For the next couple hours, I catch up on calls that Tinsley typed for me, responding with assessments for her to call patients back, after which I study a few new medical articles. Once exhaustion sets in, I stretch my arms out and sigh. The night sky is sprinkled with a few stars like twinkling lights above a crib. My eyelids are heavy, my shoulders even more so, like I’m carrying a mountain on my back.
It’s almost eight o’clock.
Eyeing the couch—the metal hay one—I consider my options of going home or staying here.
Nights like these, I often wonder what it would be like if my parents were still around. I imagine I’d crash at their place. Eat my mom’s pot roast. Talk with my dad about my difficult cases and ask for advice.
I’d have a whiskey with him—it was his favorite drink. He’d only have a glass or two a week, and as a kid, I always dreamed of sharing one with him when I was old enough.
But I never got the chance.
A small knock makes me jump in my seat.
“Come in,” I call, logging out of my computer.
“Hey, boss.” Tinsley comes in, pushing her glasses farther up the bridge of her nose. “I got your assessments, and I’ll follow up with those patients tomorrow. You need anything else right now?”
“No. Thank you.” I stand, shaking the soreness from my legs. “I’m about to head out too. Thanks for your help.”
“What would you do without me?”
“Let’s not find out, okay?” I chuckle, gathering my things. “Tell Marcus I said hello.”
“Will do. See you tomorrow.”
I sling my messenger bag over my shoulder, looking after the door where Tinsley just left. She left to go to a real home. With her husband. To have dinner with someone who asks about her day.
“Not like I have a family to go home to.”
That’s what I said to Clara when she first moved here. But what would it be like if I did? If I did have a family to go home to, one to make me feel loved and whole and sane?
On the drive home, my fists open and close around the steering wheel. The radio’s on, but it might as well be static—I don’t hear any of it. My mind races, tormenting me with ways to get through to Clara. I can’t be too pushy, but I can’t stand by until she meets someone else.
Again.
How will I convince her we’re meant to be together?
Twenty-Two
Clara
I square my shoulders, feeling confident and self-assured. I haven’t felt this way in a while, but it’s time I confront my feelings.
And Dax.
Since the party, the things he said to me have swirled in my head like my favorite ice cream sundae. Enticing but dangerous if eaten too quickly.
I can’t go on with this strain between us, especially after my talk with Willow over the weekend. I couldn’t stop thinking about him after he left the party. I would’ve come sooner had I not been busy with work and Jacob. Had Dax not been busy, but then I remembered he mentioned today being his day off.
I knock on his door but don’t have to wait long. Within seconds, he’s standing before me, freshly showered, his hair still damp on the ends.
In silence, I walk inside, reaching the living room, and Dax follows. I toss my purse onto his couch and turn to face him, steeling myself. Without warning, I say, “You should’ve told me. About your feelings. About everything. You should’ve told me, Dax.”
He watches me, brief surprise crossing his features. Pacing in front of me, he remains silent, working his jaw back and forth, until he finally stops and faces me.
“How? When?” His lips twist. “When we kissed at prom, I wanted to tell you everything. That I’d been dreaming of kissing you for years. That I wanted to keep kissing you for years to come. But that night”—he blows out a frustrated breath, wearing a frown so sad it breaks my heart—“I got the call about the accident. Those few days were the best and worst of my life. Even though I was angry for what those days took from me, I focused on what I did have. I was grateful for Willow. That I still had part of my family. And I had you. Even though I couldn’t have you the way I wanted, I was fucking glad you were there.”
“Why?” I whisper, my voice shaky as we confess years of secrets. Ones I don’t know if I’m ready for, but I have to find out. I came here to do that, and I’m not leaving without the answers I need.
“What do you mean why? Why I couldn’t have you?”
I nod slowly as I try to pick up on what I’m missing.
“Clara.” His voice is strained as he steps toward me—broken. A usually strong man, but the Dax before me is shattered and vulnerable. “You were going away to college. Far away. You wanted more than what Sunnyville had to offer you back then. I couldn’t leave. I was eighteen and Willow’s sole caregiver. Our only other living relative at the time was our grandfather, and he was in a nursing home because he couldn’t take care of himself, let alone two teens. I couldn’t leave her.”
“I could’ve stayed had I known—”
“I didn’t want that for you.”
“It wasn’t for you to decide!” My outburst shocks us both.
He opens and closes his mouth, staring back at me.
I choke on my sobs as we watch each other, unblinking, trying desperately to make sense of a past that both of us experienced in very different ways.
“What then, Clara?” he asks, his voice weak. “What then? You stayed here, went to college nearby, moved in with me, and we lived happily ever after?”
His sarcasm makes me clench my fists. “I could’ve helped you through it. With Willow. With medical school. You didn’t
