I don’t want to lose Chase. Not now. Not like this.
The realization hits me right in the feels, so sharp and so clear I don’t know how I missed it before.
Because you’re a hardhead.
I turn on my heel and sprint for the elevator, cookie tub clutched to my chest. The CNA said I just missed him. Maybe it’s not too late. Maybe I can still catch him. Discharges require paperwork and paperwork takes forever, right?
I skid to a stop at the elevator and jab the down button. The light comes on, but the elevator moves at a snail’s pace, and the floor designator seems to be stuck on two. Heaving a frustrated sigh, I give up on the elevator and take the stairs, racing down them at a breakneck speed, my feet on autopilot.
At least if I break my neck, I’m in the right place.
The stairwell is empty and when I reach the ground floor, I leap over the last two steps and fling the door open, making a beeline for the main lobby. My heart’s pounding and my breath comes hard and fast as I enter the atrium. It’s quiet. Just the usual hum of the hospital waking up for the day with bodies coming and going, muted news stations, and somewhere close by, a vacuum that sounds like it’s on its last leg.
I scan the waiting area, but there’s no sign of Chase, only a middle-aged couple whispering in hushed tones.
Am I too late?
More like too stubborn.
The glass doors at the lobby entrance slide open and an elderly volunteer pushing an empty wheelchair enters.
Hope surges, fizzing in my chest like one of those overpriced bath bombs Bri loves.
I force myself to walk slowly—okay, maybe not slowly, but at a pace that won’t incite panic—toward the doors. They open with a quietwhooshand I step out into the humid August air. In about three seconds, the rebellious curls around my face will be fighting their way free of my ponytail, but for once, I don’t mind.
After all, I’m a woman on a mission.
Operation: Get the guy.
I scan the parking lot, using my hand to shield my eyes. The sun is shining and there’s an ambulance pulling around to the Emergency Room on the west side of the hospital, but still no Chase.
And all that hope fizzing in my chest? Flatter than a day-old soda.
My shoulders sag and I nearly drop the cookie tub as disappointment sets in.
I’m too late. I blew it. I had one chance to make things right, and instead, I took the coward’s way out, too worried about rules and repercussions to roll the dice. Maybe Chase was right. Maybe it wasn’t karma that brought him back into my life, but fate.
Not that it matters now.
I turn to re-enter the hospital and that’s when I see him. Chase. He’s sitting on a metal bench with a small duffel bag, his left leg stretched out in front of him and a pair of crutches leaning against the stone pillar beside him. He’s clean-shaven, square jaw on full display, and for once, his hair is pushed back from his face, giving an unobstructed view of those icy blue eyes. The Waverly Wildcats T-shirt he’s wearing is stretched taut across the muscles of his chest, which I’ll admit is nice, but it’s his brilliant smile that nearly does me in.
Hell, my knees buckle when he turns the full force of that perfect smile on me.
I’m not too late.
“Chase.”
“Harper,” he says, mimicking me playfully. “Come to say goodbye?”
I nod, scrambling for words. I acted on impulse coming down here. I didn’t have time to consider what I’d say if I found Chase, and now that he’s right here in front of me, I’m at a loss.
After all, how do you even begin to apologize for destroying someone’s life?
And I need to apologize.
Because finding Chase’s room empty this morning? The crushing disappointment that swept over me? It made me realize the value of our connection. A connection we’ve barely even begun to explore. I’m swamped with school and study groups and clinicals, but I know, deep in my gut, that if I don’t do this, I’ll regret it.
Maybe for the rest of my life.
