I take a beat, trying to swallow the lump in my throat. “It’s about Bree.”
She claps her hands together. “I knew it!” she exclaims. “I’ve been waiting for you to figure it out for months.”
I can’t help but laugh, a small sense of relief creeping in. “You’re such a pain,” I mutter, shaking my head.
“I’m just trying to help,” she says. “Now, come on. Spill the details. What happened?”
I lean back, and the knot in my chest loosens with each word. I tell her everything.
Bree and I talk every day, even if it’s just for a few minutes on the phone in between texts. The time difference and her work schedule are tough, but we make it work. I do my best to keep things light, cracking jokes and staying upbeat, even when every call leaves me wanting more.
She doesn’t need to hear about how much I hate the silence when we hang up, or how every goodbye twists in my gut. How I catch myself reaching for her in the middle of the night only to find the bed empty. How I’ve developed a completely irrational hatred for time zones.
So I do what I can. Swallow the ache. Focus on being the guy who makes her laugh instead of the one who misses her so much it’s pathetic. I hold onto the hope that, at some point, this whole long-distance thing won’t feel like I’m slowly bleeding out.
I can still hear her voice in my head from our call earlier.
“Hey, love,” I said. “How’s everything?”
Bree’s voice came through the phone strained, even if she was trying to mask it. “Oh, you know, same old. Busy, but fine.” Her words were clipped, too rushed, like she was trying to sound normal, but I could hear it. The exhaustion. The cracks in the armor.
I stayed quiet for a moment, knowing she wouldn’t open up unless I pushed a little. “You sure?”
A soft laugh came through the line. “I’m fine, Callan. Really.”
I knew she wasn’t fine. I could feel it through the silence, the way she hesitated a little too long before responding. “You don’t have to lie to me, Bree. What’s really going on?”
There was a long pause. I could hear her breathing—slow, heavy, like she was trying to keep it together. Then, finally, she spoke, her voice the softest whisper. “It’s just…a lot, you know? I miss you.”
I knew she was struggling but hearing it out loud tore me apart.
“I miss you more,” I said, my voice thick with emotion. “You don’t have to hide that from me, you know.”
Her voice wavered again, and I knew she was holding back tears. “I know, Callan. I just… I don’t want to be that person.”
“You’re not that person, Bree,” I said fiercely.
She fell silent, and I could almost feel the weight of the moment between us. I wanted so badly to reach through the phone, to hold her, to make everything better.
“I’ll be okay,” she finally said.
She’s not okay. And no matter how much I tell myself I’m doing enough, I know I’m not. Not even close.
“I think…I should go visit her.”
“Well, of course you should,” Lucy replies. “It’s a two-way street, aye? She came to you. Now it’s your turn to haul your broody arse over there.”
I snort. “More like a twelve-hour flight across an entire ocean, but sure, we’ll call it a street. Nice, easy commute.”
I can joke about skipping the country, but the truth is, I’d do it in a heartbeat just to see her.
twenty-one
BREE
It’s been one of those days where the clock seems to run faster than I can keep up with. From the moment I walked through the hospital doors, it’s been a blur of urgent beeping monitors, frantic calls, and an endless parade of patients. It’s been three weeks since I got back from Scotland, but it feels like a lifetime ago. The excitement of that whirlwind trip is long gone, replaced by the constant pressure of being back in this chaotic routine.
My feet are killing me, and each step is a reminder of how much ground I’ve covered with no time to rest. We’re understaffed again, which means everything is just that much harder. My body is on autopilot, running on fumes, and my head is pounding.
