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 taking 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
