Chapter Eleven Cameron
Chapter Eleven
Cameron
I’d just come out of the OR when I saw him standing there like he’d been waiting, right in my way.
A small smile pulled at my mouth as I walked up.
“Dean,” I said.
“Cameron,” he greeted, smiling widely, then yanked me toward him and locked his arms around my neck, choking me. I pushed him off and laughed.
“I see you missed me that much,” I said.
He chuckled.
“When did you get back?”
“Yesterday,” he said, frowning. “I asked for another day off, but your sister didn’t allow it.”
“Yeah, that sounds like Caroline. But we’re short on doctors here, you know that.”
“I know,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “Figured she’d remind me the second I stepped in.”
“You settling back in okay?” I asked.
“I was only gone for ninety days,” he said.
Dean had taken time off to backpack through Europe with his husband, a long-overdue trip, especially after Ben threatened to move into the guest room if they didn’t go.
“But honestly, I’m dreading going back to the hospital.
I can already see the long hours and sleepless nights coming. ”
“Where’s Ben?” I asked.
“Somewhere around here, I guess. Not sure.” Ben was a surgical nurse and a friend of Sloane’s as well.
He leaned in, lowering his voice so only I could hear as he tugged my elbow, guiding me toward a quieter corner of the room. “Hey, I heard a lot today,” he said. “Ben heard the same.”
I frowned. “What kind of things?”
“First, people noticed Sloane isn’t wearing her ring anymore.” His eyes flicked to my hand. “And you’re still wearing yours. Then there was the woman who hugged you last week and ran off crying. What the hell happened, Cam? Are you and Sloane still together?”
I swallowed hard, forcing the words out. “We’re not,” I said.
Dean sucked in a breath. “Fuck, man. I know you guys fight a lot, but I always thought you’d make it. You love each other so much.”
“Yeah... there’s a lot you don’t know,” I said quietly.
Dean had been my best friend since medical school, and he probably knew more about the problems in our marriage than my own family.
Not because I told him everything, but because he’d seen some of it firsthand.
He had also picked up on the growing distance between Sloane and me.
He was that perceptive. Ben was even more so.
Dean crossed his arms and stood right in front of me, lowering his voice even further. “So who’s this woman?” he asked. “Are you fucking cheating on Sloane, Cam?”
His eyes locked onto mine, his face taut like he was bracing for impact.
“Yes,” I said quietly.
Dean dragged a hand over his mouth, eyes wide. “Fucking hell, Cam. You fucking asshole,” he muttered. He stepped back, then surged forward again, hissing, “If Ben hears this, you know he’ll chase you around the floor with a scalpel.”
I didn’t respond to that, but I knew Ben well enough to know he’d hate me for this.
“What happened, Cam?” Dean asked glumly. “Was it really that bad? Bad enough to cheat? For how long?”
“Three months,” I said, lowering my head. I stared at the floor, unable to face him. “And I had ended it. But she couldn’t accept it.”
He stared at me, seemingly at a loss for words. Then he said,
“I still can’t believe you did this, Cam.
Knowing how much you love Sloane, how every time she knocked you flat on your face, you got up and ran right back to her.
Even when you two fought like you wanted to kill each other, you always came back.
Your determination and tenacity were something I admired.
So no, I never would’ve fucking guessed you’d do this to her. ”
“Yeah...” It was all I could manage.
“Why did you end it with the other woman? Was it because Sloane caught you?”
I shook my head. “I was the one who told Sloane.”
“Damn...” He shook his head, disbelief all over his face. “I can’t tell if you’re brutally honest or just plain stupid. But so far, it sounds like both.”
I looked at him and said quietly, “I ended it because I finally realized Sloane’s too deep in my blood and no other woman can bleed her out. It’s pointless fighting it now.”
He paused, staring at me again. “Sloane’s leaving you, isn’t she?” Dean knew her too well.
I nodded, a pinch blooming in my chest.
“What are you going to do now? Try to get Sloane back? Drag her to couples counseling again?”
I let out a long sigh. “That didn’t work, did it? I tried so many times. We went once, then she refused to come back.”
“So now what?” he asked.
“She said she’s going to divorce me.”
“Do you want to get a divorce?”
I shook my head. “Of course not. But the marriage was already falling apart long before, Dean, you know that. I just made it worse, and there’s no coming back from that.”
He stared at me, stunned. “What? You’re going to give up? That’s not you.”
I wasn’t sure how to answer. Dean’s expression softened as he said, “You’re exhausted, aren’t you?
” He let out a heavy sigh. “Look, we don’t have time to dive into this now, but if you want, we can grab a drink tonight.
I fucking hate what you did to Sloane, but you’re my best friend, and I want to help. ”
“That would be great,” I said, offering a small smile. “I just need to pick up Harper from my mom’s, take her home, and then I’ll meet you.”
“Alright, I’ll text you the place,” he said. Then he paused, something on his mind.
“What about that new doctor, Gabriel? I’ve heard he’s been around Sloane a lot.
People have seen them slipping off onto the fifth-floor balcony.
It’s not just the other woman causing gossip now.
Sloane getting that close to another guy, right in front of everyone and right in front of you, that’s not okay either. ”
A week had passed since Evie came to the hospital, and I hadn’t heard from her since.
It seemed she’d finally let go. I hoped she had.
But deep down, I still dreaded that something was about to explode.
I knew it sounded like I couldn’t make up my mind—promising her I was hers, then ending it anyway. Because she was right. I left home but never really left. I left Sloane, but she stayed in my mind. I was done denying it; I was done living in denial.
I couldn’t escape her. Sloane. I would always be hers.
Dean’s words about Sloane and Gabriel kept replaying in my head.
I’d noticed, too, how they’d been spending more time together lately.
I wasn’t blind to it, but I hadn’t realized how much the gossip around us was growing.
I didn’t want anyone thinking badly of Sloane.
I trusted her—she wasn’t the type to let just anyone in.
And Dean was right about one thing: I wasn’t the kind of person who gave up easily.
But what could I do now?
I wanted to tell her again that I loved her. I always would. But I knew it wouldn’t matter. She already knew. My betrayal had already overshadowed everything, so there was no use in saying it again.
So, just as I’d promised myself, I turned and walked away. I knew my presence would only hurt her, and I refused to do that again.
When I stepped off the elevator and onto our floor, the sound hit me all at once. The sharp trill of a flatline, someone calling out for the crash cart, voices layered over each other with urgent orders. A code had been called.
I didn’t need to ask. I knew whose room it was.
Mr. Harris. One of Sloane’s patients. One of her longtime ones. One of the very few she let get close.
I took off running.
But before I reached the room, everything went still.
That sudden, heavy silence—the kind that settles when they’ve called time, when there’s nothing left to save.
I stopped in my tracks.
Then I saw Sloane step out of the room, her face carved in grief.
She paused for a second, her hand to her chest like it was anchoring her to the floor. Then she turned and walked away, fast, like she had to outrun what just happened.
And I broke into a run after her.
Even after all these years, losing a patient never got easier. For Sloane, some losses cut deeper than others. She never made a show of it, but I’d learned to read the quiet signs. Mr. Harris was one of those patients. Losing him would hit her hard.
I knew exactly where she was going. She always went there when it got too heavy—the helipad.
She stepped into the elevator, and I had to jog to catch up, slipping in just before the doors slid shut. She looked at me briefly but said nothing. I didn’t, either.
She was holding it in, just barely. I could see the strain in her eyes, the tight line of her jaw. So I moved to the back of the elevator, standing there with my back to the wall, giving her the space she needed.
A few seconds passed. Then I heard the quiet, broken sound of her sniffling.
When the doors opened, she stepped out without a word. I followed.
The elevator opened to a small antechamber with a double door leading outside. She didn’t step out this time. Instead, she sank to the floor, back pressed against the wall to the right of the door.
I lowered myself to the left, close enough to be near but far enough to give her space.
We sat in silence, letting the quiet speak for us both. This was usually the moment she’d push me away. Tell me she didn’t need me, that my presence only made things heavier. That I should just leave her alone.
In the early years, I stayed anyway. Stubbornly.
Eventually, I learned to listen. So I left.
And I swallowed the hurt, letting desperation and frustration quietly fester inside me.
After a while, I started talking back, disappointment clouding my judgment. It turned into fights, and soon we stopped speaking to each other altogether. Coldness settled between us, and we let the distance take over.
But that’s where I got it wrong. I realized that now.
Because even when she didn’t ask, even when she pushed me away, I knew my presence mattered. For someone like her, who kept everything in, silence was her way of coping. And sometimes, just being there for her was enough—especially for moments like this.
And I should’ve stayed.
So this time, I stayed.
I waited for her to tell me to leave, like she always did.
But the words never came.
And that surprised me.
A few minutes later, something unexpected happened.
She got up and walked over to me, then quietly sank to the floor by my side.
I wanted to try something. My heart pounded with a mix of hope and uncertainty. I needed to know if she would let me in. So, without a word, I extended my arm, palm open. A silent offer. A question I didn’t dare speak aloud.
I didn’t expect much.
But then she reached out, placing her hand gently over mine.
I curled my fingers around hers, careful and slow. Her hand was small, soft, the way I remembered.
And then I closed my eyes, forcing myself not to overthink, not to dissect the moment like I usually did with her. I couldn’t remember ever simply letting it be or allowing myself to enjoy it.
This time, I let it be.
We stayed like that in silence. I listened as her breathing began to steady—quiet and even.
After a few minutes, she pulled her hand away from mine.
We stood, wordless, and stepped back into the elevator.
When it opened on our floor, she stepped out, then paused and turned slightly.
“I’ve found a divorce lawyer,” she said, her voice steady and calm once more. “I’m going to see this through. You should get one too.”
My eyes met hers, and a flood of emotions crashed over me.
I swallowed hard and forced the words out. “Okay. I’ll let you know when I find one.”
She didn’t say anything, just turned and walked away.
I stood still, watching her go.
Then my phone buzzed in my pocket. I pulled it out and read the message.
It was from Caleb. “I have a patient just brought into the ER. I believe this is your Evie.”