Chapter 36
The Love
Nate
A month out, my head mostly behaves now. I still get a dull ache if I push screens too long. It’s probably the first day without that warning pulse behind my eyes. Today’s just book club nerves and the weight of a paper bag warm against my wrist as I stand outside Robyn’s door.
Neurology month. Dopamine Nation’s my pick. I’m bringing dinner, and I could almost say we’re dating. We are not, though, there’s no label for what we are doing. There’s also no pressure to define what this is beyond knowing I’m home every time I see her.
We meet a few times a week. Wednesdays are book club and always just us.
Sometimes, we meet up for lunch, sometimes, dinner downtown.
She still sees her friends, and I’ve joined them for trivia once or twice.
I also take weekend mornings to bike with Zac, of all people.
And yes, sometimes, Robyn doesn’t have time on the weekends, but my schedule’s more flexible, and helping Mickey get back in school fills me with purpose.
So I can handle stewing in my own thoughts now.
I’m sitting right at the edge of everything I’ve wanted.
All that’s missing is courage. Or a big romantic gesture. Or maybe both.
I’m not in a rush, though. I’m loving this version of us.
We’re careful with each other. We’re making sure the ground is level and the soil has the appropriate quality before we lay down anything permanent.
Following protocol. Checking vitals. I’m happy.
I feel—completely, quietly, and steadily loved.
When the door opens, I know I’m about to be kicked off the edge. Robyn’s expression isn’t quite sad or mad, but it’s tense. Her brow isn’t quite furrowed, but it’s not relaxed, and her knuckles tighten on the doorframe until they whiten.
“I have to talk to you,” she says.
That’s never fucking good, is it? My hopes collapse inward, fast and silent. Maybe we were building on quicksand.
“Okay.” I nod because I don’t know what else to do.
She lets me in, and I take in her apartment, where I’ve found myself belonging again since I first came in over two months ago. I rub my hand behind my neck, opening the collar of my shirt. Robyn takes my hand and laces our fingers—that feels significant and apologetic.
“Elena Harris got in touch,” she says.
My shoulders tense—Elena Harris runs that neurology department that made Robyn’s eyes light up.
“They have an opening. Fifty–fifty allocation.” She swallows. “She’s invited me to come over to New Hampshire for a week. She wants to formally interview me and let me decide if it’s a good fit for me.”
There it is. The other shoe, the hand pushing me over the edge while I fall and my arms swing, trying to grab and hold onto everything I thought I was about to get.
“That’s … that’s incredible.” And it is. I am proud that there’s an opening and they’d think of Robyn, but my chest tightens anyway.
We sit on her couch around the coffee table, and I place the food on it. It sits there untouched. She talks through logistics. The program and why it’d be the best move for her. I listen, nodding, asking the right questions, the supportive ones.
“You obviously need to go, check if it’s everything it’s hyped up to be.”
“And when it is?”
“When it is, you take the job. You don’t make yourself smaller.” Not for me or anybody.
There’s an intensity in her eyes, the gold ring expanding until it takes up half her irises, assessing.
“I mean it, I really do.” I fight the impulse to swallow it down and pretend my own fears aren’t waking up. We needed to talk more, so I lead the way. “Just … And what about us?”
She doesn’t have an answer—maybe she’s as afraid as I am.
I press on, my fingers curling into my knee. “There are—” I stop, reset. “If and when … we could do different things.” I draw in a slow breath. “I moved once. I’d do it again and—”
“Nate, stop.” She holds her fingers tenderly around my wrist. “It’s a rural, small community. They’re not going to build what you’ve dreamed of designing.”
I shake my head. “My dreams are simpler now.”
“But—”
I lift my hand up to cut her off, then gather her hands between both of mine.
“I’m serious. But …” I tip my head, conceding there is one.
“You’ve seen who I am now.” I lift my eyes to hers.
“I’m better than I was. I think I’ve shown you it would be different this time.
” It hurts to say it out loud. “I’d show you I can follow through on what I’m promising.
” I pause, forcing myself to finish. “These past few months, I’ve loved you, as you once put it, the best way I know how.
And if what you’ve seen isn’t what you want—then I won’t impose myself on you again. ”
Her eyes shine, but she doesn’t look away. “I can’t ask you to move.”
“You’re not, I’m offering.”
“I don’t even know if I’m taking it,” she says.
I smile at her. “Yes, you do.”
“It’s the farmlands, Nate,” she whispers. “What will you do?”
“I’d figure it out.”
Silence stretches. Not sharp or angry, just loaded.
“I love you, Nate.” Her voice trembles, and she doesn’t need to add anything.
The hollow in my chest I’ve been carrying finally dislodges.
However, the break lines aren’t ragged; they’re clean.
Without rage or shrapnel—it comes out as a big, giant piece of myself that Robyn will forever own.
I gave it my best, and there’s peace to the thought.
We’re not fighting—this isn’t a misalignment of how we’re loving each other.
I rewired myself so I could be the best version of myself, someone she could love again.
And she does, but my best just isn’t enough.
Or maybe just too much. Time to bow out.
“I love you too, Robyn,” I say.
She slides on the couch until she closes the space between us and cups my face, her thumbs warm along my jaw, playing with a thick beard. I lean my forehead into her without thinking, savoring the last crumbs of her touch.
When her gaze meets mine, it seeks permission and forgiveness with equal desperation. She doesn’t need either because now, and maybe forever, I am hers.
“A lifetime with you,” I breathe against her skin, “wouldn’t be enough.”
“Nate—”
“It’s okay.”
It has to be. She may be holding me right now as if she’d never let go, but truth is, she’s already gone.
“When do you leave for the tour?” I say against her lips.
“I’ll call her back tomorrow. Leave next Thursday.”
I nod.
“Can we have one more book club night?” she asks.
I smile against her cheek. “We can have a whole week of us, if you’re up for it. Until you move, if you want.”
“Yeah.” She sniffles.
I can’t get a lifetime, but I’ll take what I can get.