Chapter 27 #2
I type Is that why you kissed Tessa? but delete it. I still have questions. I almost type Did you end up fucking Tessa? Was she worth it? My fingers type something safer—my brain is hardwired to avoid another bad surprise.
We text back and forth for a while. Mostly about the book, with inevitable subtext threaded in every word. I shift, lowering my feet to the floor, grounding myself as if that will slow the warmth creeping up my chest. I close the book, pressing the cover flat with my palm.
Nate: We’ve only got two chapters left.
I nod even though I don’t think he can see me.
Nate: Would you want to read something else after? Or … not?
I tuck the book against my ribs, feeling its weight.
Me: Why don’t you let me pick this time?
The dots appear. Disappear. Appear again.
Nate: Yeah?
I don’t hesitate.
Me: Yeah.
The reply comes softer somehow, even through text.
Nate: I’d like that a lot.
As I put the blinds down before heading to bed, I can’t entirely avoid glancing into his apartment.
Even when I manage to avoid searching for him, it’s useless because my brain fills in the gaps, and in my mind, he smiles.
Beneath my feet, the wooden slats wobble, it’s not just a creaky floor, it’s my brain remembering a foundation that didn’t hold.
When I step into the exam room, Mr. Matthews is smiling, perched upright on the paper-covered exam table.
The room is narrow, and fluorescent lights reflect off pale-blue walls and stainless-steel fixtures.
A laminated brain diagram curls slightly at one corner, peeling away from the wall near the sink.
“Dr. Hollis,” he says, voice bright, hands folded neatly over his stomach. “I’m so happy you’re in today! Nobody listens the way you do!”
I smile and nod, crossing to the sink and scrubbing in. The water runs too hot at first, steam rising briefly before settling. “How’s the dizziness?”
“Gone. Completely.” He taps the side of his head, careful, reverent. “Ever since you caught that little hitch in my noggin.”
I dry my hands and glance at his chart, though I already know the numbers by heart. There’s a familiar tightness in my chest at the praise—pride braided with unease. “Early-stage infarcts can hide. Always get checked up if you don’t feel right.”
He nods, eyes shining. “I told them I wasn’t leaving until someone came in. Preferably you. My wife says I’m dramatic now.”
“Always listen to your woman, Mr. Matthews,” I say, smiling as I check his reflexes. “But you’re also stable. No new deficits.”
He exhales, the sound long and shaky, shoulders finally dropping. “So I’m … okay?”
“You’re okay,” I confirm. “We’ll keep monitoring, but your prognosis is very good.”
Relief spreads across his face, softening the lines there. I make a note on his chart, typing quickly, and pivot us toward follow-up plans before the moment grows too heavy.
Outside the exam room, phones ring in staggered rhythms, keyboards clack, carts roll past with soft squeaks. Ellie is at the nurses’ station, hair pulled into a tight braid that brushes the back of her scrubs as she swivels her chair toward me, scrolling through Mr. Matthews’s discharge notes.
“Well?” she asks.
“Textbook,” I say. “Good recovery.”
She grins, standing to meet me at the edge of the station. “You did good with him.”
I smile, chest swollen with pride that I was able to see what someone else missed. That I at least helped a family not go through what mine went through. I also whack Dad’s words away: his certainty that I’m bound to miss something. That even my best isn’t good enough because nothing saved Mom.
Ellie and I stand side by side at the counter, shoulders nearly touching. Then she tilts her head, eyes sharpening.
“I cannot believe you didn’t tell me,” she whispers, “that you have an ex who moved across the country for you, and you watched while I asked him out.”
I groan. “Ellie—”
“Not cool, Robyn.”
“That relationship is dead and buried.” I keep my voice low and roll my neck to loosen the tension, sweeping the flicker of sadness under the rug.
She slides her hand in the shelf beneath the counter, behind her station, and pushes my favorite coffee order my way. “Why did you guys end things?”
I cradle my fingers around the cup. She doesn’t know the full story, and I-I’m hurt over the kiss, but that kiss barely scratches the surface of why we broke up.
“I couldn’t land an attending position in Chicago.
I didn’t want him to leave his dream job for me.
” I hitch a shoulder, licking my lips. It feels truer than anything else without getting into specifics. “It was a bad breakup.”
She snorts. “So you ran. I finally get it.”
I take a sip of the coffee, letting the warm liquid take hold of me. The caffeine goes down, but the warmth doesn’t catch.
“It may be dead to you, but that man looks at you like he’s about to perform a forbidden ritual to zombify that dead relationship.”
I glance down at my hands and loosen my fingers around the cup. Coffee tasted better when Nate brought it. “We’re not—whatever you said. We’re reading a book.”
“You’re doing a book club,” she corrects, pushing back from the desk and crossing her arms. “With your ex.”
It wasn’t just caffeine with him; the warmth seeped into my bones then, a reminder that there was a life waiting for me outside the hospital walls.
Because it did more than keep me awake: it reminded me that training to become something was only one part of my life, not all of it. Did I ever tell this to Nate?
I stop, recalibrate, and lower my voice. “It’s friendly.”
Ellie cocks her hip against the counter, eyebrows lifting. “You fucked the last male friend you made.”
“I will have you know,” I state, “I am extremely good at not fucking my guy friends.”
“Yeah, yeah.” She waves a hand, already grinning. “You have a hot, pierced friend. We get it.” Her smile fades just a notch. “Truth stands, though. You’re not as put off by him as you think. I think, Dr. Hollis, you’re a bit of a scaredy-cat!”
A monitor beeps behind us, and someone laughs down the hall. “His mom,” I add, my thumb rubbing the edge of the counter. “She’s also my friend. And she wants me at her retirement party. I want to be there for her … but it could get messy.”
Ellie tilts her head, studying me. “And?”
“I worked hard to walk away from that mess.”
“The mess followed you. And my diagnosis is confirmed.”
I narrow my eyes at her.
She taps the counter once, thoughtful. “Maybe it wouldn’t be the worst thing—for your own peace of mind—to see what happened to it after you left.”
The words settle uncomfortably. Not wrong. I slide Mr. Matthews’s chart into its rack, the plastic snapping into place, clean and decisive. “He needs a PT referral and a follow-up MRI in six weeks.”
Ellie watches me a second longer, then nods, letting me have the last word—for now. “I’ll take care of it.”
My words echo in my mind, reminding me what’s important is that people show you if they’ve learned from their mistakes. Maybe if I see what happened with the mess I left behind, we could both finally move on, or at least I could feel better about the ground I’m standing on.
By the time I step into the compound’s courtyard, it’s just after eight.
Solar lights tucked into the grass throw soft halos over wet concrete.
After dinner with Ellie and Serena, I feel like my every choice has been dissected, and it’s pointless to waver—they’ll read more into it if I bail.
So, with the bookstore bag heavy on my fingers, I buzz his apartment. A pause. Static.
“Robyn?”
“Hey,” I say, shifting my weight. Then it registers. How did he know? “Were you looking again?”
He chuckles. “Wanna come up or for me to meet you down there?”
I psych myself up to make this quick. “I just need five minutes. Open the door?”
The click is immediate.
I skip the elevator, taking the stairs two at a time to the second floor.
At the landing, Nate’s already there. He leans against the wooden doorframe identical to mine, barefoot, one sleeve of his T-shirt pushed up like he was mid-task and just …
paused. His hair’s grown longer, half tied in a tiny messy bun that lets stubborn too-short tendrils fall framing his face.
The yellow light catches the auburn shine, and for a moment, he almost looks like a redhead.
“Hi,” he murmurs.
“Hi.” I step forward before I can think too much about it, holding out the book like a peace offering. “We finished Tell-tale Brain last week. It’s time for something more your speed.”
I reach into the bookstore bag and pull out one of the copies I bought of How Buildings Learn. He takes it, turning it over in his hands. His breath stutters, throat working, and his shoulders draw in before he catches himself.
“This is … perfect,” he says, voice measured, but it trembles enough to betray him. His shoulders sag a fraction, eyes rimmed red, blinking once. Twice. “Robyn—” His hand twitches near the spine of the book.
I shift before he can finish, steering us away from whatever that sentence might have become. “I wanted to talk to you about your mom’s party.”
His shoulders settle though his eyes stay intent.
“I’d like to be there for Rebecca, but if it’d be uncomfortable for you, or if there’s … anything with Tessa, and my being there would make things hard for her and you—”
“Do you think I’d be here if there was anything with her?”
The question isn’t sharp but insulting, because something did happen with her.
I hesitate, though, unsure I have the energy for anything other than this familiar game of Whac-A-Mole with my feelings. Even if the floor underneath me isn’t solid, it’s at least not collapsing. “I don’t know. A lot can happen in seven months.”
He exhales, a self-deprecating laugh cutting through it. “Yeah. Julian’s baby happened. And a whole lot of reading self-help books.” He meets my eyes. “I stayed in Chicago for Julian and for me. Not for Tessa.”
The space between us tightens. Not closer. Just … charged.
“So,” I say, clearing my throat. “Are you okay with me going to your mom’s party?”
His answer is immediate. “I’d really love that.”
Something warm spreads through my ribs, unexpected and unwelcomed in its intensity.
“Would you want to fly out a day early or so?” he adds. “I promised Julian I’d visit him and Milo.”
“That’s a great idea,” I say, nodding. “Can you also send me a hotel or two? I don’t remember seeing any when we visited.”
He snorts. “There’s no way my mom’s letting you stay anywhere but her house.” Then after a beat, his mouth quirks. “Which probably means I’ll need to find somewhere else to sleep to make room for you.”
I lift a brow. “Very noble of you.”
“I’ll suffer quietly.”
I laugh, and the sound surprises me with how easy it is. “So,” I say, shifting the bookstore bag higher on my shoulder, “I guess we’re going to your hometown.”
He steps back enough to look at me fully, his expression softening into something sure. “It’s going to be okay, Robyn. You’ll see.”
I nod. There’s no trust left in me to embrace the confidence in his voice.
When I turn to leave, the book is still in his hands. I don’t look back—but I can feel his eyes on me all the way to the elevator until the doors slide shut behind me.
My fingers tighten around the book in my bag. I’ll get to see if he learned anything by shattering us. And even if he didn’t … well, maybe I can have a little fun with Tessa—Rebecca did ask for town hall games after all.