleep—”
“You miss every second of it.”
“Hell yes, I do. Desperately. But stepping back and seeing the dedication and sacrifice of it all right in front of me was a blatant reminder of why nothing ever stuck for me before with a woman. I don’t have the time or the bandwidth to manage that and do this.”
“Plenty of us do.”
“Good for you.”
“Lots of excuses and not much action. If that’s the case, she’s probably good to be rid of you.” She sighs before rolling her shoulders and then stretching her arms up.
“Very funny,” I murmur and toss my pen onto the desk.
“I’m serious. I liked her . . . and I think part of your misery is because you like her, too, but you aren’t quite sure what to do about it.”
“Thanks for the psych eval, but I’m good.”
But I’m not. I’m far from it. I fucking miss her. Her smile. The scent of her skin. The sound of her laugh. The sparkle in her eyes.
Fucking sap.
“I think part of Slade’s problem is he’s going through sex withdrawals,” John says as he walks in. “What is this? Party in the basement?”
“Something like that,” I mutter and fist bump John.
“You’re crazy, Prish, if you think Blakely was anything more than a little side fun for Slade. We all know how he plays.”
“Fuck off,” I joke as he winks at me.
“You ready for rounds?” John asks Prisha, who nods. “Later, lover boy,” he throws over his shoulder as they head down the hall. I’d give anything to be going with them.
My groan fills the room as I slump in my chair.
Is John right? Am I not at the point yet in my life where I can involve someone in my day to day? Where I can ask her to deal with the burden of my residency?
I close my eyes and wonder how I can justify asking Blakely to do this with me. She just ended a relationship where she wasn’t taken care of, so how can I ask her to have one with me when I’m gone more than I’m around. And in normal times, even when I am around, all I want to do is crawl into bed and sleep.
She deserves so much better than that.
We were in a fantasy situation on the retreat. It wasn’t real life.
Not to mention, I don’t even know how to have a relationship.
First world problems, I know.
But how do I invite her into this life when I’m hanging on by a thread most days?
I’m dragging ass. Big time. Missing her doesn’t make it any better either.
I pick up my phone to text her—something, anything to talk to her—but then second-guess myself.
Maybe I am wrong.
Maybe I am the one who developed feelings for her but she was just enjoying a little freedom sex after getting divorced.
Then again, when Testosterone Ted texted me the other day, he seemed to think we were still together. So, has she not publicly broken up with me in her office?
Not sure how to read that one.
I pick up my phone to call her, confront her . . . hear her voice, and just when I do, I’m called over the PA system.
Maybe there’s news about Ivy. Maybe Dr. Schultz has good news for me. Maybe I’ll finally get my life back.
I look at the blinking cursor on my blank text and then shove my phone into the pocket of my lab coat.
I’ll text her. I will.
It’ll just have to wait until after this shift.
Blakely
“The four of us will have to go out and celebrate,” Gemma says as she rounds my desk.
I smile through the exhaustion of the day. “We will. We definitely will.”
“Congrats, Veep.” She gives me a wide smile and wiggle of a dance.
“Thank you. It’s late. I appreciate all your help, but I’m sure Ted is wondering where the hell you are.”
“I told him I was working late. Helping you get settled and officially move offices. He sends his congrats.”
“Thank you, again.” I look around my mess of an office I haven’t been alone in all day long. “I think I’m just going to sit here in silence for a bit and let it all sink in.”
“You sure I can’t stay and help?”
“Nah. You’ve already helped plenty.”
“Good night then.”
“Good night.”
I sit in my chair and sigh into the empty space. I’m torn between closing my eyes and soaking it all in and staring out the window to the lights of the city below. In the distance, I see the red light blinking from the helicopter pad of Memorial General and smile.
Slade.
I need to call him—at least now I have a valid excuse to.
I pick up my phone from where it sits atop the congratulatory card from the flowers that Heather bought me earlier. Its sincerity is still in question, but it’s the first in a long line of many steps for her, so I’m t
aking it for what it’s worth.
It’s been nine days since Slade and I parted ways. Nine days of wanting to call him and being worried about doing so because I have no real reason to do so other than to hear his voice. It’s been nine days of missing him and feeling silly for missing him all in the same breath. It’s been nine days of second-guessing everything I feel for him and if it’s real.
I type out the text, “Give me a call when you have a minute,” and then hit send.
It only takes a second before my phone rings. Butterflies take flight in my stomach but I can’t answer fast enough . . . but then the minute I do, nerves reverberate through me.
“Hello?”
“You can always call me, you know.” His voice. That voice. Hearing it is a salve that soothes all those worries away and brings me back to him and the dock and the moonlight across his face.
“I know you’re probably busy and—”
“And if I can’t answer when you call, then I’ll call you back when I can talk.”
“Okay.”
Silence falls over the line, and I hate this feeling of unease when we’ve never had it between us before.
“You been okay?” he asks, the PA system in the background calling something out.
“Yes. Great actually.” I pause. “I got the promotion.”
“What? You did? I knew you would.” I can picture the smile on his lips as clearly as I can hear it in his tone. “Congrats. God, Blake, I’m so proud of you.”
And in those few words, I’m back on that dock with my heart swelling, my emotions surging, and hope mounting.
But I can’t be—this can’t be—or else we would already be. I’m old enough to know I can’t wish something into existence.
“Thanks. I—I couldn’t have done it without you.”
“That’s bullshit, and you know it. You were doing it without me all along. You just needed a little encouragement, is all.”
“I’ve been meaning to call. I wanted to hear your voice.” It isn’t what I meant to say, but it’s the truth. His voice. Him. That’s all I’ve been looking forward to all day and here we are and I’m stumbling over my words.
“I miss you, Blakely.” His voice is a deep rumble and has me catching my breath.
“Things have been crazy. It’s just been . . . I don’t know.”
“I’ve felt the same way. This real-life thing is . . .”
“Yeah. I know. It kind of gets in the way,” I say, thinking of the breakup excuse he gave me that I’ve yet to use.
I guess I’m still holding out hope.
So, what now? I want to ask. Why are we both saying we miss each other but neither of us is asking the question? Are we trying to feel each other out? Is that why we’re being so cautious? Or is his hesitancy because he’s being the Slade that Prisha warned me about? A man who doesn’t realize he’s easy to fall for? A man who now realizes I actually have tumbled head over heels for him and is now trying to let me down slowly so my feelings aren’t hurt?
Slade isn’t the type to mince words, so the fact that he is now tells me all I need to know. This—us—is too much for him, too real, when all he’s used to is casual dating, so now he’s trying to figure out how to move on. Exactly like Prisha said would happen.
Christ. This is why marriage was easier. You just knew to expect disappointment and disregard. You didn’t have to wonder and read into the silence.
“Heather is better to you now?” he asks, shifting the conversation away from our train wreck of a topic and toward something less treacherous.
“I still don’t trust her as far as I can throw her, but baby steps.” I laugh softly. “And you? Are you back to work? How’s Ivy doing?”
“I’m not officially back yet,” he says, his lack of answer about Ivy has me reading between the lines. “The person who oversees the program took pity on me and is letting me do some data analysis entry on a study he’s doing, but as for seeing patients, I’m still suspended.”
“I’m sorry. I was hoping you would have been back in the swing of things by now.” And, of course, my head goes there. To the place that overthinks how he hasn’t been exhausted from working twenty-four-hour shifts and discredits the excuses I made for why he hasn’t called me—that he’s been too busy getting back into the swing of things—now hold no weight.
“Me too. But I’ve been working nonstop trying to gain some favor by doing this. The good news is Ivy is slowly showing more signs of coming to: eyes fluttering open for minutes at a time, reaching for a drink before falling back under, that kind of thing. So fingers crossed she’ll wake up soon and will have weathered the storm without any long-term damage—physically, of course—and then we can all put this behind us.”
I think that, for him, it is going to be an empty win simply because getting confirmation that the girl was abused might validate his actions, but it won’t make him feel any better.
“That’s good though, right?” I ask, desperate to keep talking to him. I’m alone in this tower of an office building but he makes me feel a little less so. “That she’s responding. That she’s having moments of consciousness.”
“Only time will tell,” he murmurs. “You haven’t broken up with me yet. Why?”
His question throws me and I chuckle a nervous laugh. “I couldn’t . . . I didn’t want to.”
“Why’s that?”
Do or die time, Blakely.
I take a deep breath and close my eyes. “I feel like there is so much unfinished business between us. The to-do list. The . . . and I . . .”
“Me too.”
“You too?” I ask. What does that mean? What is he saying? “So, what do we do about it?”
“Well, I did win the bet, so isn’t there the last of our unfinished business to tend to? Like you owing me dinner?” The smile in his voice eases the vise gripping my chest until I realize that there is more to tend to than just the bet—like the last task on that damn napkin.
It was in jest. He said it from the beginning. And yet here I am, a ridiculous female still thinking I want it to be true and hurt that it isn’t.
My smile is bittersweet, and when I speak, my voice doesn’t reflect any of the turmoil that is roiling around inside of me. “Are you assuming you won? That I’m satisfied, Slade?”
His chuckle rumbles through the line. “You did get the promotion.”
“Maybe I need other things to feel satisfied.”
“Are you implying I didn’t deliver? We howled at the moon, Foxx,” he teases.
“Maybe I need to try out the goods again to be sure.”
This. This is what I need. The sexy banter. The playful flirting. This is what makes me feel like us again . . . not that there is an us, but it’s normal for us.
“How about Friday night? Does that work for you?”
I close my eyes and smile to the empty room. “Yes. Friday sounds good.”
“Should we meet up after you get off work? We could go to Metta’s and actually eat there or—”
“After work is fine.”
“I’m sorry.” His chuckle rumbles across the connection. “I’m taking over when this is supposed to be your date. Tell me what you want to do and I’ll make sure it happens. Hell, you’re the new take-charge Blakely, so I’ll let you take charge and shut my mouth.”
“No. It’s fine. I don’t mind. How about we meet at Metta’s, have a couple of drinks, and then I’ll figure out somewhere to go after that?”
“So, you’re going to surprise me?”
“Something like that,” I say. “How about seven o’clock? Is that too late?”
“It’s perfect.”
“Okay, then.”
Silence clings to the line because I don’t want the call to end. There’s something about him on the line that makes the day all that much better.
“I’m looking forward to seeing you, Blakely.”
“Me too.”
“Until then.”
And when the call end
s, when the quiet of the empty office building settles around me, there is a smile on my lips and a pocket full of hope building within that maybe . . . just maybe, Slade and I can try our hand at whatever this is.
Still, I feel like a fraud because the new take-charge Blakely would have just told him how much I want there to be more than just a celebratory dinner.
She would have told him she wants that last task on the to-do list.
She would have laid it all on the line.
There’s always Friday night.
Blakely
“Huge bouquet of flowers for one Miss Foxx,” Minka says as she carries a vase filled with peonies into my office.
“Huh,” I say as I move over to them and pluck the card out of its holder.
“Who are they from?” She all but dances on her toes.
“No idea.” But I do know. At least the giddy female part of me thinks I do. I open the card, and my heart sighs as it swoons.
To Blakely,
Keep howling at the moon.
You deserve every bit of this.
—Slade
“Slade?” Minka asks.
I nod and read it again. “Yeah.”
“God, you’re so lucky. I wish Jared looked at me the way Slade looks at you.”
The lump in my throat grows even bigger.
I look up and smile at her. “I’m a lucky girl.” But the words sound a little shakier than I intend them to sound.
Because it hits me how damn much I care for Slade.
Not care for, who am I kidding? Love.
I bite the bullet and admit it to myself.
I think I’ve gone and fallen for Slade.
Jesus, even I know how stupid that sounds.
If he knew, he would run the other way.
It’s the kind of emotion that people will tell me I’m crazy for feeling so quickly.
But it’s true.
I pick up my phone and call him, but he doesn’t pick up. Within seconds my phone alerts a text.
Slade: Everything ok? I can’t pick up.
