Chapter 25 #2
We turn. He hasn’t stepped inside the break room, just stands in the threshold, arms crossed, immovable. His eyes flick over the container, the crumbs, and the imprints on the steel counter from our sugar-coated fingers.
“But since you’re taking a break, Dr. Hollis,” he adds, “may I have a word?”
Serena and Ellie straighten, professionalism snapping back into place. They murmur quick excuses, gathering their bags and the last of my homemade bars as they slip past him and disappear down the hall.
I pick up my container and follow him into the corridor. The air feels colder out here, emptier.
“You know how much I value your work here,” he says, turning slightly, enough to meet my eyes. “The data from the new trial arm is expanding faster than anticipated. I’d like you to reconsider a minor shift in your time allocation.”
My fingers tighten around the edge of the plastic lid. “I’m looking to eventually work exclusively with patients, Dr. Raymond.” I keep my voice even, but my pulse is ticking higher in my throat.
“It wouldn’t be a drastic change,” he says calmly. “Forty–sixty instead of your current thirty–seventy. Still primarily patient-facing.” Silence stretches before he continues, “I really believe you’d thrive in research if you gave it an honest shot.”
The hum of refrigeration fills the space between us. I look back through the glass panel at the lab—the order, the control, the certainty of it, then down at my hands still faintly sticky with sugar.
“I’ll consider it. But I must say, Doctor, working directly with patients is personal to me.”
He gives a single, satisfied nod. “That’s all I’m asking.”
He turns and walks away, leaving me in the corridor, mango and coconut faintly clinging to my skin.
And for the first time, I ask myself if maybe I’ve been missing the forest for the trees, again. If I’ve been so focused on wanting my work with patients that I’ve failed to see the difference a good researcher could make.
It’s been over a week since I came back from Chicago, and the blur of routine makes it feel somehow longer and shorter at once.
I keep catching Nate at his window when the curtains are open, the interior light turning him into a shadowed silhouette—broader, more solid than he ever seemed when he was the Nate I knew.
I swear his gaze tracks me as I walk to my car for this casual group hangout I somehow got roped into.
I slide into the driver’s seat and sit there for a second, gloveless fingers resting on the steering wheel, palms chilled from the night air.
Glancing at my reflection in the rearview mirror, I recognize a spark in my eyes that I haven’t seen in a while.
The blue in my irises looks steadier than I feel, but the weariness in them is subtler now.
I loosen my low bun and tug out two face-framing strands. This is a version of myself I remember.
My phone buzzes in the pocket of my coat.
Julian: Happy Saturday from this guy.
Attached is a photo of a furious Milo frozen mid-scream, tiny fists clenched in protest of whichever crime his parents dared commit.
Julian: Have fun tonight.
A sigh slips out of me as I shift in the seat, thumb tapping on the letters as the glow of the screen reflects off the windshield.
Me: I miss you guys. Say hi to Quinn for me.
Three dots appear, disappear then appear again.
Julian: You have to really do your part on the orgasm front now that I’m not getting any.
I huff out a laugh, shaking my head as warmth settles behind my ribs.
Me: I think your hand works just fine.
No dots this time or snarky response. Just silence. But it doesn’t feel like a fist tightening around my heart anymore.
My mind drifts to the now-familiar weight of Milo on my chest. Impossibly warm.
Impossibly small. My forehead pressed to his raven hair, inhaling that faint, milky newborn scent that’s become part of Julian’s the way his cologne once was.
Julian had pulled a chair close to the glider, elbows braced on his knees, dark circles under those stupidly blue eyes.
One of the brightest smiles I’ve ever seen on his lips. Proud. Awed.
“I’m sorry I didn’t come sooner,” I muttered. “I should’ve gotten on a plane the second you told me Quinn was in labor.”
He stared at the floor for a moment, jaw flexing once before lifting his eyes to me. Red-rimmed. Soft. “You should have. You missed my kid’s birth, Robyn. I became a father and you were nowhere near me to support me or celebrate. You promised before you moved.”
He dragged his hands down his stubble-covered cheeks. I shifted Milo, cradling his head.
“I thought if I left, I’d feel better. And once I did … I was so driven by work, I forgot how to keep myself whole outside of it.” I looked at him, my gaze blurry with unspilled tears. “I didn’t want you to worry.”
“I know.” Julian’s voice broke down on the word.
He exhaled hard, leaning on his elbows on his thighs.
“I’ve been worried about you.” His gaze snapped to mine, then away again.
“It’s why I’ve been so pissed. Because if you’d been even remotely okay, you’d have never missed it.
” He dragged in a breath. “And I didn’t know how to break through to you.
Parenting, everything—it’s just eaten every bit of me up.
It was easier to be mad than to give you grace. ”
“You gave me lots of grace,” I whispered. “You had every right to be mad.”
“Yeah, maybe.” A small, tired smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “But you’re here now. That’s what matters. Can we just … go back to being normal around each other?”
A quiet, relieved laugh slipped out of me. “Please.” After a pause, I added, “I like Quinn.”
His entire expression softened—the tension melting out of his forehead, his eyes brightening in that almost boyish way. “Yeah,” he said, glancing down the hallway toward the bedroom. “She’s … she’s incredible. It was all happenstance, but I got real lucky doing this with her.”
Silence followed, even though it told me more than anything he had shared about Milo’s mom up to that point.
“You’ll make it up to her, Kells.”
A humorless breath left him. “I don’t know, I—”
“You will.” I met his eyes. “You’re pretty incredible yourself.”
He swallowed that down, begrudgingly nodding once—he wouldn’t take my word for it, but he also didn’t hash it out more than that.
“Go lie down,” I urged, gently rocking Milo. “You’re going to pass out. I’ve got him.”
“Are you sure?” He pointed his chin toward the baby like I was the one who needed protection.
“Julian,” I murmured, adjusting Milo higher against my chest, “take a nap so you can be a functional human being.”
He hovered one more second, torn, then sighed. “Do you think Quinn will be mad if I lay down with her?”
“Only one way to find out.” I smirked. “Maybe bring her water and a snack.”
He bent down, pressing a soft kiss to my forehead then to Milo’s tiny crown, inhaling deeply, as if storing the moment in his lungs forever.
“Wake me if he so much as breathes funny.”
“I will catalog every breath,” I promised.
A vibration against my palm pulls me back from the memory.
Julian: She says hi back and that you’re welcome to visit anytime.
Julian: Maybe next time we’ll visit Bend.
I smile at the dashboard, something in my chest finally settling into a quiet steadiness.
Me: Tell Milo his Aunt Robyn loves him.
Julian: Always, Dr. Sunshine.
I lock the screen and drop the phone into the center console. The engine wakes up with a familiar purr as I start the car.
It’s just dinner with friends. Just a bar.
The local pub is loud when I walk in. The walls are painted an evergreen hue, overlaid with hand-drawn nature murals that twist up the corners and into the dim lighting.
Every table and booth is solid cherry wood, worn smooth.
The warmth of the place exudes from the layered voices, the clink of glasses, the low hum of folk music, off-key violin included, threading through the air.
“There she is!” Serena calls.
She’s perched at a high-top, waving a French fry at me, ketchup dripping onto the table. Ellie grins and slides a sweating glass toward the empty stool beside her.
I weave through chairs and bags, doing side hugs all around.
They brought three people, an odd number as promised.
Ellie’s cousin, her friend, and Max. I recognize him as soon as I eye his blue-streaked hair—he’s the guy Serena’s been so enamored with lately.
Tonight, it shows every time Serena stares at him like he’s the last man on earth.
The heavy wooden door creaks open behind me. A rush of cold air snakes its way inside and lifts the loose strands around my face.
Zac.
His honey-brown eyes meet mine. A crooked half smile tugs at the corner of his mouth as he steps in and lets the door swing closed behind him. He greets the table with an easy nod, dips his chin at Max, and shakes the girls’ hands.
No dramatic moment. No anticipation. Our side hug is brief, barely a second longer than it would be with anyone else.
He takes the stool on my other side, closer to me than anyone else but not close enough that we’re touching. When our knees brush beneath the table, he shifts away quickly, almost startled.
Zac lifts a hand to the back of his neck, rubbing absently before leaning in, his voice low enough that only I can hear.
“Hey,” he murmurs. His hands settle in his lap, fingers threading together, then unthreading, then tightening again. “I realize we haven’t seen much of each other in weeks. Would it be weird if we called it an early night and went back to my place? Just … check in for a bit?”
I nod, mirroring his posture without meaning to. There’s something in the careful pause before “check in.” It makes me brace for a conversation about benefits I haven’t felt ready to untangle. I thought we were both on the same page about things naturally fizzling out.