“Must be my trustworthy face.”
“Must be.” He’s quiet for a second, staring into his glass. “The agency called today. Still no candidates who meet my ‘scheduling requirements.’” He makes air quotes. “Which is code for ‘you’re a single dad with a hockey schedule, and no one wants to deal with that.’”
“What about family?”
“My mom’s in Quebec. She offered to come down for a few weeks, but she’s got her own life. I can’t ask her to put everything on hold.” He takes another sip. “And Sienna’s family...”
“Not an option?”
“Her parents think I ruined her life by getting her pregnant. So no, not an option. Plus they also work full-time.”
“That’s...” I search for the right word. “Unfair.”
“Life usually is.” He says it without self-pity, just stating a fact. “I’ll figure it out. I always do.”
“You will,” I say, taking a sip of my wine.
He glances my way with an apologetic half-smile. “Sorry for venting about my mess.”
“Maybe I don’t mind your mess.”
The words hang between us. I didn’t mean them to sound like... that. But now they’re out there, and Zayden is looking at me with an expression I can’t quite read.
“Careful,” he says quietly. “That almost sounded like you care.”
“I’m your physical therapist. Caring about my patients is literally my job.”
“Is that what this is? Professional concern?”
No. It’s not. And we both know it.
“I should go,” I say, reaching for my wallet. “Early morning.”
“Tori.”
I stop.
“Thank you,” he says. “For listening. For... I don’t know. Being here.”
“You don’t have to thank me.”
“I know. That’s why I’m doing it.” He holds my gaze for a beat too long. “Goodnight.”
“Goodnight, Bishop.”
I walk away before I can do something stupid, like stay.
• • •
In my hotel room, I lie in bed and stare at the ceiling.
I keep thinking about him taking that seat across from me on the plane. I keep thinking about the bar. The way he saidapparently I have no filter around youlike it surprised him as much as it surprised me.
I keep thinking about the way he looked at me when I saidmaybe I don’t mind your mess.
Like he wanted to believe me but couldn’t let himself.
This is a problem. A big, complicated, career-ending problem. Because somewhere between the easy banter and the late-night confessions, I’m starting to see him as more than a patient.
