Chapter 15
Chapter fifteen
Yosh
It’s late afternoon, and I’m still at my desk. My fingers are racing over the keyboard, transcribing notes from Wednesday’s meeting.
They’re moving on their own. Too fast. Way too fast.
I stop, clenching my hands into fists. My nails dig into my palms as I squeeze my eyes shut.
I need to slow down. Type like a normal person.
But I remember what happened when I hadn’t been fast enough. When I wasn’t good enough.
I hate it.
I bite my lip, force my eyes open. Enough.
I reach for Tom’s file and pull it from the archive drawer. Time to make a few additions.
If there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that technology can’t be trusted.
That’s why I keep patient files on paper instead of storing them digitally.
My colleagues hate it, especially when we need to communicate treatment plans.
I get it. The resort has an internal network where files and notes are shared— with restricted access, of course.
It’s faster and easier, and it’s supposed to reduce miscommunication between coworkers— not that the drama ever vanishes here.
Still, I refuse to change. They don’t know the things that I know, and since I mostly work independently in the alternative therapy wing, I can get away with it.
Tom is the exception. If I make it to head of the department, he’ll be the last resort guest I take on for full guidance.
Last night made one thing painfully clear: I can’t do this without getting too deeply involved.
Another set of years of study, wasted. For what? How did I ever think I was cut out for this?
I feel like a failure. And the worst part? I’m starting to accept it.
I gave up being a surgeon years ago because I couldn’t do it anymore. Not after Afghanistan.
Now I’m walking away from psychology too.
But I’m not walking away from Tom.
I considered it after that conversation with Tiffy. I didn’t fully admit it to myself, but I knew handing Tom over to Erin would be the right thing to do. Professionally, at least.
Then Terrence happened.
And then Tom shared his pain, probably for the first time in his life.
How the hell am I supposed to turn my back on him now?
If I did, the little trust he has in people would disappear. He’d shut down. Maybe for good.
No. I promised myself I’d fight for him.
So, Tom McKenna is off-limits.
I can’t put my own feelings above his wellbeing, and I don’t know what that makes me. Toxic? A walking red flag, like Tiffy said?
Maybe. But I’m doing the best I can, trying to navigate this dangerous road without wrecking us both.
I have to get this right.
Failure is not an option when it comes to him.
I open the file, flip to an empty page, setting my fountain pen on the paper. While I think about where to start, ink pools beneath the nib, forming a small black stain. I lift the pen and write two names:
Jay.
Emily.
I circle them.
I’d known Jay was controlling, maybe even abusive, but hearing it from Tom’s mouth… Him talking about being beaten into the hospital by his brother, like he somehow deserved it…
And Emily.
My eyes stay fixed on her name. Yesterday, after everything Tom had told me, I had to fight not to lose it right there in front of him.
She’d been angry with Jay that night at the villa, so she went to Tom. Not as his brother’s girlfriend, but as someone looking for…what? Revenge? Comfort? A distraction?
Tom never said the words outright, but I’d heard them in the silence between his sentences. In the details he skipped, how he’d looked away.
He didn’t need to say it. I’d already pieced it together.
I swallow hard, threading a lock of hair through my fingers.
Where is she now, Emily? Is she still with Jay? Did their marriage survive?
Tom hadn’t mentioned her when he’d talked about his family. What had happened to her?
She’d lost her son, that alone could destroy a person.
I add a small question mark beside her name and close the file. I don’t want to write down the rest of what Tom had told me. It somehow feels safer that way.
A yawn escapes me as I rub my temples. I doubt I slept three full hours. As expected, my thoughts had spun until the first light sneaked through the shutters.
At least my mornings are blocked out for Tom for the next few weeks, so I managed a couple of hours of sleep before Samira came by for her stitches.
I check my watch. Almost four.
Dinner’s still hours away. I’ve got time for a quick power nap before I meet him tonight.
I need to recharge. It’s always a delightful surprise which version of Tom will walk through that door.
Last night might have changed things.
Maybe philosophical Tom will show up again, the one who talks about the meaning of existence over a shared sunset. I could meet him there.
But just as easily, he might have crawled back into his shell and I’ll be dealing with irritated Tom, the one who snaps because he’s hurting, who insists he doesn’t need any of this, but still roams the resort to find me.
Logically, I know we’ve moved past that. He trusts me now.
All I can really hope for is progress.
Experience has taught me that after days like yesterday, sometimes you need to step back before you can move forward.
So, as I see it, this is Tom’s turning point. The only question is: what will he do with it?
I get up from my desk and head to the bedroom. I kick off my loafers and let myself drop onto the bed, staring at the ceiling for a moment before closing my eyes.
Whatever version shows up, I’ll need my energy.