CHAPTER 7
The room felt different in the quiet. Not empty. Just… temporary.
Randi sat propped against her pillows, her gaze drifting over the unfamiliar space that was already beginning to feel less like a place of recovery and more like something she would soon have to leave behind. Another ending. Another beginning. She wasn’t sure which one this was yet.
There was a soft knock sounded at the door and she answered, looking up.
“Yes?”
Brew stepped inside. And something in her chest shifted. It was an automatic feeling now that happened every time, he was near.
His presence and her awareness of it was like the way the room seemed to settle when he entered.
“You’re adjusting well,” he said, his tone calm, professional.
Too professional, she noticed right away.
“I’m trying,” she replied.
A pause stretched between them. It was measured. Careful. Different yet not awkward or strange.
He didn’t casually move closer like he always did and stood closely at her bedside. Instead, he remained a few steps back, creating a distance between them. It was deliberate and necessary.
She couldn’t help noticing right away and it made her feel empty.
“What’s wrong?” she asked quietly.
His gaze met hers. It was steady and controlled, not natural, not comfortable, not making her feel like he wanted to be there with her.
He shirked his shoulders nonchalantly.
“Nothing’s wrong.”
It wasn’t his truth. Not entirely anyway.
“You’re different,” she said.
Another pause.
Then—
“I won’t be coming by as often,” he spurted.
There it was. Out in the open. Simple and clinical and decisive.
The finality of his outburst, and that’s what it was, tightened the hell out of her chest before she could stop it.
“Oh.”
Her body jerked with the surprise his delivery offered. One word. That’s all it took and it carried more than she intended, like a slap in the face.
Brew’s jaw shifted slightly.
“This is the next phase of your recovery,” he continued. “You’re stable. Your progress is where it needs to be.”
She nodded slowly.
Of course. That made sense. It was what she wanted.
Wasn’t it?
“So… what happens now?” she asked.
He stepped forward then—but not too close. It was too measured. Too noticeable.
“Your sutures will be removed before discharge. I’ll be ordering outpatient therapy—specialized hand rehabilitation. It’s going to be intensive.”
Her gaze dropped briefly to her hand. It was unwrapped now. Still swollen, bruised, the sutures raw, the incision ugly.
Then back to him.
“And my chances?”
He didn’t answer immediately.
Honesty mattered.
“You have a strong chance at functional recovery,” he said carefully. “But it will depend on your commitment to therapy.”
Her lips pressed together slightly.
“I won’t quit,” she said.
Something in her voice made him believe her.
Even if she didn’t fully believe it herself yet.
“I know,” he replied.
Their eyes held, and for a moment— the distance disappeared. But just as quickly, he stepped back again, and it returned. Stronger this time.
A knock broke the tension.
Both of them turned.
The door opened.
A woman stepped inside, composed, professional—yet carrying an energy that filled the room in a different way.
Recognition flickered across Randi’s face.
“Claire?”
The gallery director smiled, relief softening her features as she approached her.
“There you are.”
Emotion rose unexpectedly in Randi’s chest.
“You’re here.”
“Of course I’m here,” Claire said, moving closer. “You scared half the art community.”
A faint smile touched Randi’s lips.
“I didn’t mean to.”
“No, I imagine you didn’t.”
Claire’s gaze shifted to Brew. Her eyes quickly scanned over him in appreciation of his handsomeness.
Quickly he stepped forward, extending his hand in introduction to save the anonymity of his purchase.
“Hello. I’m Dr. Brewster Clay, Miss Caleb’s surgeon.”
Claire’s eyes sparked with recognition as she accepted his hand in greeting.
“Ah, yes, Dr. Clay. I spoke with you earlier. Thank you for the go ahead to visit Miss Caleb.”
He acknowledged with a polite nod.
“Well. I’ll leave you two alone –“
Claire waved her hand to stall him.
“No need. No need. I’ll only be a few moments. I have a broker meeting in twenty a block away.” She directs her attention to Randi.
Brew looked at Randi, more for direction than anything.
She nodded.
“Yes, please stay.”
Brew stepped off to the side.
“We’ve had an overwhelming response,” Claire continued. “Calls, messages, requests… people wanting to support you after hearing the news.” It’s then she notices Randi’s exposed hand and blindly reacts. Her face pales. She turns quickly away.
Randi blinks, aghast, covers it immediately, feeling as though her privacy had just been violently violated. She felt naked, her confidence and self-worth shot.
God. No. Not that.
Her fearful eyes meet Brew’s. He takes a step forward.
She shakes her head – slow movement but readable.
He stops. His look, compassionate and understanding.
Claire nervously cleared her throat and averted her eyes. Her voice is choppy as she attempts to gain some sense of control
“Your pieces at the center … well … they’ve drawn a lot of attention.”
A flicker of uncertainty changes Randi’s expression.
“And… six sold, including your self-portrait,” Claire said.
Randi stilled.
“Portrait. Sold?”
Claire nodded.
A quiet settled over the room.
“But that one shouldn’t have been included?” Randi proclaimed with a snap to her voice. Not realizing she pounded her chest with her injured hand. The pain it caused, registering on her face with a moan. “It was… for me … to release my … my-”
Claire gasped and quickly stepped back, with a look of revulsion on her face.
“Oh, Dear. I’m so … sorry. When you told my assistant to take them all, she didn’t realize the one she found left covered in a corner of your studio wasn’t to be included. Your wildflower piece –“
Claire’s voice faded in the distance. It was as if Randi’s room faded to black.
Randi’s breath caught. Her mind also caught between reality and the horror of her devastating past.
Twelve-years old. So much loss. Alone … all alone.
She swallowed.
Claire shuffled farther away.
Brew stepped forward, calling Randi’s name.
“Randi, are you okay.”
His voice connected.
Her eyes glazed from the memory that had surfaced, slowly zoning in on Claire’s continued chatter.
Claire glanced in Brew’s direction. He sent her a look that signified - don’t tell her.
“It was purchased without hesitation, Dear,” Claire added. “Full price. Requested anonymity.”
Randi looked down at her unwrapped hand, and something shifted deep inside her.
Not validation. It was something quieter. and more personal.
Someone had seen it. Truly seen it. She felt exposed again, violated again.
Across the room, Brew remained still. Saying nothing.
Revealing nothing. But the weight of the moment settled heavily within him.
Somehow, he knew what that revelation cost her.
He recognized it immediately. It was textbook with patients who suffered loss of a limb.
Instead of walking away, he wanted to swoop her into his arms but knew he couldn’t.
The Doctor/Patient Code was his barrier.
Claire continued, her tone disconnected and bland, like she needed to end it.
“Your exhibit will continue the length of your contract. Take pleasure in knowing at least the public supports and loves your creations.”
Randi looked at her blindly.
At least.
Claire reached out, giving her shoulder a forced and rigid pat.
“Just focus on … on that.”
She turned without another word, never once looking at Brew in passing.
After she left, the room fell quiet again.
Different now. Randi felt like a vacuum just sucked all the air from the room.
Randi looked up at Brew.
He hadn’t moved.
Hadn’t spoken.
But something in his expression had changed.
Subtle.
Guarded.
Yet… present.
“You already knew,” she said softly, “didn’t you?”
He didn’t answer right away. Nor did he lie. He moved in closer, this time close enough to touch her.
“Yes. She called this morning, asking if it was a good time to visit and share some spectacular news. I’m sorry about the self-portrait. “
He wanted to tell her that it was him who purchased it, and how much he admired her talent, and the piece. He knew now wasn’t that time.
She ignored what he had said. It didn’t matter. What did, was her reaction to her hand.
“She tell you what that news was.”
“Yes.”
“Did you warn her about this?” She lifted her hand, pointing it directly at him.
“I did.”
“Her reaction is exactly why I didn’t want visitors.”
He held her gaze, steady and unwavering.
“What you lost doesn’t define you, Randi. It’s your heart… and the woman you are inside.”
A faint, teasing smile touched her lips.
“You are quite the man and doctor there, Clay.”
He chuckled at the reference, but the sound faded quickly, his expression turning more serious as something deeper settled in.
“After your final checkup is completed with me…” he said quietly, “I’ll be just a man then, Randi Caleb.”
The words lingered between them.
And for the first time since he’d walked into her room, Brew felt the full weight of what that could mean.
Because this was no longer just recovery.
And whatever was growing between them… neither of them would be able to walk away unchanged.