I watched him walk away, my cursor blinking patiently on the screen, my chest full in a way that felt both terrifying and steady. For the first time, I didn’t feel like I was trying to prove I belonged.
I felt like I already did.
Chapter 19
Desmond
In the crowded gala space, I told myself I wouldn’t look for her.
That was the lie I wrapped around myself as the ballroom filled, as donors and board members drifted past in tailored suits and practiced smiles. This wasn’t the timeorthe place.
So I shook hands. I accepted congratulations. I nodded at the right moments and said the right things about funding and impact and the future of emergency medicine. I wasverygood at this version of myself.
And then, God help me, Anya walked in.
She didn’t see me at first. She stood with Liza near the bar, her body angled in a way that said she was listening but not fully present. She wore a dark dress that skimmed rather than clung, deceptively modest until she shifted her weight and the fabric caught the light, revealing the quiet confidence of her posture. Her hair was down. That alone felt personal, as if the cascading red locks of hair were on displayjustfor me. I’d only ever seen it pulled back, efficient, contained.
This version of her was neither.
I took in the line of her neck, the delicate hollow at her throat,the way she laughed and then pressed her lips together as if immediately aware she’d given too much away. My body reacted before my mind caught up, a low, unwelcome heat curling through my abdomen. Annoying. Inappropriate. Entirely predictable.
My chest tightened.
A week.
A week.
A full week of clipped professionalism, of passing each other in hallways with nothing but a nod. Of standing shoulder to shoulder in trauma without looking too long, too closely. Distance had not cooled anything. If anything, it had sharpened it to a blade — a blade pressed against my throat each moment I spent in her presence.
I almost slipped the other day when she told me about Patel. I’d wanted to tuck her away from the chauvinistic tendencies of the hospital and punch Frank in the face, all at the same time.
But now, I stood across the room, watching her accept a drink from the bartender, her fingers brushing the stem of the glass. Watched her thank him, polite and distracted, then turn back toward Liza with a faint crease between her brows. She looked tired. Beautifully so. Earnestly. Like someone who carried too much and refused to set it down.
I didn’t approach her. Didn’t interrupt. I let conversations end naturally, drifted closer by degrees, always with my back half-turned, always plausibly engaged elsewhere. Close enough to see the way she smoothed her dress when she thought no one was watching. Close enough to hear her voice when she thanked a donor, polite and careful and very unlike the woman who had pushed me against my own desk a week ago.
She still hadn’t seen me.
The announcement came then. Applause. My name, attached to the grant, the so-called ‘future of the department.’
As I stepped up to the podium, I found her in the crowd on instinct. Her head lifted at my name, eyes tracking the sound until they landed on me.
The moment stretched.
Recognition.
Stillness.
Something unreadable crossing her face.
She didn’t smile.
Good, I thought stupidly.
Bad, immediately after.
I finished the speech on muscle memory alone, thanked the foundation, said something earnest about mentorship and opportunity that felt like a quiet act of self-sabotage. When the applause swelled again, I stepped down and turned?—
And she was there.
