Chapter 10
June
It was wrong.
Totally unacceptable.
I knew that, but I couldn’t help it.
My fingers fumbled through the bottomless pit of my Neverfull bag, frustration bubbling with every second. Why did I carry so much junk?
Receipts, pens that no longer worked, lip balms missing caps, a half-eaten granola bar—everything except what I needed at that moment.
Finally, after what felt like a thousand beats stretched thin with panic, I fished out the device. The screen lit up, a glow of both guilt and relief.
I’d made up a story for Linda and Steph earlier about pretending I’d left my phone at home.
I hadn’t wanted to deal with either of them.
With Linda, it was because I couldn’t be bothered to dig through my messy bag.
With Steph… well, I didn’t really want to be in touch with her.
She used to ditch me the moment she got lucky at whatever party she landed at.
As much as I’d wanted to be close to her, that annoying habit of hers stopped me from ever truly trusting her. We did have fun back in university, though.
Back then, I didn’t understand why it bothered me so much. But now, I do. It was an old, familiar ache of abandonment—something I hadn’t yet learned to outgrow.
Suddenly, a wave of panic hit me. Why did I say that?
What was I trying to prove, that I didn’t need anyone?
Because right now, I did. The guilt sat heavily in my chest, spreading like heat beneath my skin.
I hated that I did this to myself—built tiny walls and then punished myself for being trapped inside them.
This was the universe’s favorite game with me: lie, regret, suffer.
I exhaled sharply and grabbed my cell from my bag. I might as well call the hospital reception and ask for her direct line. I needed her support, whether I liked it or not.
Though I regretted being untruthful, I knew I might end up needing her help if I wanted to support Dannie. The universe always seemed to have a cruel sense of humor—it never failed to punish me whenever I lied.
A quick search brought up the hospital’s website. I tapped the first number listed. After a couple of rings, an automated voice gave me options—number two connects to either a doctor or a department. That must’ve been what Steph meant.
“Steph…” I said clearly, but her surname wouldn’t come to me. “OBGYN,” I added, hoping that was close enough. She could’ve been in the fertility clinic, for all I knew.
“Soon!” I suddenly yelled into the phone when her surname came rushing back to me. I waited, holding my breath for what felt like a full minute, only for the machine to reply with a flat monotone, “Contact not found.”
Of course. I had screwed that up.
“Stephanie OBGYN Soon.” I muttered the words under my breath. Even the smartest AI in the world wouldn’t have made sense of that jumble.
“What’s going on?”
I spun around. Dannie stood in the corridor outside the emergency room. I’d paced that hallway so many times by now, it felt like my own personal track.
He was pale but upright, pushing his IV pole with one hand. With the other, he reached out toward me. I hesitated only a second before taking it—his grip was firm, grounding… and heavier than I expected, as if the weight of everything that had just happened was pressing through his touch.
“Are you okay?” I asked, my voice thinner than I’d meant it to be.
“Why are you stressed?” His brows furrowed, that faint frown cutting across his pale, tired face. The sight of it made my stomach twist painfully.
“I…” My throat felt dry. I didn’t even know where to start. My mind was scattered—a hundred thoughts, all colliding at once. He was clearly not well, and as his friend and as a doctor, I had no authority, no control. I was useless—and I hated that feeling more than anything.
“Well,” he said softly, “I needed to use the bathroom.”
I nodded quickly, latching onto the simplicity of that. “Come on—I’ll take you there.”
We didn’t have to walk far—the corridor was narrow and cold, lined with pale-blue tiles that smelled faintly of disinfectant and metal. We stopped outside the restroom, and I offered to help him, reaching for his arm, but he waved me off with quiet stubbornness.
“I can manage,” he said, trying to sound firm but looking anything but steady.
It wouldn’t have been the first time I helped a patient to the bathroom. But I knew better than to argue—Dannie’s pride was fragile right now, hanging by a thread, and I wasn’t about to snap it.
As soon as he disappeared behind the door, I exhaled and pulled out my mobile again. My thumb moved automatically, searching for a solution I already knew didn’t exist.
How to become a doctor at a private hospital on short notice.
The AI assistant loaded the answers too fast—too cold, too practical. It wasn’t what I wanted to hear. No, I wanted a miracle, something that told me I could help him, that I wasn’t just a bystander while he suffered.
Stephanie.
Maybe she could pull a few strings. Maybe she could get the hospital to take me on—temporarily, unofficially. Anything. Just enough for me to look after him properly.
“June?”
I jumped at the sound of his voice. My head snapped up, and there he was—pale but walking, breathing, alive. Relief poured through me so suddenly my knees almost buckled.
“You scared me,” I muttered, reaching for his free hand instinctively. The last thing I wanted was for him to lose his balance. His skin was cool, his grip unsteady but warm.
“I noticed,” he murmured, one brow lifting slightly. “You’re freaking me out.”
“I’m freaking you out?” I tsked, the sound slipping out before I could stop it. “Who’s the one passing out on the floor?”
“Me.”
“I’m glad you noticed,” I said, trying to sound light, but my voice cracked halfway.
His gaze lingered on me for a long moment, something soft flickering beneath his lashes. “Are you worried about me?”
“How could I not?” I said, almost stomping my foot, frustration and fear bubbling under the surface.
“It’s nice though,” he murmured, the corner of his mouth tugging into a faint, crooked smile. “You… worrying about me.”
“But—” I sighed, the word slipping out like air from a punctured tire. I didn’t even know what I was trying to say.
“There’s something else bothering you.”
His tone wasn’t accusing—it was calm, steady—but still cut through me. I dropped my gaze, suddenly fascinated by the sterile white floor beneath my shoes. My steps slowed, the rhythm of my heartbeat loud in my ears.
My chin dipped lower as I focused on the rhythm of my steps, one foot in front of the other. Anything to avoid meeting his gaze.
“Hey.” His words sharpened, not loud but commanding. “Look at me.”
I stopped. His voice—firm, final—left me no room to pretend I hadn’t heard. I raised my head reluctantly, meeting his tired but unwavering stare.
“Tell me,” he urged gently, “what’s going on. Now.”
I swallowed hard. My throat burned with all the things I wanted to say, but couldn’t. “I don’t know for sure. Not yet.” The words came out weak, trembling—like even my voice was scared of the truth I hadn’t quite named.
We re-entered the emergency room. The harsh fluorescent lights buzzed above us, flickering faintly, making everything feel colder. Dannie’s bed was still there, sheets slightly crumpled from where he’d been lying earlier. A wheelchair-accessible bathroom sat near the entrance, impossible to miss.
“There’s a toilet right by the door,” I gestured toward it. “In case you need it again.”
“I saw.” His tone was flat, matter-of-fact—but I caught the faint hint of amusement tugging at his lips.
“Next time, call for the nurse if I’m not here—”
He interrupted, lowering himself carefully back onto the bed. “We’ve been through a lot together.”
I paused, studying him quietly. The way he said it—so simply, without needing to explain—sank deep.
I nodded slowly. “A lot has happened.”
“Do you agree?”
“Of course.”
There was no denying it. Our time together had been intense—chaotic, even. It hadn’t always been easy or comfortable, but he’d been there for me through one of the hardest chapters of my life. His loyalty, his presence… it meant more than I ever said out loud.
He reached out his palm—an unspoken invitation. Without thinking, I let my fingers slip into his. It felt natural, like an old rhythm my body remembered even when my mind told me to pull away. His palm was warm against mine, grounding, steady.
And then, without warning, Kai’s face flashed through my mind—that look he’d given Dannie, sharp and jealous, as if I were something that still belonged to him.
My stomach twisted.
I dismissed the image immediately, angry at myself for even thinking about him.
Not now.
Not when Dannie was lying there, pale and fragile, trusting me with that small bit of comfort.
But that’s the thing about memories—they never ask for permission.
And Kai—damn him—still had a way of showing up uninvited.
“You know you can tell me anything.”
“Right…” I met his gaze—warm, steady, yet unreadable. There was something about it, something that felt both mysterious and achingly familiar. The kind of gaze that could make you say things you weren’t ready to admit.
“To be honest,” I began slowly, the words dragging themselves out of my chest, “I don’t really trust the doctors here.”
He tilted his head slightly. “And the nurses?”
I hesitated, my lips parting—but then a nurse walked past, clipboard in hand. I waited until she disappeared down the hall before lowering my voice.
“Because…” I leaned in, almost whispering, “how could they say things look good, when things clearly don’t?”
His brows pulled together, shadowing his expression. “Are they not?”