Chapter 4 #3
Rory padded into the room behind me, feet encased in bright yellow socks with cartoon cats on them. Their hair looked like it had lost a fight with a hedge cutter, oversized sweater draped off one shoulder as they yawned, peering at me through half-lidded eyes. “Morning, babe.”
I threw them a smile. “Morning.”
They leaned against the counter, giving me a sleepy once-over, followed by a glance at my phone lying unlocked on the counter. “You on call today or something?”
“Nah.” I scraped the eggs around the pan with a spatula. “Just trying to figure out how to answer another one of those questions.”
They leaned in to squint at my screen. “‘What role do love and affection play in your life?’ Oof. Bit deep for pre-breakfast and no sleep.”
“Tell me about it.”
It wasn’t the first question to cut through the usual layers of polite pretense, but after brunch at Dean’s apartment, it felt different—raw around the edges, a little too close. Too much honesty for my cotton-cushioned brain.
After a gentle bump of our shoulders, Rory reached for the butter. “You gonna answer it?”
“Guess so.” I flicked off the stove, then tapped the record button, feeling weirdly exposed even as I took a breath and began. “Right. So, love and affection. Big question. Uh.” I glanced at Rory, who buttered toast and motioned for me to keep going. Okay, right. I continued after another beat.
“At school, I was the quiet kid, you know? Kept my head down, did homework, tried not to stick out too much. I figured out pretty early I was gay, and yeah, I dated a little, hooked up here and there, but never anything that stuck. Not really.” My voice slowed, deepened.
“I picked up some confidence at college, but honestly? I was too busy chasing grades to chase anyone else properly.”
“Nice one,” Rory said, mouth full of toast, just loud enough that the recording was bound to pick it up.
I shot them a pointed look, tongue pressed against the back of my teeth, before I finished.
“I like the idea of love. Like, the theory of it, I guess. But it hasn’t really happened for me yet.
” I drew a quiet breath and went for a lighter tone.
“Affection, though—big fan. Fan of orgasms, too, won’t lie.
” A sheepish laugh slipped out, and I hastily tapped the screen to end the recording, sent it before second thoughts could crowd in.
“Five stars,” Rory commented. “Very moving. Would totally swipe right.”
The warm, friendly mockery soothed the prick of anxiety in my chest. I still flipped them off, just on the principle of it. “You’re a dick.”
“It’s why you keep me around.” They chewed slowly, studying me like they were connecting dots I didn’t want connected. “You actually like this guy, don’t you?”
Trust them to go where I’d rather not venture. I shrugged, aiming for casual but likely landing somewhere south of convincing. “It’s not like that.”
“Sure.” It was doused in friendly skepticism. “Highly neutral voice message about orgasms, then.”
“All part of the act. Not like we can blush and change the topic every time someone makes a comment—his sister seems the type.” Annoyingly, I felt heat creep into my cheeks.
“Oh, I’m convinced.”
In a show of maturity, I stuck my tongue out at them before I rescued the slightly overcooked eggs and started plating breakfast. Rory was kind enough to drop it, a comfortable silence spinning out between us as we ate.
If they noticed me glancing at my stubbornly dark phone every now and then, it went unmentioned.
And really, it was fine. I wasn’t waiting with bated breath or anything.
Dean must be busy working a long day shift, and I saw no need to check if he’d already listened to my message or not. Nope, zero need.
His reply came eventually. I picked it up during a break between patients, the notification jolting through me. Stupid. I slipped my earbuds in to listen.
“Good question.” He sounded a bit rougher than usual, tiredness clinging to his voice.
“Not sure I’ve got a good answer. When I was younger, I had walls.
Big ones. Still do just a little, maybe.
” A barely noticeable pause. “Didn’t really let people in, sure wasn’t ready to be that vulnerable.
Been busy, too, you know? Good way to stay safe, I suppose. ”
His voice trailed off as the muffled sounds of the ER carried on around me.
Just when I thought the message was over, he spoke again.
“Now, physical stuff? Not hard to find if that’s what you’re looking for.
But relationships—haven’t really made space for one.
” Quiet humor wove through his next words.
“Can’t believe I’m answering this at all, to be honest. What the hell are these questions, Tay? ”
He ended with a faint laugh, and I listened to it once more before I slowly pocketed my phone. Yeah, all right—still crushing a bit.
Okay. Five deep breaths.
I tipped my head back against the brick wall, hands shoved deep into my pockets as I exhaled a cloud into the deepening evening. Cold November air slapped a sense of reality back into my body, New York already swallowed by darkness, streetlights casting pools of orange across the damp ground.
Inhale. Hold.
Strange how I could hold steady through a crisis and come undone by its aftermath. My charge nurse had practically shoved me out here—“Take twenty, Tay, please”—after watching me pace circles in the corridor, hands jittery and eyes wide.
Exhale. Hold.
“Tay?”
My eyes snapped open at Dean’s voice, quiet in the city’s evening sprawl. He stood a few feet away, watching me with steady eyes that made something in me grind to a halt. Not smiling, just… present.
“You all right?” he asked.
No. I wasn’t.
I inhaled and shook my head, throat burning like whiskey on the way down. Each time I blinked, I kept seeing the boy’s wide, scared eyes. The way he gripped his mom’s coat and wouldn’t let go, how she winced when I helped her sit. Her brittle trust in me, and God, I hoped I’d done right by her.
“Come on,” Dean said—no explanation, just a tilt of his head.
I followed.
Through the staff entrance and around a corner, then an unlabeled side door and a set of narrow stairs.
A No Access sign that Dean ignored so I did the same, and we emerged onto a rooftop, dirty concrete beneath our feet, the city laid out under a darkening sky.
Distant lights scattered like embers. The cold bit sharper up here, but it felt like breathing space—peaceful, detached from the relentless thrum of the hospital below.
We drifted towards the edge, side by side, arms braced lightly on the railing. He didn’t speak, just waited me out as my hands slowly steadied, adrenaline beginning to ebb. The breeze tugged at my hair, a faint chill creeping into my bones.
“Want to tell me about it?” he asked a minute later, or five.
I drew a breath, ghost impressions of the city lights still mirrored behind my lids each time I blinked.
“There was this woman. Came in with a busted wrist and some bruising, but there was more—a defensive wound on her forearm, older injuries, stuff that didn’t heal clean.
And she, uh…” I swallowed. “She had her little boy with her. Maybe five. He was clinging to her, you know? Like, the whole time. Refusing to let go, watched us like we might hurt her.”
Dean angled himself closer, silent.
“She kept saying she’d just tripped. But then the kid told me his dad got mad about how he couldn’t find the remote.
” I exhaled shakily. “So I talked to her. And it, you know. We train for it—how to recognize it, how to handle it. But in practice… Like, the things that poor kid has seen…” I let my voice trail into silence, words slipping through my fingers.
“It hits differently,” Dean said softly. Even though he wasn’t looking at me, his attention felt tangible. “Theory can’t prepare you for how it feels.”
I swallowed around the lump in my throat. “Yeah. She… It wasn’t the first time. Obviously. Asked her if she was ready to talk to the police about it, and she agreed. They’re with her right now.”
Three silent breaths passed between us. Then Dean shifted slightly, eyes on the distant flow of traffic below. “You might have saved a life. Two, even.”
It rippled out like the drop of a heavy stone into water—I hadn’t let myself think of it like that. My voice scratched against my throat. “You think so?”
“Yeah.” His gaze flicked briefly to me before returning to the city. “That woman—when you’re in the middle of it, you just never quite see the moment when it turns.” His voice had changed—lower, rougher, edged with something dark. Not just reflective. Personal.
Oh. Oh, Jesus Christ.
“When it turns?” I asked, more a whisper.
“When it stops being hard times and becomes abuse.” His focus remained on the city as his shoulders rolled back, posture straightening so subtly it would have been easy to miss.
“My mom used to say it’s like that thing with the lobster—the heat goes up so gradually that you don’t really notice until the water’s already boiling. ”
Heaviness gripped my chest. Less shouting in the middle of the night, that’s what he’d change about his childhood.
God.
I turned to face him fully, thought about reaching out and didn’t, not sure if he’d welcome it. “Dean.”
“My biological dad…” Dean shot me the briefest of glances.
“He wasn’t always the bastard he became.
But after he lost his job while my mom’s career took off, things got…
bad. Anger, bitterness, this sense that the world had wronged him somehow.
” A beat before Dean continued, quieter, “He hit her, screamed a lot. Said he might just slam the car into a tree one day—with her in it. Then laughed like it was a joke.”
“You…” I cleared my throat and tasted acid. “I’m so fucking sorry. It… That must have been… God, just, growing up like that. It must have been incredibly tough.”
“My mom got the brunt of it,” he said—not deflecting, but like it lessened his right to complain.
“I was thirteen when she finally filed for divorce. He made a scene, tried to paint her as unfaithful, and he’d already managed to mostly isolate her from all her friends, so it was…
” He paused, exhaling a slow, controlled breath.
“Eventually, the police came to remove him from the house. I stood up in court against him when I was fourteen.”
He said it flatly—just stating a fact, nothing to see here, but I could feel the impact vibrating under the surface. As if he’d tucked the pain away somewhere, let it sink into his skin like a tattoo that he carried wherever he went.
Fourteen. Jesus. At that age, I’d been stressing over soccer tryouts like they were life or death, hiding bad skin, and worrying about my next math test.
“I’m so sorry you had to go through that, Dean.” Useless words that changed nothing, but it was all I had to offer. “Like—growing up too quickly, I guess.”
His mouth curved into a faint, humorless smile. “Yeah. But when the choice is between speaking up or allowing things to keep happening? It’s not really a choice.”
I let silence linger for a moment so his words could settle. Finally, I murmured, “And your mom? How is she now?”
His expression opened, pride shining through.
“She’s great. She remarried, years ago now.
James—he’s a good guy. He was her friend first, one of the people my father had driven away.
But when things fell apart… Just, he was there.
Helped her, helped us. Kept us safe, made sure my dad wouldn’t try anything.
” A momentary pause. “So, you know. James was there when it counted.”
It felt like anything I could say would cheapen the moment, so I just nodded, angling close so our elbows brushed.
For a minute, we stood together at the railing, watching lights flicker across the river, the world spinning on below us. Then Dean shook his head, a little rueful. “My mom worries, though. Thinks the whole thing damaged me somehow, made me close off from everyone.”
His measured efficiency, how his control hardly ever seemed to slip.
How he—in his own words—hadn’t made space for a relationship.
All the emotional dodging, the dry wit, the precise tray placement that suddenly felt a lot like armor, as if he’d peeled back a veil and I could glimpse the raw humanity behind.
I tilted my head for a careful smile, voice soft. “It’d be understandable if you had.”
“Maybe. A little.” His mouth tugged up at the corners, barely there.
“Anyway, that’s why—the whole fake boyfriend bit, you know?
She was really bothered by it, the idea of me showing up alone, and so I dropped some comment about how actually, I was seeing someone.
And then it just took on a life of its own. ”
“I think she’s proud of you no matter what,” I said, quick and perhaps a tad too fierce, too invested.
His throat worked for a beat before he spoke.
“I’m proud of her, you know? For walking away, for having that strength.
And it’s…” He hesitated, then turned his head and met my gaze.
“Some people can find that strength within themselves. And some need a nudge, like maybe that woman you talked to. You, um.” He inhaled.
“Like I said—you might have saved them. Sometimes, it doesn’t take a defibrillator and an Ambu bag to do that. ”
There was no humor in his tone, just a quiet kind of sincerity.
I bit my cheek against a sudden rush of vertigo, like all the adrenaline had drained in a rush.
“I…” Nothing really came to mind, so I shook my head and reached for lighter words.
“Thank you. You’re—you know. You’ve got the supportive thing down pat, so whenever you’re ready to try for a relationship? He’ll be a lucky guy.”
It was barely out when I worried it had been too light, a whiplash after the gravity of our conversation. Dean’s shoulders loosened, though, and he released a small chuckle. “You’re not too bad yourself.”
“High praise.”
“Don’t get used to it.” His lips curved into something softer, almost gentle. “Ready to go back down?”
I took a slow breath, cold air chasing away the final dregs of heaviness, and nodded. “Ready.”