He makes a joke of it and we both laugh but it fades fast, both of us unable to hide the nerves that surface. I press a hand to my chest, trying to calm the wild rhythm under it. He’s waiting, breath caught somewhere between hope and mischief.
“Rafe,” I whisper, “It sounds ridiculous.”
“Maybe,” he says, smiling through the line. “But youwantto be ridiculous,don’t you?”
I don’t answer right away,because I do.
The next morning my phone lights up before the alarm even has a chance.
ask Conrad yet?
I groan, burying my face in the pillow, it’s five-thirty. I’m not even conscious yet, let alone in the clinic.
I’m not even there, give me a second to put my glasses on.
Since when are you awake this early?
jet lag. messes with the internal clock.
and anticipation.
don’t make me beg.
embarrassing for everyone involved.
I shake my head, smiling despite myself, when another notification flashes across the screen. Dominik.
you never answered my calls
areyou mad
The smile dies.
I’m not mad, I just need some time.
There’s a long pause. I can almost see him reading it, jaw tight, that small frown that always means he’s trying not to take something personally.
It’s my fault. I built this picture in my head, like we were already a family.
I cried at work, that hasn't happened since med school.
I’ll see you at dinner tonight, okay?
He starts typing, stops. Starts again.
kochana you are so stubborn
we see you tonight
I leave the message thread open for a long time, thumb hovering. By the time I walk into the clinic, I’ve built my armor back up. Scrubs, lab coat, caffeine. I find Conrad at his desk, half-buried in paperwork, muttering to himself.
“Conrad,” I start, steady but casual, “how’s your wife these days? Still a fan ofThe Riven Altar?”
He looks up suspiciously. “Why?”
I take a breath. “Because I might be able to get her something signed.From the whole band.Maybe a guitar strap, some guitar picks?”
He blinks at me. “I'm listening. What's your angle?”
