He’d resent moving there, a place with no thriving architectural firm. I’m living my fear from back then: Nate having to move for me or giving him up. If I asked, he’d follow me. And it’s why I can’t.
The thought lands fully formed and dangerous. It’s been circling for days, because while we were apart, he’s learned to communicate and made himself a solid partner; and I’ve been living on bypass. He doesn’t want me becoming smaller forhim—he shouldn’t do that for me. A surge of adrenaline floods my system so quickly I feel the ground shifting, sliding, cracking, and readying itself to swallow me whole again. I tighten my hold on Nate’s shirt.
He pulls back slightly, his forehead resting against mine. “Hey,” he murmurs. Concern edges his voice. “I’m really proud of you.” He rubs slow circles over my knuckles, a tremor betraying him.
I laugh weakly. “You make this sound soeasy.”
“It isn’t. It’s really fucking hard.”
And just like that, we both laugh.Why does it hurt so much if it’s the right choice?
I step into him then, pressing my forehead to his chest, and I let myself imagine a version of this where I do ask and we figure it out together. Still, with his arms around me, all I do is hold on to him so tight I must be trying to imprint him onto my skin. His hand slides to the back of my neck, thumb pressing gently under my ear, and my heart stutters.
It’s even harder now to not whisper his name and ask him to come with me. But I pull back. “We’ll see each other. December for Milo’s birthday?”
He nods. “I’d like to be there. For Julian and Quinn.”
I nod. “I’d like you there.”
I’d like you everywhere if I were brave enough.
My hotel roomnear campus is a mess of misplaced clothes I can’t bring myself to fold. I hate that the moment I close the door, all I can do is shut my eyes—just to feel something other than the urge to cry. It’s only my third day here, with four more to go, and I’ve had to stop myself from texting him every hour on the hour.
I’m talking circles with Julian to see if that’ll soothe this ache I feel at the absence of Nate. When I left Chicago and even before then, I missed him, but it wasn’t paired with this twisting feeling in my stomach that I’d taken a wrong turn somewhere.
I’m standing over the bed, forcing myself to find a professional outfit for tomorrow.
Julian’s voice hums through my phone, warm and perceptive. “Are you sure you’re doing okay?”
“I’m really excited about this lab.” I slide a stack of clothes to the side, a blouse falls off the pile and unfolds into a pool of rayon. “I think it’s going to help me feel like I’m contributing in the best way. Patient care, research, teaching. All of it.”
There’s a pause. I picture him shifting Milo higher on his shoulder, that reflexive bounce he’s gotten down so naturally. “Robyn… that’s all great. But it’s not what I asked.”
I close the cabinet door more carefully than necessary. “What do you want me to say?”
“Don’t give me the script. I want you to be real. It’s just you and me.” A soft rustle. “Well, and Milo. But still.”
I lean my hip against the counter, the cool stone grounding me. “Are you angry that I’m moving again but not back to Chicago?”
“Why would I be angry?”
“Because we talked about Team Neuro for years. Since we were barely pulling B-pluses in pathology and pretending we weren’t panicking.”
“Speak for yourself. I was never that worried.”
I snicker. “Your neurosurgeon ego’s doing well.”
“Completely earned,” he says, and shuffles again. A soft sigh echoes through the speaker—not his. “Team Neuro was a dream. And I love it. But I’m not unattached anymore. Wherever Milo and Quinn go, that’s where I go. Even if you came back to Chicago, there’s no guarantee I wouldn’t ever leave.”
“So, Team Neuro is dead.”
“No.” He shifts again, lowering his voice. “It’s just not static. Dreams evolve. People evolve. Team Neuro means different cities now, and that’s okay. Our friendship grows with us.”
My throat tightens. I turn away from the bed, toward the kitchenette side of the room, press my palm flat against the fridge door, and blink hard. One tear slips anyway, landing on the stainless steel, and try as I might, a shaky sob escapes me.
“Dr. Sunshine, don’t cry. You’re still Milo’s aunt. And we can play Operation at his first birthday, Team Neuro at its finest.”
“It’s not that,” I say, my voice cracking. “Kells… I think I made a big mistake.”
