Chapter 14
The walks had become routine.
Every other evening, weather permitting, he would finish his last appointment and drive to her cabin. They’d walk the forest path behind her house, talking about everything and nothing while the sun set through the trees.
He told himself it was practical. Exercise was good for pregnant women and fresh air promoted healthy sleep. As her physician, he had a vested interest in her wellness. But the truth was simpler and more complicated: he needed to see her.
“Tell me about medical school.” Her hand was tucked into the crook of his elbow, her steps slower now as the baby grew. “What made you want to be a doctor?”
“Family tradition.” He adjusted his pace to match hers. “Jacksons have been physicians since the town was founded. It seemed inevitable I’d follow the same path.”
“But did you want to?”
The question made him pause. No one had ever asked that before.
“I wanted to understand Hyde,” he admitted. “I thought if I could understand the biology and chemistry, maybe I could control him better. So I studied medicine, specializing in endocrinology. Spent years researching hereditary conditions and genetic expression.”
“And?”
“And I developed a suppressant that works reasonably well. I learned to identify Hyde’s triggers. I built a life around managing him.” He smiled wryly. “Not exactly the noble calling most doctors aspire to.”
“I think it’s noble.” She squeezed his arm. “You’ve helped people. Made a difference. That matters.”
“I’ve helped people not be afraid of me,” he corrected. “There’s a difference.”
“Is there?” She stopped walking, turning to face him. “Because from where I’m standing, you’ve built an entire practice around caring for this community. You’ve earned their trust. And yeah, maybe part of that is managing Hyde. But it’s also just you being a good doctor.”
The observation sat uncomfortably. Because she was right—he did care about his patients. Did find satisfaction in diagnosing difficult cases and helping people heal. But he’d never separated his desire to help from his need to prove himself safe.
“You’re thinking too hard again.” She poked his chest. “I can practically hear the gears turning.”
“Just processing.”
“Process later. Walk now.” She tugged him forward. “Tell me about Petal. How did you end up with a brownie receptionist?”
He allowed the subject change, grateful for her instinct to lighten the mood. “She applied for the position six years ago. Showed up with impeccable references and a plate of cookies.”
“You hired her for the cookies?”
“I hired her because she’s terrifyingly competent.
The cookies were a bonus.” He smiled at the memory.
“She took one look at my filing system—or lack thereof—and informed me she’d have it sorted within a week.
Then she organized my entire practice, implemented a new scheduling system, and somehow convinced Mrs. Henderson that her chronic complaints required a second opinion from a specialist three towns over. ”
She laughed. “Diplomatic.”
“Ruthlessly so. I’d be lost without her.” He navigated them around a fallen log. “I found out later that she’d worked for my father as well. I couldn’t imagine why she’d want to work for me.”
“Because you’re not like your father,” she said firmly, and he tried to believe her.
“I have to admit that it’s turned out very well—although she’s developed the unfortunate habit of leaving romance novels in strategic locations.”
“The ones you claim not to read?”
“I never claimed not to read them. I said they were surprisingly well-written.”
“Which ones?”
He felt heat creep up his neck. “Recently? Something about a grumpy duke and a sunshine governess. Petal left it on my desk with a note saying it reminded her of someone.”
“Let me guess. The duke is emotionally repressed and convinced he’s going to ruin the governess’s life?”
“Uncannily accurate.”
“And does he?”
“I haven’t finished it yet.” He paused. “But based on the pattern of these books, I’m assuming they both realize they’re idiots and end up happy together.”
“That’s the general formula, yes.” She grinned up at him. “Think it’ll work for us?”
The question was light, teasing. But he heard the genuine curiosity beneath it. Will this work? He wanted to say yes and promise her happy endings and uncomplicated love, but honesty mattered more than comfort.
“I don’t know,” he said quietly. “But I’m trying to believe it could.”
Her expression softened. “That’s enough for now.”
They walked in silence for a while, the forest peaceful around them. November had stripped the trees bare, leaving skeletal branches against the darkening sky. In a few weeks snow would come, blanketing everything in white.
He found himself looking forward to it. To walking these paths with her while snow fell. To seeing her laugh when flakes caught in her hair.
To more.
“Victor,” she asked hesitantly. “Can I ask you something?”
“Always.”
“The suppressant you take. Does it hurt?”
He blinked, surprised by the question. “No. Why?”
“Because sometimes after you take it, you look… strained. Like you’re in pain.”
Observant. Too observant.
“It doesn’t hurt physically,” he said carefully. “But Hyde doesn’t like it. And fighting him to keep the suppressant effective can be uncomfortable.”
“What does uncomfortable mean?”
“Pressure. In my chest. My hands.” He flexed his fingers. “Like something trying to break free and being held back by force.”
He frowned. “That sounds awful.”
“It’s manageable.”
“Is it?” She stopped walking again. “Or is it just familiar?”
The distinction hit harder than it should have. Familiar. Not comfortable or healthy or sustainable. Just familiar.
“I’ve been taking the suppressant for twenty years,” he said. “I know its effects and how to manage them.”
“And have you considered not taking it?”
His heart rate spiked. “That’s not an option.”
“Why not?”
“Because without it, Hyde is too close to the surface. Too unpredictable.”
“Or maybe Hyde’s unpredictable because you’ve been suppressing him for twenty years.” Her voice was gentle but firm. “Your great-grandfather didn’t use suppressants. According to the journal, he learned to coexist. Let Hyde emerge when it was safe. Integrated instead of separating.”
“Thaddeus lived in a different time. With different expectations.”
“Or maybe he just had less fear.” She touched his arm. “I’m not saying you should stop the suppressant tomorrow. But have you considered reducing the dosage? Seeing what happens if you give Hyde a little more freedom?”
His immediate instinct was to refuse. The suppressant provided a layer of safety between civilized doctor and dangerous monster. But Hyde’s response was immediate and enthusiastic.
Yes. Please. Let me out.
“I’ll think about it,” he said, which was more than he’d ever offered anyone else.
She smiled like he’d given her a gift. “That’s all I’m asking.”
They finished the walk as twilight settled into full dark. By the time they reached her cabin, stars were visible through the bare branches.
“Come in?” she asked. “I made apple cider earlier. The real kind, with cinnamon and cloves.”
Victor knew he should refuse. Should maintain the careful distance that kept them both safe. But the hopeful look in her eyes demolished his resolve.
“For a few minutes.”
The cabin smelled like autumn—cinnamon and apples and woodsmoke from the fireplace.
Chloe had added some decorations since he’d last been inside.
Fairy lights were strung along the mantle, cozy blankets were draped over the furniture, and books stacked on every available surface.
It looked like a home. Warm and lived-in and entirely Chloe. Hyde rumbled contentedly.
Perfect, Hyde said. This is perfect.
It’s temporary, Victor reminded him. The lease is only for a year.
Then we convince her to stay.
The presumption should have alarmed him. Instead, it felt inevitable.
“Sit.” She gestured to the couch while she moved to the kitchen. “I’ll heat the cider.”
He sat, uneasily conscious of how domestic this felt.
How normal. Like they were a couple instead of a doctor and patient dancing around attraction while pretending professional boundaries still existed.
She returned with two mugs, handing him one before settling beside him on the couch.
Close enough that their thighs touched and his pulse jumped.
“This is good,” he said after the first sip.
“Secret family recipe.” She grinned. “Which means I googled it and added extra cinnamon.”
He laughed, surprised by the ease of it. “Innovative.”
“That’s me. Innovating my way through life one internet recipe at a time.”
They sipped in comfortable silence. The fire crackled. Outside, wind rustled through bare branches. He felt himself relaxing despite every instinct that said he should keep his guard up. But her presence drew him in. She made him want to let down his defenses and just be.
“Can I show you something?” She set down her mug and reached for a book on the coffee table. “I found another reference to your great-grandfather. From a town council meeting in 1924.”
She opened the book—some kind of minutes ledger—and pointed to a handwritten entry.
Dr. Thaddeus Jackson addressed the council regarding the proposed Other registry.
Dr. Jackson argued that registration would create unnecessary fear and division.
He noted that Others have been part of this community for generations and should be trusted as valuable members rather than monitored as potential threats.
Motion to implement registry failed by unanimous vote.
He read it twice, his chest tight.
“He advocated for Others,” she said softly. “Publicly, and the council listened.”
“Because they respected him.”
“Because he’d earned that respect by being integrated. By showing them that guardians weren’t threats.” She closed the book. “Your great-grandfather changed how this town viewed Hydes. And you could too.”