Chapter 3
Chapter Three
Halsey
The courtyard is always quiet, a small slice of peace tucked away from the busy clinic.
Out here, the world feels like it pauses—the city’s noise softened by the tall hedges, the hum of traffic replaced by the gentle rustling of leaves.
It’s one of the few places where I can breathe, where, for just a moment, nothing else matters.
I love the rush—the patients, the urgency, the sense of responsibility—but sometimes, I need to recharge. The green that surrounds me, the way the trees sway, the solid earth beneath my feet—it’s grounding.
I sink onto a bench, stretching my legs, tilting my face toward the sunlight. I close my eyes and let myself drift, pretending, just for a moment, that I’m back in Blissful Meadows.
The memory comes before I can stop it—those afternoons on the dock, skin warm from the sun, time slipping by as we talked about everything and nothing.
Santos, with his deep thoughts and even deeper eyes, always talking about making it big in the league while Dustin cracked jokes or dragged me into the water, his laughter echoing in the air.
I can almost hear them again—Santos, serious but hopeful, his eyes lighting up as he talked about his future.
And Dustin, sitting beside him, strumming his guitar, humming softly, lost in the melody as if he were searching for the lyrics deep within his soul.
The way he’d close his eyes, completely absorbed, trying to put his feelings into music—our feelings—like he could capture everything we were in those moments through his strings.
The memories fill the silence around me, stirring something deep inside. We were happy once. Not perfect, but we had each other.
A flicker of movement catches my eye, and for a split second, I see her—young, na?ve, still full of dreams. Me. A fifteen-year-old girl falling in love with her two best friends. She’s leaning out over the lake, laughing as Santos splashes her with cold water.
Just as fast, the reflection fades, replaced by the present—who I am now. Professional. Detached. The doctor who keeps everything under control, because it’s easier to manage other people’s pain than face my own.
But some days, like today, I can’t help it. I let myself wonder what would’ve happened if I hadn’t left—if I hadn’t been dragged away from Blissful Meadows and the two people who knew me better than anyone ever has since.
I open my eyes, staring up at the branches swaying gently above me. The problem with this courtyard is that it’s too quiet. It gives me too much space to think—about the things I’ve buried for so long. I’ve spent years trying not to think about Blissful Meadows. Trying not to think about them.
My phone buzzes in my pocket, pulling me back to the present. It’s a reminder about my next appointment. The last patient of the day. A new consultation.
With a sigh, I push myself up from the bench, smoothing down my top and jeans as I head back toward the clinic.
As I reach for the door, that familiar heaviness creeps in—the memories I can’t quite shake.
The courtyard is supposed to be a retreat, but today it feels like a place I can’t escape, pulling me back to a past I’m not ready to face.
Maybe that’s why I never stay out here for long.
I make my way to my office on the top floor of the clinic.
“Your four-thirty is here,” Roni says as I pass her.
I raise an eyebrow, catching the excitement in her voice.
She’s practically giddy, which makes me wonder if we’ve got some famous football player here for a consultation.
She’s obsessed with them. But I doubt that’s the case.
If any high-profile patient were coming in, Lindberg or Dr. Devoss would be handling it.
Not me.
I’m always the last choice. The youngest and least experienced doctor here—or so they remind me. It doesn’t matter that I’ve been to places they only dream about—helping athletes from all over the world through my fellowships and internships. No, I’m always the one they sideline.
If it were up to me, I’d open my own practice. Run things my way, without needing approval for every decision. No second-guessing myself because of their condescension. My patients would get the care they deserve without someone else calling the shots.
But for now, I’m here, waiting for them to take me seriously.
Roni takes me seriously enough—well, outside of the practice, at least. At work, we try not to mix business with friendship, and that’s fine.
I have other people to vent to about the frustrations of work.
Roni is the one who listens when I vent about my personal life—my bad breakups, my unlucky love life, and . . . well, that’s about it.
She doesn’t know how my heart shattered when I was sixteen, how I’ve never been the same since.
“Why are you so excited about this new consultation?” I ask, tapping my chin, pretending to think. “Is it Fletcher St. James?” I throw out one of her favorite football players, trying not to smirk.
“I wish,” she laughs, crossing her arms. “If it were him, I would’ve begged to be his doctor.
I would’ve fought you for him. As it is, I tried to convince them to give me this case.
I’ve got more experience with upper extremity injuries, which I think your patient might need, but he refused.
He said he’s here to see you—and only you. ”
“Oh.” I pause, processing. “And they let that slide?”
“High-profile clients get whatever they want,” she says, tilting her head toward Dr. Devoss’s office. “The boss is not happy about it.”
Of course he’s not. He wants control over everything. “If I had the money, I’d open my own practice,” I mutter as I head toward my office. My hand hovers over the doorknob for a second before I push it open.
As I step inside, the world stops.
There, standing beside my desk, is Dustin Haverbrook. Older. Broader. His hazelnut hair falls just below his shoulders, framing a face that’s sharpened with time.
His features are harder, more defined, but the intensity in his green eyes is the same—unmistakable. The kind of gaze that always made me feel like he could see right through me.
My breath catches in my throat, and for a moment, I swear the ground shifts beneath me. It’s him. After all these years.
Our gaze connects, and time seems to slow.
I can’t hear anything but the pounding of my own heartbeat in my ears as memories rush back—him standing on the edge of the dock, grinning in that way that always felt like a challenge.
The way he’d hold me when he couldn’t sleep, his arms wrapping around me like I was the only thing keeping him tethered to this world.
Flashes of the past overwhelm me in an instant.
Long summer days when the three of us would get lost in each other’s worlds, late-night conversations where the air between us was thick with words we were too scared to say.
Those quiet moments where we didn’t need words at all—when just being together was enough.
But now? Now he’s here, standing in front of me, like a ghost pulled from the past and dropped into my present.
I’m frozen, rooted to the spot as his eyes lock onto mine, heavy with everything unsaid.
He doesn’t smile. He doesn’t move. Just stares with that same intensity that once made it impossible to look away.
“Halsey?” Roni’s voice is soft, but it cuts through like a knife, breaking the spell.
I blink, drawing a shaky breath, but my heart is still racing. My hands feel clammy, and every nerve in my body is on high alert.
Dustin doesn’t move. He just watches me, his face unreadable, as if he’s waiting for something—waiting for me to make the first move.
But all I can think is: What the fuck is he doing here?