Chapter 34
Regan
I pad into the kitchen, make myself coffee, and sip it by the window while the city hustles outside. New York is louder, faster. I forgot how easy it is to feel both surrounded and alone here.
Mom's already left for work, leaving me with the place to myself. I strangely miss the mornings when Dad was in the kitchen in his chair and greeted me with a grunted hello.
Eventually, I pull out my phone and text a few friends, seeing if anyone’s around. Luckily, Liz is free. We agree to meet for lunch at a rooftop lounge as an excuse for fresh air and maybe a cheeky cocktail or two.
I take my time getting dressed, deciding on simple blue jeans, boots, coat, and a scarf. As I step outside, the edge of the city greets me with the usual sounds and smells: buses, horns, chatter, footsteps, and the fumes from buses and cars. Then start my walk toward the subway.
I arrive at 38th & 6th, where there’s an upscale rooftop with string lights and great cocktails. The perfect place for catching up with a friend. The only thing is, my mind goes back to Pulse Point. No one here knows who I am… or cares. The people in Pulse Point care.
Liz is at a corner table, and she waves me over with a grin.
“Welcome back.” She pulls me into a tight hug, showing me she missed me.
I take a seat in the chair across from her, and a server appears almost immediately. And we order winter classic martinis.
“Tell me everything.” She leans forward, her chin propped in her hands. “And I mean everything.”
We fall into the easy conversation that we’ve always had, talking over each other as we try to catch up on months of missed conversation. She tells me about the rotation shift she finally got, and how her attending physician is still an asshole, but at least now she doesn’t have to see him.
When our cocktails arrive, Liz raises her glass. “To surviving our residency.”
“Cheers to that.”
The martini is clean and crisp, and it instantly reminds me of Brant’s aftershave.
I miss him, and the tension that I was carrying creeps in, so I focus back on her.
We talk about work a little more before we switch to life.
She actually bought a new apartment because the previous neighbors think three in the morning is a great time to have an argument.
“And what about that guy from your hot Pilates class?” I ask, stirring my drink with the tiny silver spoon.
“Oh God, don’t even get me started.” She goes on to tell me about how he was normal until the fifth date, when he refused to tip their server and said it was optional.
“No. He did not.” My hand covers my mouth.
“I couldn’t finish the date. Told him what I thought of that and walked out.”
I nearly choke on my martini.
As the hours pass and drinks flow, I feel like my body relaxes.
“Another round?” Liz asks, and I nod, knowing Mom will be at work until late, and I’m not ready to go home to myself. The thoughts of Brant and memories of our time together will return, and I just can’t think about him. I need to focus on my life here. My friends, my mom, my dream job.
We leave the bar a few hours later. I take the subway to the grocery store to grab a few things like vegetables, fruit, new lunch containers, and my creamer. It feels good to do something that I can control.
By the time I get back to Mom’s, I’m carrying two bags and have a slightly fuzzy head. She’s still not home when I unpack everything, then throw together a batch of chili for dinner. The apartment is quiet, it’s exactly what I was dreading.
When Mom finally gets home, she kicks off her shoes and groans dramatically. “You’re an angel,” she says when she sees the food. She comes over and hugs me. I hug her back, closing my eyes, enjoying the comfort of her arms.
“Come sit and eat. You've worked all day.”
“Thanks, sweetheart.”
We sit together, and she tells me about her crazy day, rude patients, drama coworkers, and a missed lunch break. It's comfortingly ordinary.
Later, I climb into bed, freshly showered, my bag packed for the morning. I set my alarm for 5:30 a.m. and stare at the blinking screen of my phone.
Tomorrow is the start of everything.
My whole life has been leading to this moment.
My dream job at a dream hospital.
I take a deep breath and exhale into the dark, silently hoping that everything I’ve worked for will finally start to make sense.
But still, sleep doesn’t come easy. My mind wanders back to Pulse Point and the first few days there.
Nerves twist in my stomach like a knot. My palms are clammy around the strap of my bag as I step out of the elevator and into the pediatric wing.
I pause in the corridor, just for a second, inhaling the scent of the familiar antiseptic. Okay, I whisper to myself. You can do this.
Keeping my head up, I walk down the hall, trying to remember to breathe.
The pediatric ward is huge. The floors, the monitors, even the damn IV poles are sleek.
It’s state-of-the-art, no doubt about it.
It reminds me of the new expansion at Pulse Point, with the bright colors and attention to detail, but this is on another level entirely.
Bigger, polished, and impersonal. And while it’s a little intimidating, it’s also exhilarating.
Every piece of equipment I’ve ever dreamed of using is right here.
Someone calls my name, and I’m ushered through introductions. Nurses, interns, two attending doctors, whose names I instantly forget. Everyone’s friendly in that New York way… efficient, polite, and mildly distracted.
There’s no Brant here. No mentor standing in the wings, ready to catch me if I trip.
No subtle glances across the break room.
No one asking what I think before telling me the answer.
No one pushing me to make the call myself.
The attending I’m shadowing today just tells me what to do.
Explains the procedure, demonstrates, moves on.
I swallow that truth and nod along, smiling when I’m supposed to. I won’t judge anyone yet. I don’t even know where I fit in, and I’m okay with that because these things take time.
By mid-morning, I’m already thrown into the deep end, charting, assisting on rounds, catching snippets of whispered jokes and hospital shorthand I haven’t learned yet. It’s chaos, and I love it.
I introduce myself to a couple of nurses, Juniper and Seraphina, near the supply room.
They’re kind, quick with a smile, and one even compliments my kindness and ability to keep up as a new resident.
It feels rehearsed, like something they say to every new resident on their first day.
But I smile anyway, taking the compliment, and it helps a little.
By the end of my shift, I’m running on caffeine and adrenaline. My feet ache, but my heart is full. I ride the subway home with the city lights blurring past the windows and Pulse Point still lingering in my mind.
That night, Mom makes lasagna and asks about my day while we eat. I offer her the edited highlights, but the warmth in her eyes tells me she knows it was a big day.
I crash into bed not long after, nerves still buzzing as I try to calm my mind. Tomorrow’s another chance to find my footing. To prove I made the right choice.
The ward becomes a little more familiar as the days slip into a week. My name’s on the roster now, I know which nurses like which coffee orders, and I’ve stopped having to ask where to find the right supply closets.
Saturday arrives, and Mom’s already at work by the time I roll out of bed. I have the whole apartment to myself, and I don’t really know what to do with it.
So, I start with the gym. Then grab a coffee and walk through Central Park.
I even wander into a bookstore and lose twenty minutes in the fiction section.
But even as I browse the shelves, running my fingers along the spines, my mind drifts to Brant.
I wonder what he’s doing right now. If he’s settled into his new office.
If he’s thought about me at all since I left.
I grab a book without really looking at the cover, then put it back. You’re here now. This is your life. But my heart doesn’t agree.
By the time I get home, I’m sweaty and a little windblown.
I sit on the sofa and send Dad a text, knowing he’s usually alone on the weekend.
Me: Hey, Dad. I survived the first week. How are you?
I should've called him, but he texts back straight away, so I promise myself next time to call.
Dad: Hey. Tell me more.
I settle on the edge of the sofa and type quickly.
Me: Good. Pretty much thrown in the deep end, but it’s been good. Can’t complain. Just gotta find my feet.
Dad: Yeah, that’s how it goes. New place and new team.
Me: Exactly.
Dad: House is quiet without you.
I smile at the screen. Quiet is probably an understatement.
Me: Have you seen Nancy?
Dad: We’re grabbing brunch tomorrow.
Me: Nice.
Relief washes over me. At least he’s not spending every weekend alone in that house.
Me: How’s the ward?
There’s a pause.
Dad: People have been asking about you.
My fingers hesitate over the screen. I hold back the question I really want to ask. Who, exactly? But I know he won’t answer that.
Still, I know it’s not Brant. He wouldn’t ask. Would he?
I can’t get the question off my mind, so I decide to ask anyway because he can’t grumble at me from here.
Me: And how’s Brant settling into his new position?
There. I’ve asked. I exhale as soon as I hit send.
Dad: He’s thrown himself into it. Works more now than ever.
I shouldn’t be surprised, but it hurts more than expected.
Me: That makes sense.
Of course he would. Work is his armor.
Me: Have you seen Scarlet and Dusty?
Dad: No, not yet.
Me: I might call them now. I’ve got the time.
Dad: Enjoy it while it lasts, hey.
I smirk and shake my head. Typical Dad.
Me: Yeah. I will.
I scroll through my contacts until I land on Scarlet’s name.
“Hey,” she answers instantly. “Oh, I miss you. Dusty. Regan’s on the phone.”
In the background, I hear a familiar little voice.
“Hi, Dusty,” I say with a smile, even though my throat tightens unexpectedly.
“Hi,” he says.
My chest aches in that sweet, familiar way. “How are you doing? Practicing your foot work?”
He gives me a high-pitched “yeah!” and then hands the phone back.
“I’m glad everyone’s doing well,” I say, trying to keep my tone upbeat. Even though hearing Dusty’s voice just reminds me of everything I walked away from.
“I hope your new job’s been amazing.”
“Yeah. It’s good.” I try to work up some of the happy response she’s expecting, but it feels a little forced. “Different, but good.”
“What do you mean?”
“Bigger, busier and…” I want to say not as friendly as Pulse Point, so I clear my throat. “Well, I just wanted to check in. See how everything’s going over there.”
“Are you missing us yet?”
“Of course,” I say, too quickly. Then softer, “I really do.”
“Oh, good. Because I was starting to think New York had swallowed you again. Too fancy now for the rest of us.”
“Never,” I laugh. “Don’t worry, I’ll call. Actually, I’m planning to come visit Dad sometime soon. Once I get a little more settled here. Might take a weekend trip.”
“That sounds like heaven. But make sure you plan it properly. I want to book us in for dinner.”
“That sounds perfect,” I say. “I’ll talk to you soon.”
“Okay. Bye.”
“Bye, Dusty,” I call out.
“Bye,” he calls back, muffled through the phone.
I set my phone down on the coffee table and close my eyes.
I miss Scarlet. Miss Dusty.
But if I’m honest, it’s not just them I’m missing.
It’s the life I was building there. The person I was becoming. The way Brant looked at me like I was more than just the chief's daughter.
I came to New York to chase a dream. But I think I might have left my heart three hours south.