Chapter 21
Chapter twenty-one
Chloe
Past
My phone pings on the nightstand, and I practically leap for it. Anything to save me from the dry, soul-sucking article I’ve been pretending to read. I toss the medical journal aside and swipe open the message.
Hailee
Hey, wanna go out tonight? Cora and I are thinking Club Ivy.
It’s sweet that they keep including me. They’ve been making a real effort, and I love them for it. We even started a group chat, which—just quietly—made my inner teenager squeal.
I’ve always struggled to make friends. Years in and out of hospitals meant I missed out on slumber parties, friendship groups, and pretty much all the social milestones that glue girls together.
I turned inward. Introversion became my way of survival.
If I hadn’t been sick, maybe I wouldn’t be this way.
Or maybe I’d still be the kind of girl who finds peace in solitude.
Who knows? Letting people in isn’t easy.
But these two? They haven’t given up on me yet.
Me
Would love to, but I can’t. First shift tomorrow.
Hailee
Yay! That’s so exciting. But also, boo. That sucks.
Me
What if we do something chill instead? Pizza and a movie?
Hailee
I’m in.
Me
Come to mine? Not keen on dragging myself out the night before.
Cora
See you in an hour. I’m bringing wine I don’t exactly throw wild parties. I take out some plates and wine glasses and set them on the coffee table.
Forty minutes later, I buzz them up.
“Fuck me, this place is nice,” Cora says as she steps in, loaded up with brown paper bags.
“Thanks.” I try to play it cool, but I’m glowing. I’m stupidly proud of my place.
“The comforts of Eden, hey?” Hailee snorts, slipping off her heels and passing me a stack of steaming pizza boxes.
“I know, right?”
Cora holds up a bottle of red and a stacked cheese board. “Where should I put these?”
“Table’s fine.”
They wander around, cooing over the furniture and décor as though it’s an article in Architectural Digest. I don’t entertain much—okay, ever—so it’s nice to have someone appreciate it.
We settle into the couch, pass around plates, and pour glasses of wine. I stick to water—no way I’m starting my internship with wine breath and a migraine. I take a bite of supreme pizza and groan as the sweetness of pineapple hits my tongue.
“You excited for tomorrow?” Hailee asks, adding more wine to her glass.
“I am,” I reply around a bite. “It’s surreal. After all the studying and theory and clinical hours, I finally get to do the thing. Help real people. Be a real doctor.”
I pause, chewing slower now.
“But?” Cora prompts.
“But I’m also shitting myself,” I admit. “My first rotation in the ER. It’s intense. What if I freeze? What if I fuck something up and someone dies?”
“They’re not gonna throw you in solo,” Cora reasons. “There’ll be other interns, right? And senior doctors, too?”
“Yeah, I know. But still. It’s terrifying.”
“Which hospital?”
“St. Vincent’s.”
Hailee freezes mid-bite and gives Cora a sideways glance.
“What?” I narrow my eyes. “What was that look?”
“Nothing,” Hailee says, way too fast. “Just… I got stitched up there once by a ridiculously hot doctor.”
“What happened?” The question slips out before I can stop it.
She shrugs, too casually. “I was attacked by an acquaintance of Dameon’s. He tried to rape me.”
I drop my plate on the coffee table, cheese stretching off the crust in gooey strings.
What the actual fuck?
Cora doesn’t even blink, still chewing. She’s clearly heard this story before.
“Are you… okay?”
“I’m fine.” Hailee waves off my concern. “Long story short, I got glassed in the thigh. Dameon took me to St. Vincent’s, and a Doctor McHottie patched me up.”
I blink. “That’s… so messed up.”
“Right?” Hailee spits, throwing her hands up.
“Jesus.” I shake my head, trying to process it.
We fall quiet for a moment.
Cora clears her throat gently. “What are your hours like?” she asks, shifting the mood.
“Usually twelve-hour shifts, but I’ve heard they can stretch to fifteen or sixteen if things go sideways.”
“Yikes. What are you gonna do about Eden?”
“I don’t know yet,” I say. “I don’t want to give it up. Actually, I can’t. I need the money. Intern pay is literal trash.”
I glance around my apartment. I’m not losing this place. Period.
“If I can squeeze in one bar shift a week, maybe it’ll work. But Le Jardin’s out. No way I can pull an overnighter after a full hospital week.”
The thought alone drains me. Holding an intelligent conversation and being emotionally dumped on by a client after back-to-back shifts in the ER? Hard pass. Even a healthy person would burn out on that schedule. Add a chronic illness to the mix? It’s a suicide mission.
But my one day off won’t be rest. It’ll be laundry, groceries, and life admin. Am I really going to have the energy to stand for six hours slinging drinks?
“You’ll figure it out.” Hailee pouts theatrically. “I don’t want to lose you.”
“Same.” I sigh.
Madame Anna and Eden have been my safety net since I was nineteen; stepping away would be a huge adjustment.
And if I’m really honest about it, I’m not ready to lose Z.
He’s more than a client. He’s my calm. My addiction.
My heart. But reality’s a bitch. I won’t have the time—or capacity—for our dates anymore.
As if reading my mind, Cora eyes me. “What are you going to do about him?”
I shake my head, suddenly quiet. “I don’t know.”
The tears sting before I can blink them away. The pain of not seeing him again is too raw and real to process. I refuse to acknowledge it. There must be a way. We’re not going to end like this.
“You love him,” she suggests softly.
I don’t answer. I can’t.
“Hey, trust me. Everything has a way of working out,” Hailee offers gently. “Even when it doesn’t feel like it at first.”
I appreciate the comfort in her words—the way she’s trying to make me feel better. I want to believe her. But I’m a doctor. I don’t run on hope. I run on logic. Proof. A plan. And right now? I’ve got none.
I wipe my eyes on the back of my hand. “Ugh. I hate getting weepy.”
“It’s kind of nice,” Cora says, bumping her knee against mine. “Means he matters.”
“All right, enough sap,” Hailee adds, grabbing the remote. “Let’s watch something before this one starts bawling, too.”
“Hey! I can’t help it. My hormones are all over the place,” Cora protests.
“Wait… are you pregnant again?” I ask, half-joking.
“Maybe. I don’t know. I’m late, and honestly, I’m too scared to check. But my boobs? Hurting something vicious.”
“You’re totally knocked up,” Hailee declares, rolling her eyes.
“James will kill me if I take a test without him.”
“What are you waiting for then? Just do one with him.”
“I don’t want to be wrong and disappoint him.”
“Babe, you could literally shit on his head and he’d still worship the ground you walk on.”
“Thanks for the visual, bitch.”
We dissolve into laughter, tears leaking from my eyes for a very different reason this time.
We put on a thriller and spend the next two hours curled up on the couch, yelling at the screen and stress-eating pizza. It’s exactly what I needed.
They leave and I start cleaning up, putting dishes in the sink, tossing empty boxes in the bin. Then a sharp pain slices through my stomach.
I freeze.
Did I chew properly?
Shit. Pineapple. That stuff’s a nightmare to digest.
Another agonizing wave hits.
No. Not now. Please not now.