Epilogue #2
“Yes,” I said, sure, my thumb catching on a hint of stubble along his jaw, grounding myself in him and this radiant moment. Not the first time it felt like the world was slowing down just for us, glowing around the seams—but more importantly, to the extent that I had a say in it?
Decades from the last.
Tay
July
“Tay.”
Fond and a little amused, it sliced through a pleasant haze. No.
“Come on, love.”
No, no, no. Then—a sudden wash of light. Ugh.
I squeezed my eyes shut. “Go away.”
“Oh, ouch.” A laugh fluttered against my cheek, followed by—God, yes. Heaven. Or coffee, which, easily confused. I kept my eyes stubbornly shut and made grabby hands.
“Gimme.” I weighed my odds. “Please?”
“Upright first.”
“Why you gotta be so mean?”
“Because, babe”—the mattress dipped as Dean sat down—“it’s your first day as a fellow and you don’t want to be late.”
Fuck, yes—right. I jolted up and nearly knocked the cup out of his hand.
He managed to move back just in time, looking far too bright-eyed for someone who’d gotten up at the ass crack of dawn to help Gregg stage an elaborately planned proposal that had taken six weeks, a stack of flashcards, and roughly eight bottles of wine.
I snatched the coffee out of Dean’s hand, gave his thigh a friendly grope, and took a first sip to kickstart my brain. “Jada said yes?”
“She’s a smart woman. Of course she did.
” Dean glowed with secondhand delight, and I loved him like this—happy and open, grinning at me like the world was a truly awesome place.
I also loved him when he was tired and slightly grumpy, or quiet and a little overwhelmed, when he needed me close and when he needed his five minutes of space.
I just… loved him. But this, this was him at his brightest, and seeing it shook something loose in my chest.
“Thanks for the coffee,” I said instead of giving voice to the ridiculous tumble of thoughts in my head.
“You’re welcome.”
He shifted to sit next to me, his back against the headboard and legs stretched out, shoulder against mine.
Silence settled while I took a few more gulps of coffee.
Sunshine slanted in through the window that Dean had pulled open along with the curtains, bouncing off a framed photo on the shelf—a lucky shot of us from Charley and Theo’s wedding, me laughing and Dean looking at me like I was the only guy in the world.
Even now, it tugged at something in my chest.
“Hey.” Dean slid me a sideways glance, voice lilting into something almost hushed. “I was just thinking, with Gregg getting engaged and you starting your fellowship… Feels like a good moment to ask if, uh.” A half beat. “Do you want to move in?”
I breathed through the rush. In a way… Well, it wasn’t a surprise.
I’d never actually returned that key he’d handed me when things turned real.
Half my stuff already lived here, including two plants and a few spots of chaos and color that I’d sneakily introduced—like switching up the order of Dean’s spices, like a messily rolled-up toothpaste tube or the shimmering, silky throw pillows in every jewel tone imaginable that I’d looted when my aunt had moved into a smaller apartment.
But this place cost a lot more than the one I shared with Rory. I’d get a slight raise as a fellow, sure, but I wasn’t exactly raking it in yet.
“I…” My tongue tripped over itself. “Yeah. It’s just that—I’m still not making that much more. And with the family loan I’m paying back… Just, I’d want it to be fair.”
“Yeah, I thought you might say that.” Dean’s voice was warm, hopeful.
“So here’s me making my case. Right now, you spend more nights here than at your own place—which, good.
I want you here.” He shot me a smile, hand curving lightly around my knee.
“But you’re paying zero rent. Change that to you contributing exactly the same as you are with Rory, and it’s a win-win—you get an apartment that’s closer to the hospital, I get someone who pitches in plus you in my bed, which is what I mostly care about. And Rory can move their girlfriend in.”
Huh. He’d prepared this, maybe even rehearsed it. Probably, knowing him. And it wasn’t exactly a bulletproof argument—I could poke holes into it if I really wanted to. But did I?
“I might want to paint the walls,” I said slowly, testing. “Some blue in here. Put up a few photos, some art.”
He didn’t even hesitate. “Okay.”
“Just like that?”
“No pink, no purple, no glitter.” In the morning light, his eyes were of a gentle, rich blue. “Everything else? Fair game.”
My smile started soft and deep, like smoke curling up from a fire. “You really want me to move in?”
“I love you.” He said it simply, a well-established truth. “Between your shift schedule and mine, it’s hard enough to see you—and I want to. If you live here, that’s easier.”
“What if you get tired of me?”
“I won’t.”
“You like your space.”
“Yeah.” He dipped his head, something thoughtful in his tone. “But it’s like… there’s people, and then there’s you. I need a moment of quiet sometimes, yeah, a few minutes to myself, but you being around just doesn’t ever weigh on me.”
“Then yes.” I shifted into him and thought about coming home to this every night. Yes. “I’d love to.”
“Good.” Just that, but I caught the way he relaxed against me, as if he hadn’t been truly sure of my response—sure of me.
I set my coffee aside and climbed into his lap, bracing my elbows on his shoulders. “Dean?”
He blinked up at me. “Yeah?”
“I’m a smart man. Of course it’s a yes.”
It took Dean a second before the parallel clicked—a mirror of his own words when I’d asked about Jada’s reaction to Gregg’s proposal. Then he wrapped an arm around my back and grinned, so wide it veered into goofy territory. “Are you inviting me to ask a different question?”
“Might ask it myself one day.” The words felt abruptly too big for this morning, with my alarm about to go off and my first day as a newly minted pediatric surgery fellow looming ahead, bright and a little terrifying.
“Unless—hey. You didn’t ask me to move in just to distract me from the whole… help-I’m-a-fellow-now thing. Right?”
Dean brushed a chuckle against the corner of my mouth. “You’re an idiot.”
“Not actually an answer.”
His arm tightened around me. “One, no. Two, you’re brilliant. That’s how you got the position—it was all you. But I’m here if you need a reminder.”
For a beat, I let myself sink into his warmth and simply held on, cheek to cheek. Breathing. Then I straightened. “I love you.”
“I know.” He smiled, bright like tropical skies. “And right back at you.”
I kissed him—just a close-mouthed press of our mouths, tinged with a hint of coffee and sleep, familiar.
Home.
Dean
October
“Silk tie, please.” I reached without looking, caught a slight tremble in the resident’s hand when he handed it over. Fresh out of med school, no need to mention his slip.
Stitch. Knot. I trimmed the ends, the graft pulsing clean under the lights.
“Eighty-four over fifty,” anesthesia called.
Good. A smile worked its way up my spine. Maybe the guy wouldn’t run Boston next year as planned, but run again he would.
Ten minutes later, water sloshed over my fingers, the smell of antiseptic wafting up. One of the first-year fellows caught my eye—Kaplan, a Texas transplant just like me—and I nodded at her while drying my hands. “Nice work.”
Surprise cracked through her features, then she smiled like I’d paid her a massive compliment. “Thank you, sir.”
“Welcome.” I smiled back and wondered if it would trigger another round of speculation.
After news of my recusal had leaked, watercooler gossip spent a hot second sifting through the incoming CT fellowship cohort for potential candidates—only to draw a blank.
Well, they were about to have their answer.
The cafeteria slapped me with the smell of reheated tomato sauce and watery coffee.
Lunch rush. I grabbed a sad sandwich and paid, nodding at a few people I knew, and then dodged a wide-eyed group of interns on my way to a window table halfway down.
There—Tay. He waved at me, and my mouth curved into a smile. Pure reflex.
I dropped into the chair across from him and ignored the slight ripple of surprise I felt radiating outward. While not the first instance we’d been spotted together, the other times had been quick coffees. Lunch was… a flare.
“Hi there,” I said, softer than the clatter of trays and voices around us.
“Hey.” Tay grinned at me in a way that made the walls seem a little more sunshine-yellow than beige. “You look pretty happy with yourself.”
“It’s the company I keep.” I nudged our hands together, fingers skimming over Tay’s—just briefly, but I knew it’d be enough to kick the rumor mill into overdrive. Let them talk. I personally couldn’t care less, and Tay had hit the ground running. Any whispers of favoritism were sure to fade.
“Oh, hey,” he said. “Gregg and Jada sent their wedding invitation. Fished it out of our mail this morning.” He dug through his bag and came up with a glossy picture of the Hudson Valley under a summer sky.
I took the postcard addressed to me and skimmed Gregg’s messy scrawl that spelled out details I already knew: late May, rustic barn, craft beer; karaoke optional.
“I’ll need a date,” I said, glancing up.
“Huh, yeah.” Tay nodded, all slow and thoughtful, like it hadn’t occurred to him until just now. “I guess you do.”
“Any suggestions?”
He propped his chin on a hand, poking at a soggy salad with the other. “There’s this cute guy who started peds same time as me, pretty sure he’s gay. Could check if he’s free?”
I laughed just as Dr. Berg walked by. She nearly dropped her tray, as if the mere sight of me showing emotions was a shocking novelty.
Under the table, Tay’s ankle hooked around mine, and I remembered him slipping into bed early this morning, fresh off two night shifts that were fortunately becoming less common, dawn creeping in around the edges of the blinds.
He’d still been asleep when I left, but even so, the apartment felt more alive with him in it.
Messier, too, in a way that was warm and real.
“Tay?” I leaned in as if to confide a secret.
He smiled at me, waiting, and I tapped the invitation.
“Put it in your calendar. I’m not bringing anyone else.”
His grin was all sparkle. “That a threat?”
“No.” I reached across the table and laced our hands, tasted sunshine and ocean salt and terrible hospital coffee at the back of my throat. “It’s a promise.”
*