6. Joel
6
JOEL
The hospital’s intercom crackles to life, drawing my attention from the patient file in front of me.
“Attention, staff: The board will announce the candidates for the chief of staff position on Monday. Please check your emails for further details.”
The message is short, clinical, but it sends my pulse racing. After months of preparation, navigating endless politics, and keeping my head down, it’s finally happening. The promotion I’ve been working toward could redefine my career.
Or destroy it.
I lean back in my chair, letting the weight of it settle. My office is quiet, but my mind is anything but. The competition is fierce, and no one’s more eager to see me fail than Rivkin. Add to that the endless hospital gossip about Lucy, and my once-impenetrable reputation feels more fragile than ever. I really thought the fake relationship thing would make things better, but now I’m wondering if it’s making them worse.
The memory of Lucy’s laughter from earlier this week creeps in. It’s both comforting and tormenting. She’s become an unexpected light in my life and in the boys’ lives, but I can’t shake the nagging fear that our connection might cost me everything I’ve worked for.
A knock at my door pulls me from my thoughts. Janet, one of the senior nurses, steps inside, her usual no-nonsense demeanor in full force.
“Dr. Anderson,” she says, placing a stack of reports on my desk. “You’ll want to review these before the meeting.”
“Thanks, Janet.”
She hesitates, her sharp eyes narrowing slightly. “Word of advice? Keep your focus. The board’s watching everyone closely right now.”
“Noted,” I say, keeping my tone neutral.
She leaves, and I’m alone again, the weight of her words pressing down on me. Focus. It sounds simple enough, but with Lucy occupying more and more of my thoughts, it’s anything but.
By the time I get home that evening, I’m exhausted. The boys are sprawled out on the living room floor, building some elaborate Lego masterpiece. Lucy is in the kitchen, quietly singing to herself as she stirs something on the stove. The sight of her, makes my chest tighten.
“Hey, Dad!” Miles calls, his eyes lighting up when he sees me. “We’re making a spaceship! It’s got lasers and everything!”
“Looks impressive,” I say, ruffling his hair as I walk past.
Lucy turns when I enter the kitchen, her smile bright and welcoming. “Hey. Dinner’s almost ready.”
“Smells great,” I say, leaning against the counter. For a moment, we just look at each other, the air between us thick with unspoken words. It’s a moment I’ve come to crave, and fear.
I clear my throat, breaking the spell. “I was thinking I’d take the boys out this weekend. Give you a break.”
Her smile falters, just barely, but enough for me to notice. “Oh. That… sounds nice.”
“Yeah,” I say, forcing a casual tone. “Maybe the movies, then dinner. Just some guy time.”
Turning back to the stove, she says, “Sounds like a good idea.”
But something in her voice tugs at me, a quiet note of disappointment she’s trying to hide. I tell myself I’m doing the right thing—giving her space, keeping things simple. Still, as I watch her move around the kitchen, I can’t shake the feeling that I’m making a mistake.
Saturday arrives, and the boys are buzzing with excitement. Lucy helps them get ready, her usual warmth shining through, but there’s a distance in her eyes when she looks at me. It’s subtle, almost imperceptible, but it’s there.
“Don’t let them eat too much junk,” she says, handing me Finn’s jacket.
“Got it,” I say, giving her a small smile. She returns it, but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes.
As we drive to the theater, the boys chatter nonstop, their enthusiasm infectious. I focus on them, letting their energy pull me out of my own head. For a few hours, I manage to forget about promotions, rumors, and the lingering ache of Lucy’s absence.
Dinner is equally lively, the boys’ laughter filling the restaurant as they recount the movie’s funniest moments. I watch them, my heart swelling with pride and gratitude. These two are my world, my reason for everything. And yet, as much as I cherish these moments, I can’t ignore the empty feeling without Lucy here beside us.
When we get home, the house is quiet. Lucy is curled up on the couch with a book, her hair falling in loose waves around her face. She looks up when we walk in, her smile soft but distant.
“How was it?” she asks, her voice light.
“Great,” Miles says, bounding over to her. “We saw the coolest movie, and Dad let us get popcorn AND candy!”
“Did he?” she says, raising an eyebrow at me.
“It’s the weekend,” I say with a shrug, earning a laugh from Finn.
As the boys head upstairs to get ready for bed, I linger in the living room, my eyes drawn to Lucy. She’s gone back to her book, but I can see the tension in her shoulders, the careful way she’s holding herself.
“Lucy,” I say softly.
She looks up, her expression unreadable. “Yeah?”
“Thanks. For everything you do. With the boys, with the house… with me. I don’t say it enough, but I appreciate you.”
Her eyes soften, and for a moment, the distance between us seems to fade. “You’re welcome,” she says, her voice barely above a whisper.
I turn to head upstairs, but I can feel her gaze on me. When I glance back, our eyes meet, and the longing I’ve been trying so hard to suppress rises to the surface. It’s there, raw and undeniable, and I know she sees it.
Later that night, after the boys are asleep and the house is quiet, I sit in my office, staring at the pile of papers on my desk. I should be reviewing them, preparing for the upcoming board meeting, but my mind is elsewhere.
A knock at the outside door to my office pulls me from my thoughts. I don’t know who would be at the patio door, especially at night, but when I open it, there’s no one there. Instead, an envelope rests on the mat, unmarked and unassuming.
Frowning, I pick it up and tear it open. Inside is a single sheet of paper, the words typed in a neat, anonymous font:
Be careful who you trust. Not everyone wants you to succeed.
My chest tightens as I read it again, the implications sinking in. Someone is trying to rattle me, to throw me off balance. And I have a sinking feeling I know exactly who it is.
The words replay in my mind as I set the note down, the edges of the paper crumpling under my grip. Rivkin. It has to be him. No one else would have the motive or the audacity. My mind whirls, cataloging every interaction, every sideways comment he’s made over the past few weeks.
A soft knock breaks my spiraling thoughts. It’s Lucy, standing in the doorway, her expression a mix of curiosity and concern.
“Hey,” she says, stepping inside. “I saw your light on. Everything okay?”
I hesitate, the note still sitting on my desk, its presence as glaring as a neon sign. But I don’t want to pull her into this. She’s already caught in enough of my chaos.
“Yeah,” I say finally. “Just work stuff.”
She doesn’t look convinced, but she doesn’t press. Instead, she sits on the edge of my desk, her gaze searching mine.
“You’ve been quiet tonight,” she says softly. “Is it the promotion?”
“Partly,” I admit. “There’s a lot at stake.”
“Joel,” she says, her voice steady. “You’re good at what you do. Anyone can see that. You don’t need to prove yourself to anyone.”
Her words are meant to reassure me, but they only deepen the ache in my chest. Because the truth is, I’m not just trying to prove myself to the board. I’m trying to prove that I can balance everything. The boys, my career, and whatever it is that’s growing between Lucy and me.
“Thanks,” I say, my voice quieter than I intended.
She reaches out, her fingers brushing mine, and the simple gesture sends a jolt through me. For a moment, the note, the promotion, the gossip, it all fades. There’s only her, sitting here in the dim light, grounding me in a way I didn’t know I needed.
But then she pulls back, her hand dropping to her lap. “I should let you get back to work,” she says, standing.
“Lucy.” Her name slips out before I can stop it.
She pauses, turning back to look at me. There’s something in her eyes—a flicker of hope, of uncertainty. But I can’t bring myself to say what I want to. The words stick in my throat, tangled with fear and doubt.
“Goodnight,” I say instead, hating myself for the way her face falls just slightly before she nods and walks out.
As the door clicks shut behind her, I pick up the note again, its ominous message staring back at me. Whatever happens next, I know one thing for certain: I can’t afford to lose focus. Not now. Not when everything—my career, my family, Lucy—is on the line.