I sit back in my chair, the words echoing.Head it.Career-defining. The kind of job I’ve always chased.
“You’ll have resources most surgeonsonly dream of. It won’t be a cakewalk, but it’s the kind of role that changes everything. If anyone can handle the workload, it's you.”
My throat goes dry. The irony isn’t lost on me. Everything I’ve ever wanted, offered right here in Wilmington, where I can still tuck my son into bed. Where Lane is.
I always assumed I'd have to move to a bigger city to grow.
I murmur thanks, promise to review the details. The line clicks dead.
My throat goes dry. Head it up. The words echo like a drumbeat. This is the call every surgeon dreams of, the kind that pushes us to the next tier, the kind that would put me on every conference circuit, my name on papers, maybe even textbooks.
It's the culmination of everything I’ve bled and sacrificed for.
I rub a hand over my face, the memory of Lane’s good night touch still lingering. For the first time in my life, I’m not sure whateverythingis supposed to mean.
The Christmas treedominates the corner of her living room, multicolored lights casting shadows across the hardwood floor. Sanders immediately dives for the remote, scrolling through streaming options while Lane moves to the kitchen.
I hover in the doorway, caught between worlds. Three nights ago, I belonged here, belonged with her. Now I'm not sure where I stand.
"Can I get you something to drink?" Lane calls over her shoulder, opening a cabinet.
"Sure, thank you. I'll have a water, please."
She nods, busying herself with something in the kitchen. I wander the living room, letting my eyes trace over the photos, the ornaments dangling from the tree. A few are familiar, anchors from another life. The rest are strangers to me, like artifacts from a home I once knew but no longer belong in.
Everything is both ordinary and foreign at the same time.
I try to appear occupied while stealing glances at her. She's pulled her hair into a loose ponytail, exposing the curve of her neck where I pressed my lips last night. The memory floods my senses, her skin warm under my touch, the small sounds she made when I?—
The silence stretches between us, punctuated only by Sanders' commentary on movie options from the living room. Lane's eyes finally meet mine across the room.
Before either of us can speak, her phone rings. She flips it over, and I catch Carly's name on the screen.
"Carly?" Lane answers, her voice tight. "Is everything?—"
Lane's hand grips the phone like it might escape her grasp. Her face transforms from casual concern to focused intensity in seconds.
Something's happening. I move closer without thinking, drawn by the shift in Lane's posture.
"When? Are you—" She puts a hand over her other ear, concentrating.
I catch fragments of Carly's voice—high, breaking with emotion, words tumbling over each other.
Lane's eyes widen. "They found a match," she mouths, her gaze finding mine instantly.
The air leaves my lungs all at once. A kidney match. For Luke.
"Yes, he's right here," Lane says, noddingat me, though Carly can't see her. "Do they know the tissue compatibility percentage?"
I lean closer, my shoulder brushing Lane's. Carly's voice sounds underwater-distant through the phone, but I catch enough. Duke… medical evacuation. Tonight. Helicopter transfer. Emergency procedure prep.
"They're going to medevac him to Duke tonight?" I ask, loud enough for Carly to hear me.
Lane puts the phone on speaker and places it on the counter between us.
"—said the donor is optimal, whatever that means." Carly's voice trembles with that mixture of hope and terror I've heard from countless parents. "I don't understand half of what they're telling me, but we have to leave now. Right now."
Lane presses a hand to her forehead. "Oh my god. Okay. Okay. What do you need? Do we need to come pick up Leigh?"
