“Yes.”
He taps a note into his screen, then glances toward Jenny. “You got all that?”
“Of course,” she says, voice syrupy. “Just wanted to make sure we’re… documenting things properly.” She peers at me over her glasses. “I didn’t realize you had a partner, Dr. Park. Who’s the lucky man?”
My eyes flick to her, and I smile tightly. “That’s not relevant to today’s meeting.”
Her smile freezes just enough to be noticeable. There’s something calculating behind it now, like she’s filing the moment away, slotting it into some part of her brain for safekeeping.
Moreno doesn’t seem to care, which tracks. He’s barely asked me what I do out of the clinic for social time, let alone query my relationship status.
“As long as the handovers are clean, I don’t have a problem. Anything else?”
“No,” I say. “That’s all. Thank you.”
“Well then,” Jenny practically sing-songs. “Congratulations, again. You must be so excited.”
“Very,” I say flatly. “Thank you.”
I don’t breathe easy again until I’m home later in the evening with my comfiest leggings back on and my hair clipped up on top of my head.
A knock sounds at the door, and when I open it, Reid’s there—holding a bag from my favorite Thai place, dressed in soft gray joggers and a black tee that clings in all the right places.
“You didn’t have to—”
“I know,” he says, brushing past me into the kitchen. “But I wanted to.”
I let the door fall shut, and then I drag him to bed and show him exactly how grateful I am.
Chapter twenty-three
I wonder if it knows what it’s reaching for?
Reid
The weight hits the rack with a sharp metallic clank, echoing through the mostly empty gym.
Off-season means quiet mornings with less noise and fewer distractions. There’s just a handful of regulars this morning—Jack, the MMA guy in the corner, and two basketball rookies shooting the shit by the stretching mats.
I don’t have games to prep for, but my body doesn’t know the difference. It needs the rhythm and the sweat and the burn. Something I can control more than the voice in my head that doesn’t shut up anymore.
I swipe my towel across the back of my neck and glance toward the clock on the wall. It’s early—the way I like it best.
Carina’s still at the hospital most nights, still working late and skipping breaks, pretending the shadows under her eyes are just bad lighting and not the fact that she’s growing a whole damn person while assisting back-to-back surgeries.
I’m seeing her almost daily, but it’s never enough. She drops by after shifts, or I bring her food when she’s too tired to argue. She falls asleep before she can even finish her tea.
Sometimes, I rub magnesium balm into her calves and listen to her talk in half sentences, then kiss the top of her head when she finally lets herself go quiet. Sometimes, she falls asleep with her head against my chest, the smallest smile tugging at her mouth when I stroke her hair the way she likes.
She hasn’t told anyone else about the baby yet—not beyond Heidi and Moreno. Says she’s not ready for questions. I told her I’d wait too, but it’s getting harder to keep it in. Not because I want to make it public, but because my world’s already shifted.
I don’t ask for more, even though I want to. But I won’t.
Not when she’s balancing work, exhaustion, and the fact that every morning, she wakes up a little more pregnant. The way her hand slides to her belly now without thinking, the way her eyes soften when I mention November, like it’s starting to feel real.
I rack the weights and flex my knee out of habit. No pain or tightness anymore, just the usual pull of muscle. I’m reaching for my water bottle when I hear them.
Jake’s voice booms first.
