Gabrielle
As soon as he releases me from the best hug of my life, I instantly want him to pull me back in.
The way he smelled so intoxicating, the way he felt like a beautiful memory, the way his body molded against mine like it was made to be there.
It was all too much to take in.
I haven’t seen Cam in…twelve years? Twelve…very…long…years.
When he first told me his parents were moving him across the country, I was devastated. Sixteen-year-old Gabrielle was completely heartbroken. The boy she had loved for almost ten years was suddenly leaving her for good.
I was always terrified by the possibility of losing him to cancer, I never even considered that there would be any other obstacles in the way that would take him from me.
Cancer was as bad as it got, right? At least, that’s what my naive heart told me.
I convinced myself that if we could deal with literal death knocking at our door, nothing else would be able to keep us apart.
Until his dad took a promotion, and he told me it was the only way they would be able to affording the new trial he was on.
I had never felt emptier than I did in that moment.
With all the revolving people in and out of our lives at the hospital, he was the only one who kept me grounded. I knew I could always count on him.
When the panic would hit, when the depression would take over, when I was scared on surgery days, Cam was always there, always putting his emotions on the back burner to make sure I got out of those dark places in my mind.
And the times when he couldn’t drag me out of my thoughts, he would come sit with me in the darkness.
He would allow me to feel everything while he made sure I knew I was never feeling it alone.
And then he left and stopped contacting me. After everything we shared.
I had accepted that I would never see him again. That my first heartbreak would never be mended.
I clung to the hope of seeing him again for way too long. I would constantly imagine our lives magically coming back together, and us finally having what should have been ours. The happy ending we deserved. Especially after the cards we were dealt with so early in life.
Then, those years just kept passing by. And slowly, I had to let go of the dream of us. It was obvious that’s what he did.
Some days, when I would be feeling pretty low, the thoughts of him would creep back in, like telepathically he was trying to tell me everything was still okay.
Then I would start spiraling from the thoughts of how he was doing and if he was okay.
To the point where I would search up obituaries just to make sure he was still alive out there somewhere.
It all got very morbid for a while.
I had to keep myself together and stay strong. I had to let him go. It wasn’t healthy to be clinging to a love that was never going to exist in the same space as me again.
So, I slowly started to pick back up the pieces of my broken heart and glue them back together alone.
When I felt like it was whole enough again, I tried giving it to other men. But no one else ever held a flame to his memory. And eventually, I just accepted that at twenty-eight, a successful love life wasn’t in the cards for me, the family I always dreamed of having wasn’t in my future.
But I already knew that part.
From an early age, I knew that a family might never be in my cards. With all of the chemo and treatments I’ve had that spanned on and off over the course of eight years, I knew my chances of having any children were slim to none.
Now, after many remissions and many more relapses with my cancer—Acute Lymphoblastic Leukemia—I have now been cancer-free for thirteen years. My longest stretch ever and hopefully my last.
It’s crazy to think I didn’t know if I would see my eighteenth birthday, let alone still be here at twenty-eight.
Some days, it feels so surreal that I actually made it.
And now, standing in front of me is someone who had worse odds than I did.
Even though my heart is very confused right now, it warms at that fact.
“You actually became a doctor,” I blurt out, still trying to wrap my head around him really being here. Standing in front of me. Touching me.
His hands are still on my arms, and he’s looking at me like he’s trying to make sure I’m real, too.
“Yeah, I’m in my third year of residency, and I just transferred. I figured after all the trouble I caused here, I owed them one. But I’ve had a pretty crappy start to my first day so I came down here to grab a cup of hot chocolate.”
He releases my arms, and I already hate the loss of his touch.
“That’s funny. I just got my annual scans done and came here on my way out to celebrate the good news—thirteen years of clean scans going strong,” I say, trying not to come off as awkwardly as I feel.
“Good days call for hot chocolate,” he says.
“Bad days require it,” I finish.
And just like that, any awkwardness disappears, and it feels like we’re just two kids again.
“I’m so happy to hear your scans were good,” he says in a low voice as he stands entirely too close to me. “I will say, I kinda wish I hadn’t picked the pediatric ward now, so I could have been one of your doctors. We could have finally made our many pretend appointments real this time.”
I think if he were any closer, he would be able to hear how loudly my heart was beating right now.
Maybe he can already hear the loud, thumping, traitorous organ in my chest from where he’s standing.
I swallow, trying to ignore how my entire body reacts to his presence—too close, too warm, too familiar.
“I don’t think I’d want you as my doctor,” I say, smirking. “Last time I trusted you with my medical care, you prescribed me a spoonful of sugar and a juice box.”
“I plead the fifth,” he says with his hands up.
“But I can assure you my medical knowledge has improved a little since then. Now, I would prescribe you a large hot chocolate, eight hours of sleep, and…a follow-up appointment. Preferably over dinner or drinks. You know, just to monitor your progress.”
I narrow my eyes at him, arms now crossed. “And what exactly would you be monitoring?”
He grins, leaning in slightly. “Your stress levels, your overall well-being, the possibility that you still have a weakness for me?”
I scoff, rolling my eyes. “Oh, please. I survived cancer. I think I can survive you. I did for almost ten years, remember?”
But the way he’s looking at me right now? I’m not so sure that’s true. I don’t think it ever has been. Especially remembering how broken I was when he left me.
“If I remember correctly,” he says, his voice even lower now. “You had a pretty big weakness for me back then. I definitely had one for you, Gabrielle.”
The shiver that runs down my back is so intense that I think I visibly tremble.
“I plead the fifth,” I say, repeating his earlier answer. “You can’t prove anything.”
He smirks at my reaction. That same damn smirk that used to drive me crazy.
I roll my eyes, shaking my head at him.
It feels too easy, falling back into this. The banter, the effortless way we slip into old habits, the way his presence still makes everything feel just a little bit lighter, even when my mind is anything but lately.
But then, his expression softens, his gaze dipping just slightly before locking onto mine again.
“I really am happy for you, Gab,” he says, his voice more serious now. “Thirteen years cancer-free is actually incredible.”
There’s something in the way he says it. Not just like he’s proud, but like it means something deeper to him. Maybe it’s because we always knew one of us might not make it.
I feel my throat tighten, but I push past it, forcing a small smile. “Yeah. It still doesn’t feel real sometimes.”
“It is. You’re here. You’re still here. You won the fight, and I’m proud of you.”
I haven’t felt this level of warmth inside of me in a very long time. It scares me because the last time I did, I tried desperately to hold onto it, and it was still ripped away from me.
After a moment of us just soaking in the reality that we’re both still here, Cam speaks again.
“So what big dream did you end up accomplishing, Ms. Voss? The one where you started that all-girl rock band you swore would be bigger than the Spice Girls? The one where you became a secret spy? Although you probably would have failed at that dream because you could never whisper to save your life.” He laughs at himself and then continues.
“Or the one where you became an FBI agent who exclusively solved pet-related crimes?”
“Well, I never had enough friends to start the girl band, sadly. I would have most definitely been a terrible spy. And the police force seemed like it would require too much physical activity for my liking. So I did the next best thing. I became a veterinarian.”
There’s pride in my voice when I tell him that.
It really was a dream I never thought I would make it long enough to see myself accomplish. I couldn’t be happier with the career I chose.
Cam’s smile stretches wider, something warm and proud flickering behind his eyes.
“Yeah, that makes sense. You were always so obsessed with the therapy animals that came into the hospital. I swear, you told the doctors at least once a week that you wished the dogs were your real doctors instead of them.”
I let out a laugh. “That’s because they had much better bedside manners.”
He tips his head, nodding. “Fair point, but let’s not forget your most heroic medical moment. The time you tried to perform CPR on the fish from the lobby’s tank.”
I groan, covering my face. “Oh my gosh, we’re not bringing that up.”
“Oh, we absolutely are,” he says, grinning like he just hit the jackpot. “It was a valiant effort. I mean, who else would think to give a goldfish mouth-to-mouth?”
“I was eight!” I defend, arms crossed. “I had just learned about CPR and thought it could work on anything.”
He chuckles, shaking his head. “I don’t think the nurses ever got over it. One minute, they’re trying to console you over a dead fish, the next, you’re yelling at them to get the defibrillator.”
I let out an exaggerated sigh. “Okay, in my defense, no one told me that fish hearts aren’t compatible with the tiny electric paddles.”
Cam throws his head back laughing, and something in my chest tightens at the sound. I’ve missed this. I’ve been craving this feeling for twelve long years, and no one else has ever been able to give it to me.
“Still,” he says, shaking his head with a playful smirk, “it all checks out. The girl who wanted therapy dogs for doctors, tried to resuscitate a goldfish, and forced me to volunteer with her at the animal shelter, is now out there saving animals for a living. Honestly, it’s kind of poetic.”
I roll my eyes, but I can’t stop the small, proud smile that tugs at my lips. “Well, if I remember correctly, you begged your parents to let you volunteer with me just so you could be around me more, and not to brag, but I’ve gotten a lot better at keeping my patients alive.”
Cam nudges me lightly. “I actually won’t deny that. And good to know, but just in case, maybe stay away from fish.”
I shake my head, laughing softly. Same old Cam. Same old us.
Snapping us both out of the trance we were in, the barista calls out, “Order for Cameron.”
As Cam turns towards the counter to grab his gigantic hot chocolate, someone shouts from a couple of feet away, “Hayes, let’s go, man. We’re gonna be late, and Dr. Covington will be pissed. He’s already been on a rampage all morning. I don’t need to hear anymore about how incompetent we are today.”
Cam exhales, rubbing the back of his neck before grabbing his drink. “Yeah, I’m coming,” he calls back, but doesn’t move right away.
Instead, he turns back to me, hesitation written all over his face.
“I’d love to see you again, Gab.”
Yeah, that’s what I was afraid of.
Seeing him felt like a breath of fresh air. Like the first full breath I’ve been able to take in a very long time.
But I’ve worked so hard to move on from the boy who left me behind twelve years ago.
I know it was never his choice to move, but it was his choice to leave me behind, never looking back.
I was still left scrambling to pick up the pieces of my heart, all the same.
Letting him back in now would just lead to reopening the wounds I spent years stitching back up.
I know how this story goes. The past rushes in, filling the cracks I swore were sealed, and before I know it, I’m back where I started—aching for something I’ll never get to have.
Because he didn’t want that.
So I force a smile, even though my chest feels tight. “I don’t know, Cam…”
His eyes search mine, like he’s trying to find a way in. But he doesn’t push. Instead, he pulls a small notepad from the pocket of his white coat, tears off a sheet, and jots something down.
He folds it twice, presses it into my hand, and holds my fingers there for a moment before moving them back.
“Only if you want to,” he says, his voice softer now. “And now you know where to find me.”
Then he’s gone, walking back toward his colleagues, hot chocolate in hand, blending back into the sea of people.
I look down at the paper once he’s out of sight.
It’s his number.
And beneath it, in his messy handwriting:
Hot chocolate and old friends.
-Doctor’s recommendation.
I exhale a quiet laugh, shaking my head as my fingers tighten around the note.
Why is he able to so effortlessly make me feel this way still?