He didn’t respond. Didn’t turn around. Just stood there like a statue and I walked out.
The drive down the mountain was a blur. I barely remembered getting to my car, barely registering turning the key. I just drove, tears streaming down my face, my chest so tight I could barely breathe.
Stupid. I was so stupid.
What had I expected? That he’d wake up and tell me it was the start of something? That last night had meant something beyond just a physical release?
I’d given him my virginity—God, I hadn’t even told him it was my first time—and he’d kicked me out.
No. No, that wasn’t fair. I’d tried to sneak out first.
But he’d been so cold. So harsh.
By the time I pulled into my driveway, I’d cried myself out. My eyes were puffy, my face blotchy, and I probably looked like death warmed over. Perfect for a full day at the clinic.
Mom’s car was already gone—she had the early shift at the hospital. Jesse was probably still asleep. Which meant I could slip inside, take a shower, and pull myself together before anyone saw me like this.
I made it through the shower. Made it through getting dressed in fresh scrubs. Made it through the drive to work on autopilot.
But when I walked into the clinic and saw Mandy’s sharp eyes zero in on me, I knew I was in trouble.
“Well, well,” she said, setting down her coffee. “Look what the cat dragged in.”
“Morning, Mandy.” I tried to slip past her toward the back.
“Uh-uh. Not so fast.” She stood, blocking my path. “You look like hell, honey.”
“Thanks. That’s exactly what every woman wants to hear.”
“Emily.” Her voice softened. “What happened?”
“Nothing. I’m fine.”
“You are many things, but fine is not one of them.” She studied my face. “This about Tucker Barrett?”
My throat went tight. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Okay.” She held up her hands. “But if you change your mind—”
“I won’t. I just want to get through today.” I forced a smile. “Can we do that?”
She looked like she wanted to argue but finally nodded. “Sure, honey.”
The day dragged on forever. Every patient was a challenge. Every task took twice as long. And every time I had a quiet moment, my brain helpfully replayed this morning’s disaster on a never-ending loop.
His face when he’d caught me trying to leave. The bitterness in his voice. The way he’d told me to get out.
Then, the memories of the night before would pour in. How gentle he was. How not-so-gentle he’d been. How he’d actually made me scream his name.
By lunch, I was seriously considering faking a migraine and going home early. Maybe I could stop by the store, get that tub of ice cream I’d been fantasizing about, and spend the rest of the day in my pajamas crying into my Rocky Road.
But I was a professional. I could make it through one shift.
I was updating a patient chart when Mandy stuck her head into the nurses’ station.
“Emily? You’ve got a visitor.”
I looked up. “Who?”
