Meeting her eyes, I don’t flinch. “Maybe I’m hoping that one day you’ll see a version of me worth loving again.” My voice is steady, even if my hands aren’t. “Because my love for you hasn’t dulled. Not even a little.”
CHAPTER 29
The Loss
Robyn
I haven’t really spokento Nate since he held the door open to my building when we got back to Bend. His eyes lingered on the strap of my travel bag cutting into my shoulder. He didn’t take the bag the way he would have before, though. Just nodded and murmured, “Good night,” then watched the glass door close between us before turning toward his own apartment.
I watched his retreating back, his russet-colored hair pulled into a loose bun, until his door closed and the lights in his apartment flicked on.
The next morning, I’m back in the lab, trying to lose myself in this objective process. I assess samples, log measurements, recalibrate equipment. Axonal density. Inflammatory markers. Numbers that behave the way numbers are supposed to—predictable, measurable, uninterested in emotional nuance.
And still, my mind keeps drifting.
Knowing Nate was an idiot doesn’t absolve him. Knowing how bad it got doesn’t retroactively make him wiser or safer. Insight isn’t the same thing as change, and remorse isn’t a guarantee.
I reseal the last sample, wipe down the station, and follow sterile protocol by muscle memory alone. After scrubbing my hands raw, I step into the small side room off the lab. It smells faintly of antiseptic but mostly of cheap, burned drip coffee.
I pull out my phone before I can overthink it, scroll, then hit call.
“Mm-hmm, yeah?” Julian’s voice is thick with sleep on the other side of the phone.
“You have a minute?”
There’s a pause followed by muffled movement. “Hold on.” I imagine him sitting up, rubbing his face. He mumbles something—not to me—and springs creak, then a door clicks shut. “All right,” he says. “I’m awake now.”
“What’s your schedule today?”
“I had a night shift after seeing you off at the airport, put Milo down about twenty minutes ago. Trying to nap while he naps before I head into morning rounds.”
I lean my shoulder into the cool wall. “You’re a really good dad.”
A quiet laugh comes down the line. “I’m a fumbling mess. I have no idea what I’m doing half the time.”
“Isn’t that just… life?”
The silence that follows is weighted, and he doesn’t rush to fill it. “So,” he says, “you’re saying you can be a fumbling mess and still get it right eventually?”
I close my eyes. “I see what you did there.”
“Don’t pretend you didn’t call to talk aboutyourfumbling mess.”
“Would that break your rule?” I ask. “The one where we don’t talk about Nate?”
“This isn’tEncanto,” he states. “I’m not going to betray his confidence. But you’re my friend, and I can help you break things down.”
My grip tightens on the phone. “What do you think?”
He lets out an exasperated huff. “You first, Dr. Sunshine. What doyouthink?”
I hesitate, then exhale. “We talked.” I stare at the floor tiles. “Did you know he was going to propose?”
“Doesn’t surprise me.”
I tilt my head, tapping on the back of my phone with my nail. “No?”
“Not even a little. I saw the two of you together quite a bit. And I spent time with both of you. With you before everything went to hell. With him after.” He huffs like he’s sitting down. “Nate has always loved you. The sad fucker still does.”
