Chapter 14 #2
His mouth twitched in a faint acknowledgment of my attempt at humor. “I don’t trust anyone who travels home with sandy swim shorts crumpled in a plastic bag.”
“Um,” I said, with a pointed look at my suitcase. Which definitely contained something a lot like that.
He shook his head, lips quirking up further. “Is this the part where I fake surprise?”
“Admit it—you’re charmed.”
“Utterly captivated.” Dean righted the label on the side of his suitcase, his drawl exaggeratedly bored. “I mean, who doesn’t love a bit of chaos theory mixed into their morning?”
I stood for a leisurely stretch, aware of how his gaze lingered on my stomach, sliding lower. He wanted me, and he liked me. Surely that was enough for a damn good shot at making this real. Right?
“Think they’d notice,” I started, “if we stayed a few more days? Weeks? Possibly forever?”
Something flickered across his face and was gone. “You planning to bribe the staff with your supposed collection of designer shoes?”
“And an extra hundred grand in Monopoly money.”
He seemed uncommonly still for a beat, sunlight flowing around his silhouette.
Then he crossed the space between us, a crease between his brows as his knuckles skimmed from my ribs down to my hip.
“Reality isn’t all doom and gloom, right?
Even if it comes with long work hours and the occasional asshole patient. ”
“Yeah.” I hesitated, briefly lost in the idle patterns of his thumb against my hip. Now, Tay. Only my courage stuttered, stalled, tripped face-first into a pond of plausible deniability. “Normal life can be a little complicated, though. Like—hospital dynamics, all that stuff.”
His head tilted just enough that I noticed. “All part of the job, right?” It came out easily, like a statement on the weather. Did he truly not grasp what I’d meant—or had he chosen not to? I just couldn’t fucking tell.
“Right,” I said, a little harsher than I’d planned.
For a second, it sat between us—a blunt-edged oddity in this space designed for luxury and indulgence, calming colors and peaceful ocean sounds. I drew a breath that felt too full in my lungs, salty on my tongue when none of that made sense.
“You okay?” Dean asked slowly, voice shadowed.
Sure. Just trying to decide whether to step off this cliff. Could be rocks at the bottom.
Another breath as I watched him for a glint of something, anything. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
He shook his head—uncertain, like he didn’t quite know where to go from here. Yeah, that made two of us. “You just seem a little down this morning,” he said. “Not really like you, is it?”
Okay, right. Yeah. This wasn’t over yet—we weren’t over yet.
I curved a hand around his waist and tried to blink the cobwebs from my mind. “I’m fine. Just need a cup of coffee, that’s all.”
“Pretty sure that can be arranged.” His smile flickered, brief but genuine, as he brushed a knuckle down my arm. “I’ll call. You can try to fix your suitcase situation.”
“Deal.” I turned away, everything a little too close to the surface right now.
Not the end, though. Not a goodbye.
At least not yet.
Full circle.
The hum of the plane that echoed in my stomach, dimmed cabin lights.
Dean next to me, asleep, his face softly unguarded in a way he didn’t usually allow for in public.
A week ago, we’d been just like this—side by side, me buzzing on champagne and the idea of a seat that turned into an actual bed, him snapping a picture of me in my beaming delight.
I’d thought it was a crush. I’d thought I’d shake it off within hours of arriving on the island, maybe a day or two.
Funny. Hilarious, really.
Only I didn’t feel like laughing.
JFK felt like a slap in the face.
Harsh fluorescent lights, air-conditioning set to freezing, announcements about how unattended baggage would be blown up in a blaze of glory or some such. The baggage carousel whirred in quiet monotony, luggage tumbling out like it couldn’t really be bothered. Same.
I felt rumpled and overtired, the idea of home pressing down like a weighted blanket.
Dean stood beside me, a little hunched against the noise, suitcase already parked at his feet while mine had yet to show.
He was on his phone, checking in on work, shoulder brushing mine when he shifted slightly.
I leaned back just enough to make the contact permanent.
Say something.
What, though? That I wanted more? That I’d fallen hard, that we could make it, that I’d apply for trauma or pediatric surgery instead?
That I’d move to another hospital if that’s what he needed?
It would reduce my chances in a highly competitive field—applying not as a known quantity but a fresh risk.
But I… I’d be okay with that. I could handle it.
“Think they confiscated your suitcase for crimes against organized packing?” Dean asked into my thoughts, phone still in hand like he couldn’t wait to dive straight back into reality. I hadn’t even touched mine since we’d landed.
“If anything,” I said, “they’d keep it back to admire my puzzle work. Not an inch of space wasted!”
He slid me a comically haughty look, about to reply when his phone lit up with another message. I witnessed when it hit—his expression cracked like ice under a heavy step, everything else about him going completely, utterly still.
“Hey.” I grabbed his shoulder. “What’s wrong?”
He focused on me like someone resurfacing from deep waters. “It’s Brooke. My transplant patient.”
“The eighteen-year-old?” Shit. I shifted closer. “What happened? Is she okay?”
“They found her a heart. It’s on the way.” His breath hitched, face opening into raw, beautiful relief. “They just messaged—want to know how soon I can get there. Brooke asked for me.”
Oh. Oh.
“Dean, that’s… Wow.” I couldn’t find the words—nothing that would measure up. So I pulled him into a hug that he returned, holding on for a second as if he intended to memorize the way we were. And that—just.
This. Now.
A bustling airport with announcements droning overhead, poor lighting, the press of an indifferent crowd around us. No romantic setting, no hushed conversation over a shared bottle of wine—but pride and hope slicing clean through my fear.
When he stepped back, I released him with a smile. “Go, okay? Good luck.”
“Yeah.” He grinned at me, shaken and bright. “Thanks.”
Already halfway gone, and God, I should let him leave. He had to, of course he did, but I just… Fuck. The words had been pulling at me all throughout the flight, and now, now. A way to anchor us, give him a reason to come back. Maybe.
Deep breath. Okay. I raised my head and held his gaze. “I love you.”
Quiet, and yet it landed like an explosion.
Time ground to a halt. He blinked at me, eyes stunned wide, while my idiot heart was throwing itself against my ribs, trying to escape. Please, Dean. Please. A tiny shift of his weight towards me? Maybe.
And then, suddenly, his walls slammed down, hard enough to bruise. His attention flicked away as he took a step back, blindly fumbling for his suitcase. “I—okay.” Voice clipped. “I need to go.”
No.
I didn’t say it. Didn’t say a fucking word as he snatched his suitcase, nearly made it tumble over but caught it just in time, and turned, moved, shoulders squared, steps hurried.
Just me and the echo of my words, left abandoned between baggage carts and tired passengers.
The carousel kept spinning. A woman in yoga pants reached past me for a neon-pink bag.
Somewhere to my left, a baby was crying—pitiful little sobs that would have broken my heart if… if—well.
Too late, wasn’t it? Dean had gotten there first.
Fuck.
Eventually, my suitcase emerged, as dull and scuffed as I felt, heavy with summer clothes that didn’t match the weather. I grabbed it and started walking. Not like there was anything else I could do.
Welcome fucking home.