Chapter 06 - Cat
Cat
My head is still pounding, and my limbs feel heavy.
Last night was a mistake. Maybe even the biggest mistake of my life.
I know I shouldn’t be here, but I have to fix this.
The line I’ve crossed… it could destroy everything I’ve worked for.
It will if I don’t contain it now. But when I look at her with that stupid smug grin on her face, I find it very difficult to bring it up.
Difficult to cut it off right here and now.
The way she physically relaxed when she saw me is not something I am willing to jeopardize. Even if this can’t… we can’t… ?Cono!
I open my mouth to tell her how sorry I am when the barista puts down my coffee. The clatter of the cup against the table sends a bolt of lightning through my head, and I flinch. Mary squints for a moment and tilts her head.
“Are you—”
“I’m fine,” I cut her off. A little too fast, a little too sharp.
She recoils a little, and the grin she had on her face falters. A stab of guilt flares painfully through my stomach, adding to the already swirling mixture of emotions. I close my eyes briefly and shake my head.
“Sorry,” I breathe, “that came out harsher than I intended.”
She nods but doesn’t speak. Instead, she just gazes at me with those piercing blue eyes of hers. It’s almost as if she sees right through me. Maybe she does. It sends a shiver down my spine and makes me open my mouth again. This time, however, she beats me to it.
“What made you agree to get coffee with me today, Doctora?”
The glint in her eyes is still there, but it is laced with something else. Caution. And I can’t even blame her. She must have sensed something was off.
When I saw the texts this morning, I wanted the ground to swallow me whole.
Not only did I betray my confidentiality agreement by pulling her number from her files, but I also approached her privately about her medical information.
Via text. Without verifying that it was her.
This is wrong on so many levels that it makes my stomach twist into knots and my head pound even harder.
Why, oh why, did I agree to go out with Carmen?
I should’ve gone home. This is not like me.
Nothing about this situation is like me. Yet, here we are.
Mary’s gaze roams over my face, and she frowns again, but she remains silent. She nods gently at me, though, to encourage me to answer. I take a deep breath, sip some coffee, and then straighten my back.
“So that I could apologize,” I finally utter.
There is no sense in hiding it, no sense in waiting. I roll my jaw as I watch her face grow even more confused.
“Apologize?”
“Mhm,” I murmur. “I wasn’t exactly myself last night and—”
She chuckles, and her whole face transforms. Gosh, she really is beautiful.
“Yeah, wanna tell me what that was all about?”
There is no malice in her voice, only unadulterated joy. If the situation weren’t so dire, I’m positive it would be contagious. But it is, so it isn’t. Still, something in my chest flutters a bit at the sight of her teasing smile.
“It was a case of intoxication, which I deeply regret. My apologies to you, Miss Van Achth—”
“Miss?”
Her smile falters instantly, and she clenches her teeth. She stares at me, searching my face, and I try to look as neutral as I possibly can. Her fingers curl slightly inward, and her jaw ticks as I nod.
“I grossly overstepped. What I did was highly unprofessional. I harmed your trust by using information I never should have touched. That’s not who I—”
“I see,” she cuts me off in a measured tone. “Well. There is no need for apologies, Doctor Durand. Even the best of us stumble sometimes.”
There is a sharp edge to her tone that cuts straight through me. Not the way her eyes narrow slightly, not the way her posture goes rigid, no. The way all warmth is drained from the rhythmic cadence of her sentence. Like the words are devoid of all her personality.
“And if you are worried about your reputation, you have nothing to fear. I will never speak to anybody about this. As far as I am concerned,” she looks at me sharply, “it never happened.”
I should feel relief at those words. She clearly means them, even though she is vibrating with what must be anger or loathing. I open my mouth to reply, but a swift wave of her hand cuts me off.
“If that’s all this was, please excuse me.”
She pushes her chair back so suddenly that even the barista looks up in alarm.
I squeeze my eyes closed to keep the sudden whirlwind of emotions inside.
She’ll keep quiet. I just know she’ll never break that promise, even though I’ve hurt her, maybe even shamed her.
She trusted me enough to invite me to coffee.
No, not invite me. To ask me out. I made her believe that was a possibility.
Because it was. I crossed the line in so many more ways than I realized.
The only smart thing is to end it here. To let her walk away.
But if she does, I will never see her again.
A hot flash of fear erupts from the center of my chest, wraps around my throat like two dark claws, and pricks behind my eyes.
The idea of never seeing her again puts me on the edge of an internal abyss that I did not even know was there.
I’ve only seen her three times, but still, my body wants to lunge forward and wrap itself around her.
To keep her safe from the pain I’ve caused.
The sound that comes out of me as my eyes fly open is nothing but a strained whimper, but it is enough to make her freeze.
She stands with her back turned to me, her fists clenched at her sides.
The sight alone presses on that same spot that just flared up, and the feeling only intensifies.
Do I want this to be the last time I see her?
“Don’t go.”
My voice is clipped and authoritative. It’s the one I use in the OR when a dozen things are happening all at once, and calm, clear instructions bring structure instead of chaos.
How I cling to that shred of control now…
But she isn’t one of my attendings or one of the nurses.
There is no message in that tone for her.
That voice has no place here, no place in this conversation.
Mary’s shoulders fold inward a little more before she starts moving again. Away. Away from me.
“Please!” I gasp, my voice brittle and shrill now.
Never in my life would I have expected myself to beg another person to stay.
I was raised on Cuban pride and Spanish fire, after all.
But everything inside me screams not to let her go.
Part of me knows it’s irrational. I don’t know this woman.
She was medically cleared. My duty of care ended when she left the ER, but still...
Why would I risk my career on this? Pheromones, right? I dig my nails into my palms.
“Please, don’t go.”
She must hear the desperation in my voice because she spins around.
Oh, how I hate that she makes me feel this way.
Her wide eyes glisten under the café lights, but they instantly find mine.
The tension between us is palpable, and I rise to move toward her.
Something crosses her face that I can’t quite name.
Caution? Fear? I raise my hands but hold her gaze. She swallows and tilts her head.
“Why not?” she whispers, her voice hoarse.
I freeze. If I speak what is inside me, there is no way back. That will make it real. Her eyes roam over my face, quiet and open. Waiting.
“I… I…” I stutter, but her expression doesn’t change. “Lo siento, I don’t know how to do this.”
My voice is quieter than it has ever been, and I finally let my gaze drop. That combination seems to soften something in her. Mary steps closer to me and hovers her hand above my arm before withdrawing it again. The gesture alone is enough to make me tremble.
“That’s okay. You don’t have to know it all.”
Her voice is so soft and gentle that I can feel it wrap around me like a safety blanket. When I look up, she is watching me. Tentatively.
“Will you go on a walk with me so that we can talk about it?” she asks, her voice a little rough and vulnerable around the edges.
I nod, and she huffs out a relieved sigh.
“Good, because… we are kinda making a scene.”
She nods toward the barista and the other two customers, who all pretend they aren’t invested. I instantly feel my face flush as the realization dawns on me. I’m now one of those people who brings drama out into the world like a scene from a freaking telenovela. Dios mío.
“Let’s go,” I say, trying to sound assertive.
Mary just grins and shakes her head.
***
“Can I ask you something?”
“You just did,” I deadpan.
The huff is enough to make me look sideways and catch her eye. There is a playful grin tugging at her lips, and relief floods my system because I put it there. My fingers twitch at my side, wanting to reach out for her, so I curl them around the seams of my pockets.
“Go ahead,” I say, softer now, inviting.
She stays silent for a moment. Not to torment me, but because she is choosing her words carefully. It is clear in the way she frowns, purses her lips, and then swallows.
“I noticed something was off last night. It didn’t sit well. But did you really just agree to coffee to apologize?”
I consider the question. When I woke up this morning, the first thing that crossed my mind was the horrifying thought of having texted Mary in the middle of the night without her consent.
Then, when I read through the messages, that feeling of dread grew.
I even considered writing a formal apology to the board and offering my resignation.
Until she texted. Maybe I said yes because a part of me hoped I could still fix it and make it go away.
But I know it doesn’t work like that. And I also know that’s not why my stomach flipped when she asked me to meet her for coffee.
“A part of me likes to think that,” I admit as I glance over to gauge her reaction. She frowns.
“But?”
Of course she’d hear it.
“A part of me knows it’s a lie.”
Her eyes dart up toward mine, searching my face for something only she knows.
“Then… why did you come?” Her voice is small now, hopeful.
“Because I needed you to know I am not like that. I am not the person who preys on others. Mary, I shouldn’t have texted you. I shouldn’t have had your number in the first place.”
“You made that clear,” she whispers.
“I… I know.”
“So, why didn’t you let me walk away?”
I stop walking and swallow hard, looking at her. Staring at her. Her face is so open and vulnerable, so delicate, that it claws at my insides. I want to wrap myself around her and protect her from the outside world. Protect her from me.
“Because the thought of never seeing you again…” I trail off, and she raises her gaze to meet mine.
She needs to hear it as much as I need to say it.
“That thought would haunt me for the rest of my life.”