Chapter 18
POV: Marina
Silence.
Thick. Loud. Deafening.
I turned slowly toward Brennan.
He was already looking at me, eyes dark with something dangerously close to laughter, one corner of his mouth lifting like he was holding back a grin out of sheer politeness.
Alex set his cup down. “Hmm.”
Everyone looked at me.
My brain finally rebooted.
“Oh! That,” I said, far too quickly. “Yes. That makes sense. Brennan is one of my residents.”
Brennan nodded immediately. “Yes. Exactly.”
I kept going, words tumbling out. “I spilled coffee all over myself at the hospital. Total disaster. And he was kind enough to lend me a shirt so I wouldn’t go home soaked.”
Claire smiled. “That sounds like Brennan.”
Jacob chuckled. “Always the gentleman.”
My father looked between us. “Well. Mystery solved.”
Alex took another sip of coffee, eyes never leaving me. “Sure.”
Brennan caught my gaze again, his smile softening just a fraction—just enough to remind me that only we knew the truth. That this was our secret. That he was enjoying every second of it.
I swallowed, heart racing, pulse loud in my ears.
And I had a sinking feeling this was only the beginning.
Dinner stretched into that lazy, warm kind of evening that made me forget, for a second, that anything complicated existed.
The Stokes were loud, teasing Brennan about school, about his work, about how he never talked about girls.
My mom kept filling everyone’s plates like food could somehow anchor all of us to this moment.
Brennan sat beside me, close enough that his knee brushed mine under the table. He didn’t move away.
Every time he laughed, he looked at me first—like he wanted to see if I was laughing too, like my reaction mattered more than the joke itself.
Marina, stop, I told myself. Stop reading into everything.
But then his hand grazed mine when he reached for the bread. He didn’t pull away right away. Just let his fingers linger against mine for a second longer than polite. Long enough that my pulse stumbled.
“Did you see the way your mom looked at you when you said that?” he murmured under his breath.
I leaned closer. “She thinks you’re corrupting me.”
A ghost of a smile curved his lips. “I am an angel.”
“You’re delusional.”
“Only for you.”
My stomach flipped.
Across the table, Alex raised an eyebrow at me, like he was cataloging every tiny thing. I pretended not to notice.
Later, while everyone was getting dessert, my phone buzzed.
Brennan:
This is torture.
I glanced at him. He was pretending to listen to his dad, but his eyes flicked to me.
Me:
Torture?
Brennan:
Seeing you this close and not being able to touch you. Not being able to pull you into my lap.
Heat flushed my face. I typed back with shaking fingers.
Me:
Behave.
He sent a single message:
No.
And then added:
You look too good tonight.
I swallowed and slipped my phone into my lap, heart hammering like a traitor.
When the Stokes finally left, hugs and goodbyes and promises to meet again soon, I felt strangely hollow. Brennan lingered on the porch with us, hands in his pockets, like he didn’t want the night to end either.
Alex said something about being tired and disappeared inside. My parents went to the kitchen. And suddenly it was just Brennan and me, the porch light buzzing overhead, the air cool and quiet.
He stepped closer and pulled me into a hug.
It was normal. Friendly. Innocent.
Except he didn’t let go.
His arms tightened around me, his chest warm and solid against mine. I could feel his heartbeat, slow and steady. My cheek was pressed against his shoulder, and his hand slid up my back, fingers spreading like he was memorizing me.
I didn’t move. Didn’t breathe.
“You smell like vanilla,” he murmured into my hair.
“You’re weird.”
He huffed a laugh but didn’t release me.
“I wish so badly I could kiss you right now,” He whispered.
Another second passed. Then another.
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he said quietly, but his voice didn’t sound like he wanted to leave.
“Yeah.”
He pulled back reluctantly, his hands lingering on my arms before dropping away. His eyes held mine for a moment, intense, unreadable. Then he turned and walked down the steps, hands back in his pockets like nothing had happened.
I stood there until he disappeared into the darkness.
I was brushing my hair when Alex knocked once and opened my door without waiting.
He shut it behind him.
That alone made my stomach knot.
“You don’t bullshit me,” he said calmly.
I kept brushing. “What?”
“You can lie to mom and dad. You can lie to the entire world. But I know you.”
I met his eyes in the mirror. He was leaning against my desk, arms crossed, expression too perceptive.
“This is about the shirt, isn’t it?” I sighed.
“No.” He shook his head. “This is about you and Brennan.”
My hand froze.
“There’s something different,” he continued. “I’ve known Brennan forever. He’s always looked at you like you’re… important. But now? He looks at you like you’re his whole world. And you don’t just borrow a guy’s shirt and act like that.”
Heat crawled up my neck. “You’re imagining things.”
“I’m not.”
Silence stretched between us.
I dropped the brush onto my dresser.
“We ended up together,” I whispered.
Alex’s eyes widened slightly, but instead of shock or judgment, he just smiled.
“Finally.”
I blinked. “You’re not going to say it’s insane? He’s younger than me.. than you even. I know him forever and I’m his boss...”
He shrugged. “So what? You deserve to be happy. He’s a good guy. He’s always been a good guy. And lately, he’s been different. Calmer. Focused. Like he’s building his life. You know, doctor, now cardiologist. Just like you.”
That word—around—made something twist in my chest.
He stepped closer and kissed my forehead. “I’m happy for you. And I’m here. But you’re telling mom and dad when you’re ready.”
“Not yet,” I said quickly. “It’s too soon. I’m still… the widow. The grief girl. Everyone sees me like glass.”
Alex squeezed my shoulder. “Then we keep it between us. For now.”
He left, closing the door softly behind him.
Sleep didn’t come.
My bed felt too big, too quiet. My body felt like it was waiting for something it couldn’t have.
My phone buzzed at 1:37 a.m.
Brennan:
Can’t sleep.
I smiled into the darkness.
Me:
You’re dramatic.
Brennan:
I’m serious. The bed smells wrong without you.
My heart stuttered.
Me:
Smells wrong?
Brennan:
Yeah. You’re not here. I keep reaching for you.
I stared at the ceiling, pulse racing.
Brennan:
Thinking about stuffing pillows in your place so I can pretend you’re here.
I laughed silently.
Me:
You’re a crying baby.
Brennan:
Only for you.
A beat passed.
Me:
I miss you too.
Three dots appeared instantly.
Brennan:
Good. Because I’m not pretending otherwise.
I hugged my pillow, pretending it was him, and finally drifted into sleep with his words echoing in my mind—too intense, too sweet, too dangerous.
I woke up smiling.
That was the cruel part.
Sunlight poured through the curtains, painting the room gold. My body felt light. Rested. My phone was on my nightstand, and my first thought was Brennan—his stupid texts, his quiet voice, the way his arms had felt around me last night.
For a few seconds, I forgot everything else.
Then I rolled over, reached for my phone, and the world tilted.
April 12.
My chest collapsed inward, like someone had punched through my ribs and wrapped a fist around my heart.
Anniversary.
Mine and Jonathan’s.
The first one without him.
I sat up too fast, dizziness washing over me. My hands trembled as I stared at the screen, at the tiny calendar square that meant nothing to the world and everything to me.
In his last year, Jonathan had woken me up with coffee in bed and that lazy smile. Another year of surviving me, doc.
I’d laughed and kissed him and thought we had decades.
Now he was ashes in a cemetery I avoided.
And I was… happy. Smiling. Thinking about another man.
Guilt flooded me so violently it tasted metallic.