2. Xavier #2
"A sport coat next time, Xavier!" my mother reminded again.
"Goodnight."
I hit the red button and killed the feed.
Clenching my jaw, I put the car in drive and took the long way home.
I cruised past the aging hospital where I'd done my residency and the crumbling brick building that had housed my first clinic before the expansion.
I passed a neon-lit 24-hour diner, the same greasy spoon I used to haunt after brutal late-night rotations, still glowing with that same flickering sign in the window.
The two worn corner stools I used to claim were probably still there—I'd sat in them in bloody scrubs with my ID badge clipped on.
The city was quiet, washed in the orange glow of streetlamps. Every lit window held a different story, a different life unfolding inside. I'd lived here so long I usually drove through it blind to its pulse.
My house was near the wealthy edge of town, a white architectural statement framed by a manicured garden my mother had picked out without asking me. I'd kept the landscaping because the groundskeepers handled it. I was rarely home in daylight long enough to enjoy the blooms or object to them.
It was a beautiful estate, but I wouldn't miss it—not in any sentimental way.
The next morning I went back to the hospital for a complex surgery on schedule. I kept working hands-on because the operating room still demanded every ounce of my focus. And I needed something in my life that pushed me.
After the procedure, I holed up in my office, buried in patient charts, knocking out administrative tasks and dictating surgical notes.
My desk phone lit up. I glanced at the caller ID, and I grinned.
It was Violet.
"Please tell me I didn't just interrupt something critical," she said in a rush.
"I just stepped out of the OR."
She let out a hard breath. "Thank God! I need a huge favor."
"Name it."
"The rehearsal dinner is on Friday. Please make sure you can make it."
I'd already arranged my surgical schedule for her wedding week. And I'd confirmed my appearance. But Violet had a habit of asking for reassurances—she needed to hear the commitment out loud.
"I'll be there. Your itinerary is my itinerary, Vi. Don't stress about whether I show."
"I can't stop my brain from worrying about it," she said, her voice small.
"I know you can't." I leaned back into my chair. "But I promise you, I'll be sitting at that table."
The line went quiet for a heartbeat. "I miss you, Xav. I can't wait to hug you."
"I miss you too, kiddo."
"Look, there's something else I need to tell you. I'm just giving you the information. You decide how to handle it." She took a jagged breath. "Sloane's going to be at the rehearsal dinner."
"Already figured. She’s your friend. That’s inevitable," I said, ignoring the spike in my pulse.
"I just didn't want you blindsided. That's all. She's my best friend, and you're my brother, and I love you both so much, and I just—"
"Violet," I cut in.
"Yeah?"
"I know. It's fine. Breathe."
We traded quick goodbyes and hung up.
Sloane was the phantom limb in my clean arrangement with Eliza—the one I hadn't managed to amputate through sheer will.
I'd diagnosed and cured vicious medical mysteries under impossible conditions.
But this particular heartbreak was the one puzzle I'd been circling for so many years—which had done nothing to close the wound.
She was the reason I knew what terrifying certainty felt like—and the reason I knew how hollow every relationship had been by comparison.
As soon as I finished my work for the day, I packed up my briefcase and went home.
In my echoing master bedroom, I dragged a leather duffel out from the back corner of the walk-in closet. The one small box I always packed sat on top of my folded clothes. It was wrapped in deep indigo velvet, the golden clasp worn smooth from years of turning it over in my hands.
I'd tried to get rid of it twice. Once, I drove it to a high-end estate jeweler meaning to sell it.
But I ended up sitting outside the storefront for ten miserable minutes before driving home with the velvet burning a hole in my pocket.
The second time, I tossed it into a charity donation bin and fished it back out before the truck came.
I'd replaced all my bedroom furniture from that era of my life. I'd repainted the walls. I'd cleared every shelf and restocked my life with beautiful objects that carried no memory of her.
But this tiny box… I couldn’t.
And I'd stopped trying to explain it to myself, because some ghosts don't obey the model.
I picked it up and popped the clasp, revealing an oval diamond framed by deep blue sapphires. I'd commissioned the band because it reminded me of her—elegant and simple from across a room, dizzyingly complicated up close.
I shut my eyes and Sloane was right in front of me again, standing in a flowing white dress in the middle of a moonlit field.
I'd ringed us in flickering candles and scattered rose petals across the grass.
I was on my knees, asking her to marry me.
And she nodded, overwhelmed, with tears filling her eyes.
She held out her shaking hands and I pushed the ring onto her finger.
That moment, I was sure that we were going to last until the end of time.
But now, years later, I was alone in an empty mansion holding that same ring.
I'd loved that woman far past the limits of logic. And she'd mailed the ring back in a cold little box, with a note cruel enough to keep me from ever coming after her.
I let out a ragged breath and snapped the velvet case shut.
"Maybe," I said into the silence, tossing the box into the duffel, "it's time to make a new memory."