Chapter 21
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
HAYDEN
“I’m glad today’s over,” I mutter as I sink onto the couch, the weight of the day rolling off me, especially now that Jemmy and Presley are both finally asleep.
Rowan offered to help get them ready for bed, but I told her to relax since it’s technically her day off.
“I can imagine,” she says, taking a sip of tea. “Your father-in-law is…”
“An asshole.”
“That’s one way of putting it,” she retorts.
I lift the glass of scotch I poured after dinner, the amber liquid catching the glow from the TV. Schitt’s Creek hums in the background, Moira’s overly dramatic voice filling the space, but I’m barely paying attention.
“Has he always been that way?”
“More or less,” I respond. “He’s always hated me.”
She scrunches her brows. “Why?”
I roll my shoulders, tension cracking through my neck. “Take your pick. First, because my family wasn’t as well off as his. Then because I’m the reason Cora moved to Chicago instead of staying here to work at the family practice.”
“Were you high school sweethearts?” she asks cautiously, seemingly unsure if I’m in the right mental state to talk about her today.
A year ago, I wouldn’t have been. Hell, a few months ago, I wouldn’t have been.
It stings a bit less lately.
“We were. I was a year older, which had its challenges, especially when I went to college in Chicago. Everyone talks about how young couples try to make long-distance work and fail in the first few months. That wasn’t us.
All my friends were hooking up with a different girl every night, but the only girl I wanted was Cora. ”
Rowan’s full attention is glued to me. She’s always like this. Whenever she’s here, she’s present. Not distracted by her phone or scrolling through social media. In fact, I’ve rarely seen her on her phone.
“Even though she stayed close to home for college, we made it work,” I explain.
“But when it was time for med school, she chose to go to Northwestern despite her father’s wish that she go somewhere near here.
But even he couldn’t deny the prestige and bragging rights being accepted to Northwestern for med school would give him.
So she moved to Chicago. A year later, I asked her to marry me.
The rest, I suppose, is history,” I finish with a sad smile.
“That’s really sweet.”
“It wasn’t always easy. Two med students. Insane hours. Constant stress. But that didn’t matter to us. We just wanted to be together.”
“That’s life, though, isn’t it? Finding that one person you’re willing to fight to be with, no matter the obstacles?”
“I guess it is.” I shift my gaze forward for a beat before clearing my throat and returning my attention to her. “What about you? Any boyfriend I should expect to come visit?”
I take a slow sip of my scotch, my jaw ticking at the thought of someone else touching her the way I’ll never be able to.
“Before I left, I was sort of seeing someone.”
“Was it serious?”
She pushes out a nervous laugh. “You could say that.”
“What happened?”
She hesitates, chewing on her lower lip. Which only draws my attention to them. Makes me wonder how they taste.
“We were engaged before my little health scare. I’m fine now,” she adds quickly, like she did the last time she brought it up. “But when you go through something like that, you start re-evaluating things. I remember lying in that hospital bed, full of regrets. So I decided to Marie Kondo my life.”
“Marie Kondo your life?”
She shrugs. “I got rid of anything that didn’t spark joy.”
“And this fiancé of yours?” I press tentatively. “Did he spark joy?”
I say a silent prayer that the answer is no. It’s a ridiculous notion, but a part of me wants to be the one who does that for her.
“More like our priorities were no longer aligned.” She swallows hard, and I sense there’s more to her statement. “So we broke off our engagement.”
“That must have been difficult.”
“At first, it was. But now I’m grateful he showed his true colors.
Life’s too short for mediocrity. I mean, think about it.
” She turns fully toward me, her eyes bright.
“The average life expectancy for women in this country is about eighty-one years. That’s just under thirty thousand days. Sounds like a lot, right?”
“I suppose.”
“But once you factor in how much of that is spent working and going to school, you only get a few thousand days to make it count.”
There’s a flicker of something in her expression. Something that looks like sadness. But it vanishes just as quickly.
“So many people stay miserable because they think there’s no other option,” she continues. “They stay with their spouse. They continue going to that boring job. They keep driving the reliable sedan. Not me. Not anymore.”
I’m completely mesmerized by her. The way her eyes light up. The way her hands move when she’s passionate. I can physically feel her thirst for life.
But our circumstances are vastly different.
She has her entire life ahead of her. No responsibilities holding her back.
Not like me.
“You’re young. You can just pick up and try something new. Not everyone has that luxury.”
“I don’t agree. Is it harder when people rely on you? Sure. But that doesn’t mean you should stay unhappy.” She folds her legs underneath her body, leaning closer, her attention fully devoted to me. “What about you? What sparks joy for you?”
“Sparks joy?”
“Exactly. Right now. This second. What makes you happy?”
“My kids,” I say without a moment’s hesitation. “Even if they frustrate me sometimes.”
She grins. “Good. They get to stay.”
I chuckle despite myself. “They’ll be thrilled.”
“What else?”
I shake my head, searching my brain for something else. But nothing comes.
“If you had a gratitude journal, what would you write in it?” she prods.
“A gratitude journal?”
“I write in mine every night and come up with three things I’m grateful for.”
“Don’t you run out?” I ask, unsure if I’d be able to come up with three things to be grateful for total, let alone three things every day.
“No,” she says. “Sometimes I repeat things because I’m feeling grateful for them again. It’s not about novelty. It’s about choosing to be grateful for the things in my life instead of wishing for something else. So your kids are one. What else?”
“My nanny,” I say before I can stop myself. “I’m definitely grateful for her.”
The air shifts, her eyes landing on mine. It probably only lasts a matter of seconds, but it feels like an eternity as her gaze holds mine, my admission hanging between us.
“I spark joy. Phew,” she says around a nervous laugh, pretending to wipe sweat from her brow. “Guess I can keep my job for another day.”
“I don’t think it’s possible for you not to spark joy in someone, Rowan.”
She smiles, a blush blooming across her cheeks.
I shouldn’t keep saying things like this. She’s my nanny.
My employee.
But between the scotch, the anniversary, and Jude’s voice echoing in my head, I find myself admitting things I shouldn’t.
“One more,” she says softly.
I part my lips, about to say my family.
“And it can’t be a person,” she adds, as if sensing what I’m about to say.
I snap my mouth shut and stare ahead. “I don’t think there is anything else,” I say with a self-deprecating laugh.
It’s a bit of a rude awakening to learn there’s nothing else in my life that makes me happy. Nothing else I’m grateful for.
“What about your job?” she suggests. “Don’t you enjoy what you do?”
“I…did.”
“Did?”
“In Chicago. The ER. I loved it. The chaos. The pace. Never knowing what would come through those doors.”
“It seems like a big change between a Chicago emergency room to a small town family medical practice.”
“You have no idea.”
“Then why are you working there? Why not work at an emergency room around here?”
“I figure taking over Robert’s practice is the least I can do, all things considered.”
She scrunches her brows. “What do you mean?”
“Because it’s my fault his daughter’s gone.”
She straightens. “Why do you think that?”
“Because it’s the truth.”
“Did you hit her car?”
“No, but—”
“But nothing,” she interjects. “It’s not your fault.”
I shake my head, refusing to agree with her. I can’t. Not when I know I’m to blame.
“I should have insisted she get checked out after the accident. Hell, I didn’t even examine her damn pupils, the easiest fucking thing to do to check for any sign of brain trauma.
Instead, I let her sit in that waiting room while Presley was in surgery.
By the time anyone realized what was happening, it was too late. ”
“It’s not like you knew.”
“I should have known.”
My voice seems to echo in the stillness of the house, the ache in my throat and chest nearly unbearable. Not just for Cora, but for my kids.
“I’m a doctor, for crying out loud. I should have seen the signs. And now, because of me, my kids are going to grow up without a mother. Jemmy will grow up without any memories of her. All because I failed her. Failed them.”
“Listen to me, Hayden.”
She clutches my cheeks, not allowing me to escape this. I inhale a sharp breath at the feel of her touch, hating it yet craving it at the same time.
“You can’t do this to yourself.” Her voice is fierce, full of passion and life and everything I haven’t allowed myself to experience for the past year.
“You can’t keep beating yourself up over this.
I may not be as old as you are, but I know I wouldn’t want to go through life with this much regret.
This much guilt. You shouldn’t either. And you definitely shouldn’t let anyone else put that guilt or blame on you.
“Is what happened to your wife a tragedy? Of course. But your kids deserve better than a father who spends his days weighed down by guilt and regret. You deserve better than spending your days weighed down by guilt and regret. You deserve to be happy. To follow your dreams. To find those things that bring you joy. To—”
Before I can fully wrap my head around what I’m doing, I surge forward and press my mouth to hers, cutting her off mid-sentence, the words dying between us as our lips collide.
For half a second, she’s still, her breath hitching softly against my mouth. In that fragile pause, every warning bell in my head goes berserk.
This is wrong. She’s my employee. My kids are upstairs. It’s the anniversary of my wife’s death. I should pull back. Apologize. Pretend it never happened.
But the instant a tiny whimper falls from her throat, I forget everything other than her lips, warm and impossibly soft. I feel her kiss everywhere — down my spine, through my chest, loosening something that’s been locked tight for so long I’d forgotten what it feels like to want.
I pull her closer, gripping her hips, like I’m afraid she’ll disappear if I let go.
Like I’m afraid I will.
Her fingers curl into the front of my shirt, and the contact sends a quiet, aching need through me. She tastes of chamomile and something sweet. It’s intoxicating in the most dangerous way.
For a few stolen seconds, the grief, the ache, the endless self-recrimination all go quiet. In their place is Rowan’s breath mingling with mine, her mouth moving gently against mine.
For the first time in over a year, I don’t feel like I’m just surviving.
I feel something warm. Real. Hopeful.
And that’s what scares me the most.
Reality comes crashing back all at once, and I tear away, jumping to my feet, my chest heaving like I’ve just surfaced from deep water.
I stare at Rowan’s swollen lips for several protracted moments, horrified at myself. At how easy it was to forget. At how badly I wanted to stay suspended in that brief, reckless moment where the world didn’t hurt so much.
“I shouldn’t have done that.”
I avert my gaze. If I don’t — if I keep staring at the softness of her mouth, the faint flush in her cheeks, the proof that she felt it too — I fear I won’t be strong enough to walk away.
“It’s okay.” She stands, stepping toward me. “I—”
“You’re my nanny.” My words come out sharp.
Too sharp.
But I need them to be. Need them to help re-build a wall between us before I do something I’ll regret.
I don’t look back as I climb the stairs, each step heavier than the last.
And when I pass a photo of Cora and the kids, the guilt and regret returns full force, reminding me why I don’t deserve anything good.
Why I don’t deserve Rowan.