Now I wondered if it had just been fear. Fear of loving someone too much, of needing someone who might not need me back, of staying still long enough for the wanting to catch up with me.
"I don't want to run," I said. "Not again. Not from this."
Mireya squeezed my hand once more before letting go. “Okay. Then stay and figure out how to exist in the same space as him without it breaking you. It won't be easy, but you're one of the strongest people I know. If anyone can do it, you can."
"And if it isn't enough?"
"Then you'll adapt and find ways to cope. Lean on the people who care about you instead of carrying everything alone." She stood, smoothing her scrubs. "That's what friends are for, Calla. Let us help."
After she left, I sat alone in the consultation room, processing everything.
Maybe the time he'd asked for had resulted in a decision I just hadn't been informed of yet. Or maybe he was still figuringthings out and I was reading too much into a single moment in a parking lot.
I didn't know. That was the worst part. I didn't know what he was thinking, what he was feeling, what any of this meant.
All I knew was he hadn't said he didn't love me.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CASSIAN
Maya was at the stove,humming along to something playing from her phone, her hips swaying slightly as she stirred whatever was bubbling in the pot when I came home. She'd changed out of her scrubs into the oversized sweater I'd bought her for her birthday, the sage green one she said made her feel cozy. Her hair was down, falling in soft waves around her shoulders, and when she turned at the sound of my keys, her whole face lit up.
"Hey, you." She crossed the kitchen and rose on her toes to kiss me, her hands coming up to cup my face. "Perfect timing! Dinner's almost ready."
"Smells amazing." I kissed her back, my hands settling on her waist out of habit. "What's the occasion?"
"No occasion. Just felt like making something nice." She smiled, and there was so much warmth and affection in it. "You've been working so hard lately. I wanted to do something for you."
She returned to the stove, tasting from the wooden spoon, adjusting seasonings with the focus she brought to everything. Maya threw herself into things. Her surgeries. Her relationships. Her Wednesday night dinners that she'd started making becauseshe knew I came home exhausted and hungry and never remembered to feed myself properly.
Eight months. We'd been together eight months, and she'd never once made me feel like loving me was a burden.
"Go wash up," she said, throwing me a smile over her shoulder. "This needs another few minutes. Oh, and I picked up that IPA you like. It's in the fridge."
I grabbed a beer and twisted off the cap, taking a long pull while I moved to the sink. The water was warm against my hands, and I let myself exhale, trying to be present and focus on her in this moment.
I pulled out my phone to check for messages from the hospital, then set it on the counter before washing my hands by the sink.
"Babe, your phone!" Maya called.
"Can you check it? Might be the hospital."
"It's from Calla!”
I shut off the water and turned around slowly, reaching for the dish towel like it could anchor me to something solid.
Maya was looking at my phone, her brow furrowed, her lips moving slightly as she read. When she spoke, her voice was careful and measured.
"'I do believe we can be friends despite everything. I will always love you.'"
She looked up at me, and I watched the confusion settle into her features. Not anger. But the look on her face told me everything.
"What is this?"
"Maya—"
"It seems like you two are having conversations that go way beyond professional." She set the phone down on the counter, and I noticed her hand shake. "What did you talk about that she's sending you something like this?"
