Chapter 2
The Opportunity
Robyn
Thirteen Months Later
Winter in Chicago does strange things to convince you the worst has passed once January wears on. Hardened piles of snow paired with a sunny blue sky make you think it’s warmer than it is.
The sun shimmers across the frozen lake and catches on the white blanket of snow spread over the soccer field to our right.
Nate and I walk along the lakeshore paths, enjoying time together before we meet up with our friends and then his mom for brunch.
Smirking, I run ahead, scoop some snow, roll it in a ball, and lob it right at his head.
Snowflakes blend in with the way his hair falls in loose, deliberate waves—dark brown at first glance but threaded with a soft rust-red glow.
Not different from the passion he hides for everything and everyone he cares about beneath his calm, quiet demeanor.
He arches a brow and tilts his head, sending more snow sliding loose.
Water trails down his cheek, winding through the trimmed facial hair along his jaw—not quite stubble and not quite a beard.
“Are you happy with yourself?” The bridge of his nose is smooth and straight, widening into perfectly symmetrical nostrils. He looks sculpted rather than born, giving him a composed, almost restrained edge.
He never keeps that edge with me for long, though. His eyes wrinkle at the edges in amusement he can’t hide, and like every time he’s truly happy, there’s a deep amber-red flicker in his irises, betraying his glee. You’d miss it—unless you’ve spent as much time looking into his eyes as I have.
Nate falls into step next to me, wrapping his right arm around my shoulder and balancing his bike with his left one.
Then he dips down to kiss me, his bottom lip much fleshier than the top.
His stubble tickles the skin at my Cupid’s bow, and when I swipe my tongue at his lips, the bike falls and his palm presses flat in the center of my back.
As much as I love this, “We’re going to be late, and Andrzej won’t be pleased.”
He scoffs. “Andrzej can wait while I kiss you silly.”
His tongue swipes into my mouth, and I laugh into the kiss, resting my forehead against his for a heartbeat. He flashes that lopsided smile that showcases more of his teeth on the left side. Then he grabs his bike from the ground before we fall into step again.
When we reach Armitage Avenue, neither his friend nor mine is there.
I take a few steps ahead, trying to spot my friend in the distance.
Something cold and harsh hits me from the back, knocking my hat onto the ground.
When I look back, Nate’s bending to gather snow, compressing it into a sphere as if he’s getting it ready for load-bearing integrity.
“Cheap shot,” I say. I return a poor shot, and it hits his shoulder without so much as making him flinch.
We grin at each other. Days like this don’t just feel normal, they are the reason I can do what I do.
Why I can spend hours over scans and test results searching for answers and often giving news I wish were different.
With Nate here, the signals fire cleanly, without static, and there are no lesions lighting up on any scans.
Walking toward us from the south, Julian approaches with his hands tucked into his coat pockets, dark hair ruffled by the wind.
Andrzej rides in from the west a few yards away—tall, pale, blond, already scowling as though the cold has personally insulted him.
When the four of us converge, Julian and Nate fist-bump.
Andrzej’s already complaining about Nate’s speed, urging him to get going and push a few extra miles on their ride.
“Brunch at eleven,” Nate says, brushing snow from my sleeve before pressing a quick kiss to my lips. “I’ll meet you there. Mom’s already texted twice.”
Then he swings his leg over his bike and pedals south alongside Andrzej, the two of them quickly shrinking against the bright snow.
Julian smirks. “What a stupid hobby.” His arm slides around my side, giving me a tight squeeze.
“I agree.” I lean into him, returning the hug. “That’s why I’m glad he has Andrzej. He bikes, so I don’t have to.”
Julian rolls his eyes, a sliver of white visible between his eyelids, then his glacial blue gaze snaps back to me.
I step away and gesture down the path. “Let’s get coffee. I’m exhausted.”
“You’re always exhausted, Dr. Sunshine.”
Julian Keller and I met in med school and have been thick as thieves ever since.
We bonded over our mutual hatred of most things that aren’t brain related.
The nicknames started as a joke—something we swore we’d never tolerate.
Now I can’t imagine a day passing without being called Dr. Sunshine or calling him Kells at least once.
The snow thins to slush near the curbs as we march toward where the brunch spot’s located, knowing I need to meet Nate and his mom in an hour.
“So,” Julian says eventually. “How was your shadow shift with Steinberg?”
“Brutal … like always.”
He nods, unsurprised. “You’re not quitting, are you?”
“It’s unbelievable how that woman does diagnosis. It’s like that show with the asshole doctor but you’re standing right there.”
Julian glances sideways at me. “You hated Neurobiology of Disease in med school.”
“I didn’t hate it. I failed it.”
He slows, forcing me to match his pace. “You didn’t fail. It was a hard requirement, and you froze.” He catches my gaze. “Could have happened to anyone.”
While still in med school, our professor for this class would start with a round robin of symptoms, and a different student would diagnose each time. During my turn, my brain lagged. My motor cortex and muscles spoke different languages, leaving me unable to speak.
“I panicked. And then I avoided it.”
“So you’re not avoiding it now?”
I hesitate. Julian Freaking Keller, the resident every attending thinks walks on water and every nurse wants to bone, has had a totally different experience in this diagnostic program than I have.
“Remember—” I swallow. “How I had to make up hours at a hospital two counties over just to stay on pace with general medicine requirements?”
Julian nods. “And your boards.”
I look away. The humiliation still burns—my barely passing score posted in the lounge, weak references from general medicine paired with mediocre results. I’m in neurology; my post-residency prospects were already slim, and now …
I kick at a dirty snow pile. “I need a glowing rec from every freaking specialist I’m working with in this program. I won’t get it if I quit because I failed to diagnose something outside of my specialty and got yelled at.”
“Doctors are dicks.” Julian hums. “Nate knows this?”
My mouth tightens. “We’ve done distance before. A couple of times. Two months here, six months there. We were fine.”
“Fine isn’t good enough for you two.” His voice softens. “You’re—you’re the annoying couple everyone wants to be.”
“I know.” I exhale sharply. “He said if it happened again, he’d relocate. You know, not even a discussion, just a fact. A promise.”
“And that scared you.”
“Yes.” The response is rushed with certainty. “He shouldn’t. He has a career too. Almost finished logging hours for his architect’s license. He wants to design modern structures with art deco influences—things I can’t even describe. He shouldn’t follow me just because I wasn’t good enough.”
Julian stops and grabs my arms, steadying me until I look at him.
“Robyn. Are you sure this isn’t about—”
“This has nothing to do with my mom.”
Julian clicks his tongue. “I was actually going with your dad.”
I exhale. “Dad is … a whole different story.”
“He’s a tool, Robyn.”
“You don’t—”
“I do, though.” Julian cuts me off. “He sucked at graduation.”
“He hasn’t been the same since we lost Mom.”
“That doesn’t give him the right to—”
“He doesn’t like doctors.” I hitch a shoulder to shrug off the hurt that he still sees me going into medicine, like joining the ranks of those who failed to save Mom.
We talk twice a year; see each other even less.
“He wants me to at least be a good one.” My tone’s firm, done discussing my father today.
Julian huffs because he isn’t. “You are more than good enough, even if your dad doesn’t see it.” His grip firms slightly. “And Nate loves you. He’ll work with you—no matter what comes next.”
I know Nate loves me. It sits on top of my chest like a heavy rock when I think about what my failure securing a good attending position in Chicago might do to his career.
“Hear me out. The work we do takes a toll. On your schedule. Your energy. Your priorities. Sometimes, people die on you, and suddenly surviving feels like enough.”
I swallow. “What are you trying to say, Kells?”
“You’re running yourself ragged trying to get this hypothetical attending job.” He studies me for a long moment, then nods once. “Are you sure things with Nate are okay?”
I huff out a breath. “I—” I tap on the side of my leg. “It’s not like we get a lot of time together, you know? We’re not not fine, but it’s—”
Julian nods. “You have to talk to Nate.” His gaze on me is a window into a frozen ocean. “Your career choices affect him. Don’t diagnose your relationship in silence.”
Rebecca’s favorite brunch spot is a loud and warm diner.
It smells of coffee and fried eggs—cutlery clinking, plates sliding against sticky tabletops, the hiss of the espresso machine cutting through conversation.
She hugs me the moment she sees me, all wool coat and vanilla-cardamom perfume, her cheek chilled from the outside.
We sit and order a large mimosa pitcher; citrus and cheap champagne mingle with everything else in the air.
Nate sits in the booth next to me. The burgundy vinyl squeaks every time his warm thigh bumps against mine.
“I’ve had a rough couple of days at work. Chief of neuro … she’s a beast, but …” I stir cream into my coffee, the spoon clinking against porcelain.