Chapter 12
CHAPTER TWELVE
RIVEN
ONE MONTH LATER
The printed conference schedule rested on my mahogany desk like a silent, heavy indictment. The Annual Medical Conference in Boston loomed ahead of me. It promised three exhausting days filled with technical presentations, networking events, and various professional obligations.
Usually, I managed these trips with the absolute minimum amount of social effort required to remain respected. However, this particular year carried a different weight entirely.
This year, Mireya would be attending alongside the rest of the surgical staff.
My computer speakers emitted a sharp ping, signaling a new message in my inbox. I shifted my gaze toward the monitor and my chest tightened when I saw her name listed in the sender column.
Subject: Notice of Resignation - Living Arrangement
My fingers turned clumsy, momentarily freezing against the plastic of the mouse. I forced myself to click the message and expand the text.
Dr. Cross,
I wanted to let you know that I’ve found an apartment…
I processed the words once, then forced my eyes over them a second time. By the third reading, the reality began to settle.
Mireya had already reached a decision without consulting me. She had hunted for a place, signed a lease, and sent this formal, distant notice. I expected to feel a sense of relief because this move followed logic. It was the natural progression of things.
Instead, a hollow ache settled in my chest.
I closed the browser tab without typing a response and turned my attention back to the conference schedule, flipping through the heavy paper agenda and trying to focus on the logistics.
Day one started with a keynote speech regarding recent advances in cardiac surgery.
The afternoon featured breakout sessions on valve replacement techniques, followed by an evening reception with an open bar and far too much forced small talk.
Day two consisted of various panel discussions and surgical demonstrations. Another reception occupied the evening slot. Day three offered the final presentations and closing remarks before everyone earned their freedom.
Seventy-two hours. I could manage seventy-two hours of proximity.
I pulled a yellow highlighter from my drawer and began marking specific sessions. The Cardiac Innovation Symposium started at nine in the morning. She would likely attend that one, so I marked the competing session on transplant protocols instead.
The seminar on Minimally Invasive Techniques began at two in the afternoon. She would definitely be there to learn. Consequently, I circled the administrative meeting occurring at the exact same time on the other side of the building.
I capped the highlighter and tossed it back in the drawer. Utterly pathetic.
We worked together almost every single day at the hospital and lived under the exact same roof every night.
But at the hospital, other staff members acted as buffers, and professional distance remained built into every single interaction. At home, Emma served as our bridge. She was always there, talking and laughing, effectively filling the awkward spaces that stretched between us.
The upcoming conference felt inherently dangerous. It involved long hotel corridors, dimly lit evening events, and the removal of all the familiar structures that helped me maintain my self-control.
Three days in Boston with nowhere to hide.
My office door swung open without warning. Only Cassian had the audacity to enter without knocking. He set a cup of coffee directly on my desk.
“Are you packing for Boston yet?” he asked.
I didn’t look up. “I’m reviewing the schedule.”
"Mm-hmm." He took a seat. “Are you planning your usual disappearing act? Show up for mandatory sessions, skip every social event, hide in your hotel room?”
“I don't.” I shot him a defensive look.
“That’s exactly what you do every year.” He offered a knowing grin. “Do you remember two years ago? You attended only three sessions total and spent the rest of your time working remotely from your bed.”
“I had several complex patient cases to review at the time.”
“You always have patient cases to review. It serves as your favorite excuse to avoid people.”
I focused my eyes on the schedule again, trying my best to ignore his presence.
“Mireya is going this year,” he mentioned with forced casualness. “This is her first time attending, right?”
My pen stopped moving across the paper.
“She mentioned that she feels quite excited about it,” he continued. “She wants to network with other surgeons and learn new techniques. She actually wants to participate instead of hiding away in the dark.”
“That will be good for her professional development.”
“You should consider showing her around the venue. You could introduce her to some influential people since she's new to these events.”
“She’s a capable professional. She can manage her own networking.”
“Right.” He took another slow sip of coffee. “Because that’s definitely the reason you're planning to avoid her.”
“I am not avoiding her, Cassian.”
“You have been avoiding her for an entire month. Don't think for a second that I haven’t noticed the shift.”
“I’ve simply been very busy with my caseload.”
“You’re always busy, but this feels different.” He set his coffee down on the edge of the desk. “By the way, a new surgeon is joining our department next month. She has a trauma background but wants to specialize in cardiac work. She comes with strong recommendations and excellent credentials.”
“That sounds fine. Send me the paperwork.”
He stayed quiet for a long moment, just watching me with those unnervingly perceptive eyes of his. “Maya and I are talking about moving in together,” he said finally, breaking the silence.
That statement successfully captured my full attention. “Moving in?”
“Yeah. Her current lease expires in two months.”
"That seems fast."
"It feels right." His smile was genuine, warm. "I'm thinking about more serious things too. Marriage, eventually. Maybe kids."
The words felt foreign—like a language I used to speak fluently but had somehow forgotten.
"I'm happy for you," I said, meaning it.
“Are you really?”
“Yes, I am.”
“You look miserable right now. You have looked miserable for a month. Specifically, ever since you found out about the job offer August made to Mireya.” He leaned forward, his voice dropping an octave. “Have you talked to her about any of it?”
“There’s nothing for us to talk about. She's making a career decision for herself. It's not my business to interfere.”
“It becomes your business when she's living in your house. She's taking care of your sister. You look like someone punched you every time she leaves a room."
I looked back down at the schedule and pretended to read the fine print.
“I'm perfectly fine,” I insisted.
“You’re not fine, and neither is she.” He stood up and grabbed his coffee. “Three days in Boston. A hotel. Evening events. Perhaps, something will finally happen between you two.”
“Nothing’s going to happen.”
“Keep telling yourself that.” He headed for the door but stopped at the threshold. “By the way, August is attending the conference too. I thought you should probably know that.”
He disappeared into the hallway before I could formulate a response. I sat there in the silence, staring blankly at the schedule.
August. Of course that man would be there. He was probably planning to corner Mireya again. He would push his offer and remind her that she had options better than staying here with me.
I grabbed my phone, my thumb hovering over her name. I almost texted her to ask if she had made a final decision about the job.
I set the device down.
Not my business. Not my place.
The Annual Medical Conference arrived in the blink of an eye and the flight to Boston passed without any major issues. I sat in the first-class cabin and worked on my laptop the entire time, ignoring the flight attendants who tried to offer me drinks and snacks.
Mireya was sitting somewhere back in the economy section. I had spotted her briefly in the airport terminal. And I maintained my distance, just as I had been doing for the past month.
The hotel was a renovated historic building downtown—dark wood paneling, brass fixtures, thick carpets muffling footsteps. The lobby swarmed with conference attendees wearing name tags and blue lanyards, clustering around registration desks.
I stood in line behind a family arguing about room keys.
Then I saw her across the lobby.
Mireya stood at the far end of the long check-in desk. She was wearing a pair of dark jeans and a soft gray sweater. Her hair was pulled back into a simple ponytail. She had her leather bag slung over her shoulder while she talked to the clerk.
My pulse spiked just from the sight of her.
It was ridiculous. She was merely standing there, existing in the same space as me. Yet, my body reacted as if I had just finished a five-mile run.
A clerk called me forward to an available station. I gave my name and started the standard check-in process.
“Dr. Cross,” the clerk said, his fingers typing efficiently on the keyboard. “A reservation for three nights?”
“That’s correct.”
“We have you assigned to a king room on the fourteenth floor.”
“That will be fine.”
I noticed movement to my left. Mireya finished her transaction and started to walk away from the counter. Then she stopped abruptly. She turned around and walked back to the desk.
“Excuse me,” she said to her clerk. “I think there’s a problem with my reservation.”
The clerk frowned and typed something into the computer. He looked at the screen and frowned even harder.
“I'm showing a booking for a Mireya Rosen, but it appears it was never confirmed by the agency.”
“What do you mean it wasn't confirmed?”