Page 40 of Reeves

TEN

Charli

The Grand Marshal:Walks ahead of the band and sets the pace for everyone behind him. The procession follows where he leads.

I clickthrough each field in Emma Thibodaux’s chart. Eight weeks post-surgery, her range of motion has improved consistently. I mark her mother’s compliance with the home exercises as excellent.

Morning sunlight filters through the blinds in my office, striping the stack of journals I still need to review before the seminar this afternoon. The three-hour continuing education session focuses on proprioceptive techniques for pediatric trauma patients, which is exactly the kind of concrete information my brain needs today.

My fingers pause over the keyboard. For a moment, I see him again sitting in the truck with the engine idling, staring straight ahead as I walked up to the open window. The rigid set of his shoulders and the way he held onto the steering wheel for dear life said more than any words could have.

I shake my head and refocus on the screen in front of me.

“Goals for next session,” I mutter, typing quickly. “Continue weight-bearing exercises to strengthen ankle stabilizers.”

My phone hums against the wooden desk, the sudden buzz breaking through my concentration.

I glance down, and everything stops.

Reeves Stone.

His name sits on the screen like a dagger pulled straight out of the past, headed straight between my eyes. For six years, I’ve kept him there, contained and untouched. Now he is back for the third day in a row.

My stomach tightens as I open the message.

I should have asked you something yesterday. Do you have time to meet before I leave for deployment next week?

I read it once, then again, waiting for the meaning to shift.

It doesn’t.

This isn’t vague to me. There is only one reason he would come looking for me after all this time.

Benjy.

I left the letter on his windshield myself. I told him everything in it. He knew. If he stayed silent after that, then it was because he chose to.

He didn’t want kids. He made that clear before everything fell apart. I took him at his word and built a life without him.

Now he is driving past my house and sending messages like the past never happened.

Why now?

If he wants to be part of Benjy’s life, that changes everything.

My hands press flat against the desk, the cool wood steadying the tremor in them.

I could ignore the message. I could delete it and pretend this never happened.

But he has already driven past my house twice. If I stay silent, what happens next? Does he show up at my door while Benjy is standing right behind me?

No.

If this conversation is going to happen, it will happen on my terms.

I pick up my phone and begin typing carefully.

I'll be in New Orleans this afternoon for a seminar at Tulane Medical Center. I could meet for a drink afterward around 5:30. The Columns Hotel on St. Charles has a decent bar.