Her acknowledgment feels like a gift I don't deserve.
The bell above the door jingles, and I glance up reflexively?—
Jerry walks in, hair damp from the drizzle outside, scanning the room like he owns it. His gaze snags on us, narrowing before smoothing into practiced ease.
My stomach drops.
He strolls over, that self-satisfied gait of his, and greets us with a nod that skips right over me. His eyes flick from Lane to Sanders like I don’t exist. "Hey, buddy," he says warmly, leaning down just enough to ruffle Sanders’s hair.
Yeah. Screw you too, Jerry. Fucking jerk. Message received loud and clear.
"Hi, Jerry!" Sanders beams, oblivious. "We’re getting pie. It’s my favorite!"
Jerry chuckles, like Sanders just made his whole day. And maybe that’s the worst of it, that he’s good with my kid. Polished, dependable. I can’t fault him for that, even as every muscle in me itches to drag him out into the rain and remind him who Sanders’realfather is.
My gaze snags on his neatly pressed shirt, his too-shiny watch. Safe clothes. Banker clothes. A man who will never bleed through a 20-hour surgery or miss dinner because he’s trying to save someone else’s life. A man who’ll always be steady, always be there. The kind of man Lane convinced herself she wanted.
Meanwhile, I’m sitting here in a rumpled shirt that smells faintly of fry grease.
"All out together, huh?" Jerry’s tone is casual, but the words drip like oil.
My jaw tightens. Who the hell does he think he is? If he wants to read this like some happy-family dinner, fine, let him. Better that than him knowing how raw and messythings really are.
Lane doesn’t miss a beat. “Just grabbing a quick bite with Sanders,” she says, her tone light but firm. “It’s been a long two days.”
Then, with the practiced ease of someone who knows exactly how to end a conversation, she adds, “Good to see you, Jer.”
Jer. My gut twists. Since when does she shorten his name like that?
I lean back in the booth, sliding an arm across the top of the seat behind Lane, a move so instinctive it’s already done before I think about it. Mine. Even if she doesn’t want me to be, even if she hates me most of the time, I want him to see it.
Touch her and die, asshole.
Jerry nods once, muttering something about catching up later, then retreats to the counter. His back is too straight, his movements too deliberate. I recognize the posture of a man holding himself together.
I exhale slowly through my nose, the tension buzzing under my skin. Lane catches my eye, her look unmistakable:don't start.
The slices of pie arrive a minute later. Apple for Sanders, cherry for Lane, pecan for me. Sanders dives in, oblivious, rattling on about Luke and Christmas presents, while Lane asks him about school break. She doesn’t even glance toward Jerry again.
But I can’t stop. Every nerve in me hums with the awareness of him sitting twelve feet away, pretending not to watch us.
I stepout of the scrub room, the adrenaline still coursingthrough my veins. The fluorescent buzz overhead is no match for the thrum in my chest. Another successful case.
But instead of celebrating, Jerry flashes across my face.
God, even thinking his name makes my jaw tighten. The way he walked into that Mae's last night like he owned the place, like he still had a claim on Lane, like Sanders belonged inhisorbit instead of mine.
And Lane, smooth as glass, steady as stone. Just grabbing a quick bite, she’d said, shutting the door before I could even wedge myself in. That look she gave me across the table told me to behave, but inside I was already burning.
My phone buzzes against the desk, snapping me out of the memory. I swipe it up, scanning the caller ID. Dr. Russell, Chief of Ortho.
I clear my throat and answer. “Beamer.”
“Woody. Glad I caught you.” His voice is brisk, the kind that doesn’t waste time. “Listen. I know you're busy, so I’ll get right to it. The board has been reviewing your work. Trauma reconstructions, your fellowship outcomes, the leadership you’ve shown in the OR.”
My pen stills over the chart. “Thank you. I appreciate that.”
“I'm sure you're aware, but we’re about to launch a new advanced surgical wing here at Cape Fear. Robotics, complex trauma, cutting-edge ortho. It’s a major initiative, the biggest we’ve ever done. And we want you to head it. Chief of the program. Administrative leadership, research, national recognition. This is career-defining, Woody. It will put your name on the map.”
