Chapter 15 #2
The compliment catches on something inside me, unexpected. My grip tightens on the laptop’s edge, thumb tracing the groove near the trackpad. I nod once, then again—too quickly. “Thank you,” I say, voice even, though my neck feels warm and my collar suddenly too tight.
Her tone softens, the smile polite but curious. “You’re certain you’d be willing to relocate? We could offer a modest package.”
For a second, the question hovers in the sterile air. My throat tightens, but not from nerves.
Relocate.
I’d made so many choices around building a life in this city.
Consult hours and weekend strolls along the lakeshore, a small condo with more baking tools than I’d even know what to do with, maybe even a dog, certainly babies.
Snippets of a life arranged around one unshakable certainty: that Nate and I would be together.
Now, Chicago feels more like a stop in my journey than a destination.
“Yes,” I state, my voice steady but low. “I’m more than willing to relocate.”
She nods, jotting something down. “Excellent. You can expect to hear from us soon about next steps.”
The screen freezes on her polite smile for half a heartbeat before going black.
The sudden quiet hums in my ears. I drag a finger over my jaw, press the ache in my temple, then close the laptop with a soft click. It’s done.
The chair creaks when I lean back, the vinyl cold against my arms. I’m not bound to this city or my partner. In a few months, I could be in Seattle, Boston, Denver. Anywhere away from every corner in town that reminds me my best wasn’t good enough.
And yet, as I sit there, rolling back and forth in this chair, something hollow uncoils in my chest—a dull, spreading ache.
The loss of the life I envisioned refusing to die quietly.
Leaving doesn’t feel like a win, but staying here looking into every reminder of the cracks I miss feels like admitting defeat.
The glass doors bang open, rattling the frame.
Julian strides in, long steps, ramrod spine, eyes swirling.
He’s a storm compressed into a human body.
Without a word, he drops into the office chair across from me, the wheels shrieking against the tile.
His hand drags through his hair—dark, damp at the roots—and then down the front of his lab coat.
Over and over again, attempting to shake something.
He exhales sharply, then he’s on his feet again, ripping off the coat and flinging it toward the chair. It doesn’t quite make it—slumped over the armrest, almost touching the floor. His fists find his hips, jaw ticking. Then he finally looks at me.
“I could’ve still been in the interview, you know, ” I say.
“I was listening outside,” he says, voice low, rough-edged. “Waited a few minutes to make sure nothing else was said.” He rolls another chair toward me with his foot and drops into it. “You’d really leave?”
For a second, I don’t respond. The adrenaline from the interview still buzzes under my skin, but his words slice through it, grounding me.
“I think it’s time for a reset, Kells.” I meet his eyes. “There’s too much here that won’t happen.”
He exhales through his nose, looking over my shoulder. The sharp edges of his expression start to fold inward. He leans back, knees spread, hands dangling between them. The posture looks casual until I see the small twitch in his thumb.
“What about you and me?” he says, the corner of his mouth lifting—not quite a smile, more muscle memory. “Team Neuro. You do the thinking, I do the cutting.”
I give him a faint smile, though it feels thin in my mouth. “We’ll make it happen.” I start gathering what’s in front of me, a small ritual of escape, stacking and straightening what’s already neat.
He stares at me, then looks to the floor and back up. “Later, I guess.”
I want to say something to soften this loneliness written in his blue eyes, but all that comes out is the truth.
“I need to step away. And you still have two years before you’re an attending.”
He nods once, but the motion’s stiff, mechanical. For a moment, all I hear is the hum of the overhead lights and the faint shuffle of someone walking past the glass outside.
Then I ask, “Are you okay?”
His mouth opens, closes, then opens again.
“A patient coded,” he says. His hands flex against his thighs.
“DNR. Had to stand there doing nothing. Just watch him go.” He stares at the table, his reflection fractured across the glossy surface.
“I get why, I respect it even,” he adds, voice quieter now.
“They’re just the hardest ones for me.” He exhales hard, the air catching on the way out. “And Marisol—”
I want Julian settled, to have someone. But Marisol—
He shrugs, rubbing his face with both hands. “She gets our schedules.”
I almost snicker. “Just because Nate couldn’t handle it doesn’t mean you’re stuck with someone in the medical field.”
Julian’s head snaps up. He shakes it once, hard enough that the muscles in his neck stand out. “If someone who loved you like Nate does couldn’t deal, nobody can.”
His words land heavy between us. He leans forward, elbows on his knees, and presses his palms together, knuckles whitening. “I’ve got all this pent-up energy.”
“Go for a run,” I mutter. “You’re not safe for another two months. You need the follow-up testing.”
“I fucking know.” He shakes his head again, slower this time, eyes fixed on the floor.
“And you haven’t heard from the woman?”
“Nah.” His jaw works. He scratches at the back of his neck, gaze sliding toward the corner of the room. “She was on the pill. If she were pregnant, I’d know by now.”
“Because you left her your number?” I arch a brow.
He snags his coat, shaking it out once before shoving his arms through the sleeves. “My break’s done. You heading out?”
“Yeah. See you at the bar later?”
He shrugs. “Maybe. Don’t think I’m in the mood tonight.”
“Want me to stay with you? Bring you food? We can watch Face/Off, turn it into a drinking game.”
He scoffs, but there’s no humor in it—just air forced through frustration. His mouth moves, but his eyes don’t follow. “You have plans with Daniel tonight.”
“Kind of,” I admit.
His gaze zeros in on mine, blue and gray swirling in his eyes. “Even if you move, you’ll be here, right? If anything important happens, neuro part aside …”
I stand and hold out my hand to him. He grabs my wrist without hesitation. “Without a doubt, Kells.” I squeeze his forearm. “I’m serious. You need me, Daniel can wait. You’re more important.”
He laughs once, dry and short. “Nah. Orgasms are more important. Just make me proud, yeah? Wrap it, don’t lick it?”
“You’re so gross,” I say, letting go of him and grabbing my bag.
When I look back, he’s still sitting there—hands clasped, elbows on his knees. His head is bowed, hair falling forward, and I almost say his name. I wonder if he’s caught in the same loop I am—hanging on to my control but wanting to feel something that isn’t loneliness, grief, fatigue.
Leaving the room without saying anything else, I watch him go around the corner before heading out in the opposite direction. The glass door swings shut behind me, muffling his deep sigh.