Chapter 33
Regan
I grip the steering wheel tighter as the GPS murmurs directions I already know by heart.
Welcome back.
I pull up outside Mom’s brownstone and quickly text Dad to let him know I’ve made it.
The second I slam the door shut, I hear the building’s front door creak open.
She’s already running down the steps.
“Mom,” I say on a laugh, barely getting the word out before she wraps me in a hug so tight it knocks the air from my lungs.
“I missed you so much,” she says, squeezing me again.
“I missed you too.” I bury my face in her shoulder, breathing in her familiar scent, lemon and the faintest whiff of lavender. Home.
She pulls back just enough to look me over. “I’ll give you a hand with your bags.”
“Thanks.” I force myself to sound happy, hoping it’s enough to deflect so she can’t see how much I’m struggling.
“Whose car is this?”
“Mine. Sort of. The old one broke down on the way to work last month, and this was... well, the best I could get on short notice.”
I hate that I have to lie. Brant bought it. I haven’t had a chance to pay him back, if he’d even accept it. And now that I’m gone… does it even matter?
She hums, running a hand along the hood. “It’s cute. Very you.”
It is me. He chose something I’d actually like. It’s as if he knew me better than I wanted to admit.
We haul the bags up the narrow stairwell to the apartment, the wheels thumping against each step. Here, the air’s thick, with no open space, no view of the hills, just the tight comfort of four walls that hold everything in.
“So,” she starts once we’re in the kitchen, “what’s the plan tomorrow before you start on Monday?”
I lean against the counter, brushing hair from my face. I didn’t have time to think about anything past getting here. Didn’t let myself ponder what comes next, because thinking or feeling means falling apart. “Probably call some friends, catch up, maybe grab food, and just… prep for work.”
Her eyes soften. “Excited?”
“Yeah. I am. It’s the job I’ve wanted. I just…
” I exhale. “There’s a lot I haven’t processed yet.
” Because on the three-hour drive, I didn’t think about the job.
My mind was solely on Brant and how much distance I was putting between us.
I kept replaying the party, the way he stood in the back and then left without a word.
The way his office was cleared out like he’d never been there at all.
Like we’d never been anything at all.
She rubs my arm, her thumb tracing small circles. “Fill me in while we wait for noodles. I already ordered from our favorite place.”
I smile at that. “You know me too well.”
“Yeah, well…” She smiles. “You seemed a little flat when you got out of the car. Just tired?”
Here it is. The moment I either tell her everything or keep pretending I’m fine.
But what would I even say? That I fell for someone I wasn’t supposed to?
That leaving feels like the right choice and the wrong one at the same time?
Mom would understand. She’d listen and probably tell me to follow my heart or some other advice I’m not ready to hear.
But saying it out loud makes it real. Makes the ache in my chest something I can’t ignore anymore.
“Exhausted,” I admit. “But it’s more than that. It’s like my heart’s full but heavy. Does that make sense?”
“Too much change too fast,” she says gently.
“Exactly.”
“I’ll let you unpack and shower,” she offers, tugging one of the bags down the hall. “Come out when you’re ready, and we’ll eat.”
My bedroom is exactly the same. Same navy walls. Same books stacked on the dresser. Same dip in the mattress where I used to sleep. I set my bag down and let the nostalgia roll over me.
This place held the version of me who left, and now I’ve brought someone new back.
I shower, and as I stand under the water, it washes away the tension of the drive, but doesn’t wash away thoughts of Brant.
I press my forehead against the tile, breathing slowly. Trying to accept that I made this choice. Telling myself this is what I wanted.
When I walk out, the smell of soy sauce and sesame oil fills the apartment. The familiar comfort of this space does help a little about making the right choice.
We eat our noodles while curled up on the sofa.
“So… tell me everything.”
I smile around a mouthful. “Where do I even start?”
I set my bowl down on the coffee table and tuck my legs under me. “It was… honestly, better than I expected. At first, I hated it. The hospital, the people, everything felt like a family, and I was an outsider.”
Mom watches me closely, nodding but not interrupting.
“But then…” I continue. “Something shifted. Once they let me in, it felt like I belonged. And I didn’t realize how much I needed that until I had it.”
“You don’t get that in New York,” she says knowingly.
“Not even close.” I give a soft laugh, but there’s a tug at my chest. “It was small, you know? Slower. People talked to each other in the halls. They remembered names. Birthdays. They noticed when you were off.”
“And your dad?”
I hesitate, swallowing hard. The heat from the food lingers on my tongue. “We surprised each other.”
She raises an eyebrow. “You mean you didn’t fight every day?”
“No, we didn't.” I grin. “But something changed. Being away from each other, then working together. It forced us to see each other differently. I think he started respecting me, not just as his daughter but as a doctor.”
I think about the party, about him standing in front of everyone, saying I’d earned my place. About our conversation in the kitchen the night before I left, him telling me to follow my heart. About all the small ways he showed up when I didn’t expect it.
A quiet pride flickers in her eyes. “I’m glad. You’ve always been more like him than you wanted to admit.”
“Don’t say that,” I groan.
She laughs. “He needed to see the woman you’ve become. And you needed… what? A little less resentment?”
“Maybe.” I shrug. “We’re still figuring it out. But it feels better now. Not fixed, but… healthier.”
Will it stay that way now that I’m gone? Or will we slip back into old patterns of a phone call every few weeks, polite but distant, the closeness we built fading with the miles between us.
She nods again, like she’s been hoping to hear that for years.
“I know I’m his little girl. But that doesn’t mean I’m not also… a grown woman. Capable of relationships. And… everything that comes with that.”
I freeze, realizing what I just admitted. Damn it.
She smiles. “Oh? So you were in a relationship?”
“What? No. No. God, no.” I wave her off a little too fast, heat rising to my cheeks. “I’m talking about Dad. However, I did meet someone, but we weren’t in a relationship. He was my mentor.”
She nods slowly, but the look in her eyes says she’s not convinced.
“I’m serious, Mom.” I finally take a bite, mostly to buy time. “We knew it was casual. Both of us didn’t have space in our lives for a relationship, and… I was coming back here.”
The words sound right. It’s what I keep telling myself, but why do they feel so empty now?
She leans back, arms folded, clearly letting me dig this hole myself.
“I mean…” I stir the noodles. “He was nice. Like, really nice.”
Even if I’m hurt, he didn’t say goodbye.
She arches a knowing eyebrow. “You’re smiling.”
Am I? My hand flies to my mouth, like I can hide it. But it’s too late. I felt it, the warmth spreading across my face at just thinking about him.
“No, I’m not,” I say quickly, but the denial is weak.
“Well then, what’s that smirk for?”
I groan, setting the bowl on the coffee table. “It’s just… Okay, when I first started, we butted heads all the time. I’d steal his coffee creamer every morning.”
Her eyes light up. “You what?”
“His creamer. It had his name labeled on it, like he was guarding it with his life.” I laugh at the memory, warmth blooming in my chest. “But I’d take it anyway. Every day. And I swear, he knew. But he never said a word, just gave me this look… like he was in on the joke.”
“That’s so cute,” she coos.
“Yeah, but it wasn’t just that. He was brilliant, like really smart.
But he wasn’t a jerk about it. He was kind to the kids.
Patient. And with me…” The words come faster now, like I can’t hold them back.
“He gave me space. Let me make decisions. Let me fail and figure it out. He pushed me, but he trusted me, too. Even gave me opportunities other mentors might’ve kept for themselves. ”
Her face softens. “He sounds like one of the good ones.”
“He is.”
“I must say,” Mom says gently, “I haven’t heard you talk about a guy like this before.”
I lift my eyes to hers. “That’s probably because I haven’t.”
“Why not?”
“Because relationships were never the goal,” I admit, voice a little tight. “I was in college. Working crazy hours. Studying constantly. I couldn’t afford distractions. I needed to be selfish to get where I am. If I had made time for a boyfriend, I might’ve missed this opportunity.”
It rolls off my tongue, but it’s not what I believe anymore.
Because what if I didn’t miss an opportunity by being selfish?
What if I just… missed him?
The thought sits heavy in my heart, and I have to look away before Mom sees it written all over my face.
“Boyfriends are full-time jobs.” She chuckles. “Tell me about it.”
I try to smile, but it feels forced as I sink back into the sofa. Because Brant never felt like a job. He felt like the one thing that made sense when nothing else did.
“Exactly. But now that I’ve got this job… now that I’m back in New York, I think maybe I could make time. One day.”
I can’t imagine meeting someone else. Not when Brant’s face is still the first thing I see when I close my eyes. Not when I’d compare every guy to him.
She studies me for another long moment, then gives a small nod. “Fair enough. But this guy sounds different. Just saying.”
I nudge her with my foot. “Alright, enough about me. What have you been up to while I’ve been gone? Any hot dates?”
She barks out a laugh. “Me? Oh, sweetheart, I’m way past the dating phase. One marriage was enough. I’m happily single.”
“I know, but I’m just checking that nothing’s changed.” We’ve had this conversation in the past, but I had to ask again in case she was just protecting herself. Just like I am.
“Absolutely. I’ve learned to enjoy my own company. No one leaving dishes in the sink. No one snoring. Just me, my wine, and a good book.”
I smile. “That sounds kind of perfect.”
She grins, then launches into an update about life here since I’ve been away.
It’s not Pulse Point gossip, but it’s home. And it’s exactly what I need.
“Oh, and Scarlet’s good,” I add, reaching for the takeout container to scoop a little more onto my bowl. “And Dusty? He’s huge. Like, suddenly-a-whole-kid huge.”
“I saw the photo of you all. He looked so happy.”
“He is. His heart’s doing well. His latest scan was clear. Honestly, seeing him like that, it kind of broke me a little. And we opened the new expansion. You saw that too?”
I think about the ward and how it would be working there now. Wonder if Dusty will remember me the next time I visit.
“I did.” She smiles. “It looked beautiful. Bright. Kid-friendly.”
“The Kings donated enough to build something really special. It’s going to help so many kids. Pulse Point’s growing like crazy. More families, the bigger the need. It felt good to be part of something that mattered.”
“But you’re back now,” she says gently. “New job. New chapter.”
I nod, biting my bottom lip to keep it from trembling. “Yeah. I’m ready for it… I think. But I also left behind someone I wasn’t expecting to care so much about.” My voice cracks slightly.
She studies me for a beat. “Someone?”
I look away, but that’s answer enough.
“I don’t need to pry,” she says, reaching over to squeeze my hand. “But if you ever want to talk about him or whatever, I’m here.”
“Thanks, Mom.”
But I won’t. I can’t, because talking about Brant means reliving every moment. And the only way I’m going to survive this is by not opening myself up.
We sit in silence for a few seconds, the kind that feels full rather than awkward. I sink into the cushions beside her and let my head rest on her shoulder.
“You know what I missed most?” I mumble.
“What?”
“This. Right here.”
She smiles, resting her cheek against my hair. “Me too, sweetheart. Me too.”
I twirl my noodles with the chopsticks, but I still haven’t taken a single bite of my second serving. It’s not the food. It’s the conversation. Sitting across from Mom, curled up in our matching pajama pants, everything feels too still.
Eventually, I drag myself to bed, my body aching in that bone-deep way that comes from too many hours on the road and too many thoughts in my head.
I pull out my phone and plug it in, but see a text from Dad.
Dad: Thanks for letting me know you arrived safe.
I stare at it for a moment, thumb hovering over the screen. Then I type back slowly.
Me: I miss you.
I hit send before I can talk myself out of it, then set the phone down on my chest, close my eyes, and let the silence hold me.
Dad: I miss you too.
The text makes me smile, but it sits heavy in my chest too. I bet his house is quiet now.
Hopefully, Nancy keeps him busy. He’s not great on his own. I’d hate to see him slip back into that bitter, lonely version of himself.
I hover over Brant’s contact, thumb twitching with the urge to send him a message. Just a simple I wish we could’ve talked before I left.
But it feels… wrong. Like I’d be reaching backward when I’m supposed to be moving forward.
So I don’t.
I put the phone down, crawl under the covers, and try to will myself to sleep. It’s not easy. My thoughts won’t stop, circling around and around… Brant, work, what I left behind.