“I don’t have to assume; I know. And you stepping in doesn’t help me fix the issue with our kids.”
That stings. “I was just trying to help.”
“It didn’t feel that way,” he mutters, eyes fixed on the road as the light turns green. He presses the gas a little too quickly.
I want to ask what itdidfeel like. What he thinks I’m doing. What he wants from me. But I’m sure anything I say will somehow be used as evidence of whatever criticism he’s convinced he’ll get.
We ride the rest of the way in silence. He pulls into the hospital parking lot and cuts the engine. For a second, neither of us moves. Then he gets out and meets me at the front of the car.
He drags a hand over his face, bone-deep exhaustion tugging at every feature. His mouth opens slightly, like he’s about to say something.Please say something.But it closes again.
I want to hug him. I want to tell him we’re okay. But he’s already late. And maybe he doesn’t want a hug anyway.
My chest tightens as his eyes search mine. There are a thousand words there—questions, frustrations, something almost like apology—but none of them make it past our lips. He forces a smile and presses a quick kiss to thetop of my head.
“I’ll see you tonight,” he says.
“Have a good day,” I whisper, but he’s already heading inside.
I watch as he disappears through the double sliding doors. He doesn’t turn back.
He used to turn back.
He used to chase me across campus lawns, down library aisles, laughing when I tried to get away. We’d walk backward into work, refusing to take our eyes off each other. We were wild and carefree, and so in love it was impossible to think we’d ever be anything else.
Now an ache settles deep in my bones, that love and longing tangled up with confusion. Distance. Life. I don’t even know what we are now.
Chapterthree
Steven
When We First Met
WhenIwassevenyears old, I was convinced I had my life figured out. I was going to be the next Lane Frost, riding bulls for a living and getting the girls. Fast forward to now, and only one of those has rung true.
Girls.
My sisters call me a womanizer, and I don’t bother correcting them. There were times I wore the label like a badge of honor. And my best friend, Liam, isn’t any better. Always wanting more but never wanting enough to stay. We’re in our second year of medical school, constantly busy, with no intention of slowing down.
Until last night.
“What’s so special about her?” Liam whispers, ignoring our anatomy lecture like it’s background noise.
“I don’t know, dude,” I whisper back, almost like saying it too loud might break whatever spell I’m under. “She’s just…”
“Dude, stop.” He shoves my shoulder then recoils low into his chair. “You’re weirding me out.”
“I can’t get her out of my head.” The confession slips out like it’s been trapped behind my teeth all morning. My hand drags across my forehead, down my face, to my neck. I still feel her there, every inch of me sizzling with the adrenaline of last night, every nerve ending screaming her name. “I should’ve kissed her.”
I mumble it more to myself than to him, but Liam’s fist still finds my shoulder. Again.
“Shi—what was that for?” I wince.
“Mr. Jones, is there something you would like to share with the class?”
Carstarp’s voice cuts like a blade. Our professor peers over his bifocals, the glow of the projector illuminating his platinum hair. The class stills.
“Sorry,” I mutter, sinking in my seat.
