“Obelus,” I correct, covering my face with my hands. “I just wanted one night, one thing to look forward to in—God,years.”
Piotr makes a low, dismissive sound from his throat, then shrugs. “So swap. Tell one of the other ones you need a different night.”
I sit up fast, horrified. “I can’t do that. That would make me look like I don’t have control of my own schedule. Conrad would sniff that out instantly, and he already thinks I’m borderline incompetent.” He huffs a laugh.
“Okay, then call in sick,” he says through a mouthful.
I round on him. “We don’tget sick.Unless we're dead, that's the one exception. If I call in, a partner has to cover, and they’ll all hate me forever. Then I'll never make partner, either. No calling in sick.”
He takes a long, leisurely sip from the bottle, then gestures with it like he’s delivering wisdom from on high. “Then you go anyway.”
I gape. “What?”
“Go. To. The. Concert.Just take your stupid pager. What’s the worst that happens? You get called, you leave, you cover whatever eyeball emergency. No one’s gonna know you wereheadbanginginstead of sleeping.”
Then, with a sigh, he gathers his plate and beer and crosses over from the counter, dropping onto the couch with a satisfied thud. He stretches out, stealing most of the cushions like he’s claimed the territory with his fantastic idea.
I sink down beside him, stealing the fork out of his hand. “Besides, I did have a certain brother that I wanted to come with me, since he took me to their first gig. Got an extra ticket for him and everything.”
“Oh?” He makes a face like he’s weighing pierogi quality. “Siostra, you thought of me?”
I grab the beer from him, take a reckless swig. “Yes, I do that sometimes. Don’t make me regret it.”
Piotr grins, victorious. “So? We’re going to see The Altar Boys? I’ll let Aga know, so she can get some help from Mama with Kacper thatnight. Time to crack out the old t-shirts. Does this mean you’re taking my advice? ”
I grin back, sinking deeper into the couch. “Itispretty metal, to just sayfuck it. If I get to see five minutes, that’s more than I ever thought I’d get.” I return the fork to him with a lift of my eyebrow.
“That’s my siostra.” He clinks his empty fork against the beer bottle like a toast. “Na zdrowie.(Cheers)”
Four weeks later, the tour has kicked off, and I’m sprawled across the couch, phone in hand, drowning in fan videos. Natalia is perched at the far end of the couch, scrolling, unimpressed. She’d only come over for help bleaching her roots but stayed for the pizza and the spectacle of me thrashing around. I drop my head into her lap, staring up at her with all the melodrama of the sixteen-year-old I was when this obsession started.
“I think Mama was lying. Youdefinitelykissed the posters.” she says dryly. “This is something you need diagno—”
“Illness,” I cut in. “It’s an illness.”
“At least you said it.”
I sigh, then shove my phone into her face. “Butlook at him. His stance, siostra. The way he swings his guitar around his shoulder with authority. He could throwmearound like that.Imagine.”
Natalia groans and shoves the phone away. “I can see well enough, without the phone touching my face. I’m not blind like you. Or are you trying to burn outmy retinaso you can practice surgery on me?”
We both collapse into laughter until I can’t breathe.
Chapter 6
Show Me How To Worship
Time blurs under the weight of busy clinics, charts stacked too high, surgeries to schedule, a hundred small disasters demanding triage. But lately, there’s one thing that slows everything down. One pause that lets me breathe. The daily texts and nightly phone calls with Dominik. I pretend not to notice the heat in my cheeks when he calls me beautiful. I swallow the sigh that always wants to escape when we hang up, the silence afterward too loud. I’ve built my life on pragmatism. I won't abandon it easily. Even when his voice makes me feel a little weak, even when I catch myself waiting for my phone to light up.
Besides, he is, by every reasonable metric, safe. Financially secure, a foreman,a father. Decent in the truest, quietest sense of the word. Being with him feels reliable, solid as poured concrete, as the materials he handles every day. And still, beneath all that steadiness, there’s something charged. Something just under the surface. Dangerous because it asks me to want more than I planned to.
I’ve started to convince myself that I’m not nervous about our date at all. The one he talked me into with his unending persistence. Until, finally it’s Sunday. The first date I’ve had in years. I’m sweating bullets,even if this is just dinner.Just food.Just Dominik’s parents, people from the community I've knownall my life.
By the time I pull into his parents’ driveway, my stomach is already in knots. Sunday dinner, what was I thinking? I could’ve said no, could’ve claimed the clinic needed me, could’ve faked a deadly flu. Instead, here I am, clutching a bottle of wine like it’s a weapon and rehearsing excuses in case I need to make an early escape. The front door swings open before I even knock. Dominik stands there in a black shirt and slacks, the top button undone, sleeves rolled up just enough to make me stare. My mouth betrays me.
“You look like you’re about to go to Easter Mass.”
His mouth curves slow and wicked. “Well, it iskindof like that.” Then he leans in close, his breath warm at my ear. “If you’re God…show me how to worship.”
