Chapter 16 Rhys
Rhys
Spring finally decides to show up in Baltimore, and for once, the air doesn’t bite. The sun’s out, the sky’s clear, and people are smiling again like they’ve just stepped out of hibernation.
Everyone’s lighter. Everyone except me.
Jayne and I are good. Better than we’ve been in months. We talk. We laugh. I pick up Finn from practice, drop Mikaela at gymnastics, handle takeout nights, and logistics. We’re in sync—or at least that’s how it looks. Because behind it all, I’m running on fumes.
I leave work early to make it home on time, then circle back after dinner to check on patients. I answer messages at stoplights. I’m juggling heart surgeries and permission slips, discharge summaries and grocery lists. I’ve never been this tired in my life, not even during residency.
Jayne looks peaceful, though. She smiles more. She touches my arm when she passes by. The tension in her shoulders has eased, and it should make me happy. It does.
But somewhere underneath, I’m simmering.
She seems relieved. Like she’s grateful I’m finally doing the bare minimum. Like I’ve graduated from screw-up husband to functional adult, and that’s all the celebration I deserve.
I don’t want applause. But maybe I do want acknowledgment—that this is hard. That it’s not easy to be everywhere at once.
By Thursday afternoon, I’m dragging. My last surgery runs long, and I’m supposed to meet Jayne for dinner with the kids. I text her that I’ll be late, and she sends back: No worries. We’ll start without you.
She’s patient. She’s not jumping down my throat every time something goes wrong. She doesn’t look at me like I’m a disappointment. She says it happens, and it’s not a big deal. I think she means it, but maybe she’s doing what she said she used to do, papering over issues to keep the peace.
I head to the doctor’s lounge, drop into a chair, and rest my head in my hands for a moment.
“Hey, stranger.”
I look up to see Tory, holding two coffees. “You look like hell.”
“Thanks,” I mutter.
She grins and sets one in front of me. “Decaf. I figured you’ve probably had enough caffeine to stop your own heart by now.”
I take it like it’s lifesaving medication. “You’re not wrong.”
She studies me over the rim of her cup. “Rough day?”
“Busy.” I keep my tone even. Not an invitation. Just an answer.
She nods knowingly. “Things okay at home?”
Her tone is light, almost teasing. She’s been trying to pull me into conversations about Jayne for weeks. I’ve been careful—not cold, but not open either. Still, sometimes small talk slips in.
“Things are good,” I reply tersely.
“Don’t you leave early on Thursdays now to pick up your son?” she asks.
“I had M&M.” I stifle a yawn that settles into my bones. Morbidity and Mortality conferences matter, but they also drain you.
“Is Jayne annoyed?” Tory asks. She slides into the chair beside me and lays a hand on my shoulder—light but somehow deliberate.
I don’t like it.
I scrub a hand over my face, using the motion to lean forward just enough that her hand falls away. It looks casual. It isn’t.
“No,” I say evenly. “She’s very understanding.”
She doesn’t nag, doesn’t guilt me. Just smiles calmly and tells me it’s okay. And maybe that should make me grateful, but lately, it makes me uneasy. Like she’s quietly adjusting, lowering her expectations.
I did great the first two months. But the last six weeks have been absolute hell. Conferences, a new clinical trial, cases up the wazoo.
Tory watches me with sympathetic eyes. “You have so much to juggle, Rhys. You can’t do everything.”
“Try telling that to my calendar.” I stare into my coffee. Still not venting. Just stating a fact.
Her hand lands on my arm. This time she squeezes.
“You know what I see? A domestic god and an excellent heart surgeon. I’m impressed with you.”
I pull my arm away, repositioning so there’s a safe foot of space between us.
Did she always touch this much?
Or did I just never pay attention?
“I’m not impressive.” I give her a tight smile. “I’m a disaster. I’m behind everywhere. Residents are annoyed, my inbox is a morgue, and I’m running on fumes.”
“I think you’re remarkable,” Tory says softly.
It lands like a warm blanket in the middle of a freezing night. And that’s the problem.
I shouldn’t want praise from anyone but my wife. I shouldn’t need it.
“I’m sure Jayne thinks so, too,” Tory adds quickly.
“She does,” I lie, or half-lie. I don’t even know.
Something flickers in her eyes—interest sharpened into something unmistakable.
She sighs, almost wistful. “Honestly? I have friends with wonderful partners and they still complain. I don’t get it.”
“I think it’s part of being married,” I say lightly.
“Honestly, Rhys, if you were with me, I’d be grateful.”
Every nerve fires at once.
Four-alarm fire.
Sirens.
Warning lights.
Christ.
How did I not see this earlier?
I never meant to lead Tory anywhere. I thought we were colleagues, friendly at most. I thought she was harmless. But this right here isn’t friendly. This is a line being crossed, and the worst part is that I let her close enough to try.
I sit up straighter, coffee forgotten, brain clearing instantly.
This ends now.
I push to my feet, desperate to get some distance. “I’d better get back. I’ve got rounds to finish.”
She stands too, closing the distance before I can take a step. Her hands land on my shoulders again, gentle, unwanted.
“Listen to me, Rhys,” she says softly, holding my gaze. “You’re doing everything right. You’re still there—being the best husband and father you can—when most men would’ve walked away. And if Jayne can’t see how hard you’re working, that’s on her, not you.”
The words might’ve sounded kind a few weeks ago. Now they scrape raw.
I step back, sharper this time. I don’t care if it is rude. I don’t like her touch. I don’t like any of this. She caught me at a weak moment. The fault is partly mine, and I need to fix it.
“Tory,” I say carefully, “don’t take this the wrong way, or maybe do. I don’t like your hands on me.”
Her mouth opens, then shuts. Color drains from her face. “I was just being—nice. We’re friends, and—”
“We’re colleagues who are friendly,” I interrupt, my tone firm. “And it’s not appropriate for you to touch me like you do. A hand on my shoulder, my arm. If the roles were reversed, HR would already be in my office.”
She blinks, pale and stunned.
I hadn’t meant to throw HR into it, but the words came out before I could stop them. I don’t regret it. A line needed to be drawn
“So,” she snaps, her lips tightening into a brittle smile, “it’s okay for you to bitch about your wife to me, but when I say anything it’s—”
“I talked about my marriage with you because I thought we were friendly,” I cut in, my voice low but steady. “But it’s apparent to me that’s not what you think this is. And that’s exactly why it stops here.”
Her eyes flash defensively. “You’re overreacting.”
I give her a pointed look. I don’t want anything to be lost in translation. “No, I am not. You need to behave professionally, which means no touching ever again.”
I glance toward the corner of the hallway where the security camera blinks, red light steady. I approved their placement, so I know exactly what they capture. If she decides to twist this, there’ll be proof that I wasn’t the one crossing lines.
When I look back at her, the fight’s already draining from her face. She’s also looking at the camera. She knows some of what I’m thinking.
“I’ve got work to do.”
I walk away.
I wanted someone to listen. That’s all. But what I did was invite someone into my inner circle who isn’t a friend, doesn’t want to be friends, wants something else.
Never again.
Because the line between being lonely and being unfaithful isn’t miles wide. It’s a hairline fracture, one I almost let split wide open.
One thing is clear to me now. If I’m having a problem with Jayne, I need to fucking talk to Jayne, not Paul or Tory or the wall of our shower.