“That would be great,” I said, offering a small smile. “I just need to pick up Harper from my mom’s, take her home, and then I’ll meet you.”
“Alright, I’ll text you the place,” he said. Then he paused, something on his mind.
“What about that new doctor, Gabriel? I’ve heard he’s been around Sloane a lot. People have seen them slipping off onto the fifth-floor balcony. It’s not just the other woman causing gossip now. Sloane getting that close to another guy, right in front of everyone and right in front of you, that’s not okay either.”
Aweek had passed since Evie came to the hospital, and I hadn’t heard from her since.
It seemed she’d finally let go. I hoped she had.
But deep down, I still dreaded that something was about to explode.
I knew it sounded like I couldn’t make up my mind—promising her I was hers, then ending it anyway. Because she was right. I left home but never really left. I left Sloane, but she stayed in my mind. I was done denying it; I was done living in denial.
I couldn’t escape her. Sloane. I would always be hers.
Dean’s words about Sloane and Gabriel kept replaying in my head. I’d noticed, too, how they’d been spending more time together lately. I wasn’t blind to it, but I hadn’t realized how much the gossip around us was growing. I didn’t want anyone thinking badly of Sloane. I trusted her—she wasn’t the type to let just anyone in.
And Dean was right about one thing: I wasn’t the kind of person who gave up easily.
But what could I do now?
I wanted to tell her again that I loved her. I always would. But I knew it wouldn’t matter. She already knew. My betrayal had already overshadowed everything, so there was no use in saying it again.
So, just as I’d promised myself, I turned and walked away. I knew my presence would only hurt her, and I refused to do that again.
When I stepped off the elevator and onto our floor, the sound hit me all at once. The sharp trill of a flatline, someone calling out for the crash cart, voices layered over each other with urgent orders. A code had been called.
I didn’t need to ask. I knew whose room it was.
Mr. Harris. One of Sloane’s patients. One of her longtime ones. One of the very few she let get close.
I took off running.
But before I reached the room, everything went still.
That sudden, heavy silence—the kind that settles when they’ve called time, when there’s nothing left to save.
I stopped in my tracks.
Then I saw Sloane step out of the room, her face carved in grief.
She paused for a second, her hand to her chest like it was anchoring her to the floor. Then she turned and walked away, fast, like she had to outrun what just happened.
And I broke into a run after her.
Even after all these years, losing a patient never got easier. For Sloane, some losses cut deeper than others. She never made a show of it, but I’d learned to read the quiet signs. Mr. Harris was one of those patients. Losing him would hit her hard.
I knew exactly where she was going. She always went there when it got too heavy—the helipad.
She stepped into the elevator, and I had to jog to catch up, slipping in just before the doors slid shut. She looked at me briefly but said nothing. I didn’t, either.
She was holding it in, just barely. I could see the strain in her eyes, the tight line of her jaw. So I moved to the back of the elevator, standing there with my back to the wall, giving her the space she needed.
A few seconds passed. Then I heard the quiet, broken sound of her sniffling.
When the doors opened, she stepped out without a word. I followed.
The elevator opened to a small antechamber with a double door leading outside. She didn’t step out this time. Instead, she sank to the floor, back pressed against the wall to the right of the door.
