Chapter 37 #2
“Of course I’m scared,” I say, heat rushing in. “It’s the freaking farmlands, Kells. Everything’s about pragmatism and budgets—what’s Nate ‘next-Frank-Lloyd-Wright’ going to do with that?”
“That’s fair and real. He isn’t that man anymore, though.”
“I know he isn’t.” I raise my voice, cutting him off.
“If I thought I loved him then … He’s worked so hard to be so much more than he was …
” I wrap my arm around my waist. “And I’m still making decisions for him instead of with him.
” I flatten my back against the fridge, phone pressed to my ear.
“I want to make decisions with him. I do. I’m just—what if he doesn’t choose me? ”
“He needs a chance to choose you,” Julian whispers. “Moving or not moving, long distance or ending things. You took those choices away from him. He’s also afraid, Robyn.”
“I made him feel like a second choice again,” I mutter through my hoarse throat.
He exhales. “And you of all people know how hard it is to come back from that.”
My chest caves in. “I fucked up. I should’ve asked him to come with me. It’s what I want. I’m an idiot.”
“And so is he. Doesn’t mean your relationship’s doomed, it just means you’re human.”
I swallow. “Do you think it’s too late?”
“He waited seven months before getting anywhere near your state,” Julian says. “Seventy-two hours is nothing … But don’t make him wait much longer, Dr. Sunshine. Bad for his health.”
My pulse starts to race, sharp and insistent. “I can’t fly back yet.”
“Then call him,” Julian says. “And Robyn?”
“Yeah?”
“Two things: one, if you call him you need to be sure. You gotta be all in or all out. You can’t half ass your way if you’re inviting him back in.”
“I know, I’m all in. It was just—”
“I don’t need details. Just … He’s my friend now too, you know?”
“I do,” I say, nodding. “What’s the second one?”
“Team Neuro forever.”
“Damn right,” I say, wiping tears off my cheeks.
The line goes dead.
I sit there for a moment, phone heavy in my hand, heart pounding so hard it’s pressing up against my ribs.
My thumb hovers over Nate’s name. Fear hums through me, but beneath it, there’s something steadier.
No more hiding or hurting him by playing it safe.
Because I want him with me, and if he could do better by me, I will do better by him. The thought is suddenly crystal clear.
So I hit the call button and wait, heart pounding, hoping it isn’t already too late. He answers on the third ring. There’s the low thud of a car door closing in the background before his voice comes through the line.
“Hello?”
“Hey. It’s me.”
“I know, Robyn.” He sounds slightly out of breath, like he’s moving. “Your name’s on the screen.”
He sounds mad—he should be mad.
He murmurs a quick thank you to someone, the words barely audible, and then there’s a heavier sound, a solid thunk. His footsteps echo faintly now, indoors.
“Are you okay?” he asks.
“I’m calling because …” I have to force myself to keep going. Don’t stall. “You offered to move, and …” I curl my fingers tightly. “And I got scared, Nate.”
A mechanical whir cuts through the line. Elevator doors. A muffled ding follows, then another. When he speaks again, his breathing has evened out. Calm. Steady. Too steady for the way my chest is caving in.
“What are you trying to say?”
“I’m trying to ask if it’s too late,” I say, the words tumbling now. “If you’d still consider moving here. Or figuring out how we make it work. I want us back together, Nate.” A knock sounds at my door.
I freeze, phone pressed to my ear, but I ignore it. “I should’ve talked it out with you when you offered. I should’ve let you decide with me rather than for you.” Another knock. “I was afraid.”
Silence stretches, then three insistent taps from the other side of my door.
“I’m sorry, someone’s knocking. Can you—”
“I know …” Another sound comes through, and it echoes on both sides of the line this time. A knock. “Open the door, sweetheart.”
My breath catches when another knock comes again. I rush to the door and open it. Nate’s leaning on the doorframe, hanging up the phone.
“I’m here.”
“Why?”
He shrugs and steps in, his chest brushes against my side as he does.
“Because it’s where I want to be.” He turns back to face me and closes the door behind me.
“And because Julian broke his rule. We talked about you. He didn’t think you really wanted me to stay in Bend.
” He steps into my space, pushing me against the door until his forearms rest on the wood behind me on each side of my head.
“So I came to check Northmoor out. Do you want me here with you, sweetheart?”
I nod. “Yes.”
“That makes me angry, Robyn.” His nose brushes mine when he says it, not rough, not accusing, just honest. The warmth of him presses into me, familiar in a way that makes my chest ache. His lips hover a breath away from mine, close enough that I can feel the words more than hear them.
“I asked you. I offered.”
“I’m sorry, I—”
“No.” His hand slides to my waist, steady, grounding. “No apologies. I haven’t worked this hard on myself so you shut me out at the first hurdle.” His forehead rests against mine. “You hear me?”
His controlled anger bursts all the bubbles of conflicting feelings I’ve been whacking at for over a year.
The fear in me gushes out, flowing out of me.
Nate’s worth fighting for—he’s shown that with determination and patience since even before he jumped out of that truck in Bend.
I want to work on us so we’re sound and solid, unbending under fear or resentment.
“It’ll take some time,” he continues, softer now.
“I still need to tie up some loose ends with my injury settlement. But they’ll put me in touch with a firm here.
I work somewhere else, they get to keep their foreman.
” His thumb brushes my hip. “I don’t have anything confirmed yet. But I’ll be here. With you.”
“What are you going to do here, Nate?” I ask. “It’s all homes or—”
He shakes his head. “This town’s actually having a big construction boom. Mostly infrastructure improvements and, yes, residential projects.”
“Is that really what you want to be doing? Because…” I lick my lips. “I want us both to thrive.”
“Well, if you’d asked,” he says. “I would have told you I want to teach architecture. A side gig to start with, maybe more than that.”
“That kid you were mentoring?”
He nods. “Teaching at Northmoor? Hardly making myself small here, Robyn.”
“I’ll ask for partner accommodation.”
He smirks. “I won’t say no to that.” He leans over me again, dipping his face down until our noses touch. “You’re more than enough for me to want to do this.”
My heart is pounding so hard I feel it in my temples, but his words are like a balm I can finally take in. “Move in with me,” I say, the sentiment tumbling out.
He shakes his head, just once. Gentle. Certain. “Not yet.”
My breath catches as I lower my gaze to the floor.
“You’re not ready,” he says, not unkindly. “Not until you can tell me what you want so we can compromise instead of protecting ourselves.” His eyes soften. “That’s when I move in.”
It hits me then. This isn’t hesitation. It’s care. He isn’t rushing toward commitment out of fear I’ll disappear. He’s checking the foundation of my trust for him and making sure it holds before adding pressure to it.
“But we’re together,” I say.
A slow smile curves his mouth. “That’s right. We’re fucking endgame, sweetheart.”
He leans in, finally closing the distance—
“Wait.”
“Robyn …” His voice drops, rough and threaded tight. “I’m hanging on by a fucking thread here.”
“I want to do something.”
I duck under his arm before he can argue, grab his wrist, and drag him into the kitchen. My hands are shaking as I prop my phone against a glass, adjusting the angle until it frames him just right.
“What are you—”
The opening beat hits with an electric hum and catchy bass. His eyes widen when he recognizes it. For half a second, guilt flickers across his face, old and reflexive. I shake my head, smiling.
“It’s not that. I want everyone to know.”
He exhales, that crooked, disbelieving smile breaking through. “Because you’re happy I’m here?”
“So happy.”
The song builds, the bass rolling low and warm, and we move toward each other slowly, instinctively following the rhythm that’s pulling us in.
His hands slide to my hips while mine curl into his shirt.
When the chorus hits, I don’t have enough time to react, his lips are already on mine.
His kiss is unhurried. His tongue plunges with the certainty of someone who’s restoring a broken promise.
And mine tangles with his with the softness of someone whose ability to trust is still tender but finally working.
I pull back long enough to stop the recording, then loop my arms around his neck and tuck myself into him, my phone between us. I show him the screen. “Is this caption too much?”
Can you believe he moved for me? Twice?
He smirks. “Not at all. And if you really want it seen, send it to my mom. She’ll make sure the right people see it.”
I laugh into his chest, overwhelmed and light all at once. “I love you, Nate.”
He kisses my hair, my temple, my mouth again. “I love you too.”
Sometimes, buildings and people have to fully collapse before they can be rebuilt from the foundation—a necessary intervention because the structure wasn’t sustainable.
In medicine, we call it injury followed by repair.
Removing what no longer works, stabilizing what remains, and allowing healing to begin.
And sometimes, when it’s done right and you’re lucky, you end up exactly where you were meant to be all along.