The screen freezes on her polite smile for half a heartbeat before going black.
The sudden quiet hums in my ears. I drag a finger over my jaw, press the ache in my temple, then close the laptop with a soft click.It’s done.
The chair creaks when I lean back, the vinyl cold against my arms. I’m not bound to this city or my partner. In a few months, I could be in Seattle, Boston, Denver. Anywhere awayfrom every corner in town that reminds me my best wasn’t good enough.
And yet, as I sit there, rolling back and forth in this chair, something hollow uncoils in my chest—a dull, spreading ache. The loss of the life I envisioned refusing to die quietly. Leaving doesn’t feel like a win, but staying here looking into every reminder of the cracks I miss feels like admitting defeat.
The glass doors bang open, rattling the frame. Julian strides in, long steps, ramrod spine, eyes swirling. He’s a storm compressed into a human body. Without a word, he drops into the office chair across from me, the wheels shrieking against the tile. His hand drags through his hair—dark, damp at the roots—and then down the front of his lab coat. Over and over again, attempting to shake something.
He exhales sharply, then he’s on his feet again, ripping off the coat and flinging it toward the chair. It doesn’t quite make it—slumped over the armrest, almost touching the floor. His fists find his hips, jaw ticking. Then he finally looks at me.
“I could’ve still been in the interview, you know,” I say.
“I was listening outside,” he says, voice low, rough-edged. “Waited a few minutes to make sure nothing else was said.” He rolls another chair toward me with his foot and drops into it. “You’d really leave?”
For a second, I don’t respond. The adrenaline from the interview still buzzes under my skin, but his words slice through it, grounding me.
“I think it’s time for a reset, Kells.” I meet his eyes. “There’s too much here that won’t happen.”
He exhales through his nose, looking over my shoulder. The sharp edges of his expression start to fold inward. He leans back, knees spread, hands dangling between them. The posture looks casual until I see the small twitch in his thumb.
“What about you and me?” he says, the corner of hismouth lifting—not quite a smile, more muscle memory. “Team Neuro. You do the thinking, I do the cutting.”
I give him a faint smile, though it feels thin in my mouth. “We’ll make it happen.” I start gathering what’s in front of me, a small ritual of escape, stacking and straightening what’s already neat.
He stares at me, then looks to the floor and back up. “Later, I guess.”
I want to say something to soften this loneliness written in his blue eyes, but all that comes out is the truth.
“I need to step away. And you still have two years before you’re an attending.”
He nods once, but the motion’s stiff, mechanical. For a moment, all I hear is the hum of the overhead lights and the faint shuffle of someone walking past the glass outside.
Then I ask, “Are you okay?”
His mouth opens, closes, then opens again. “A patient coded,” he says. His hands flex against his thighs. “DNR. Had to stand there doing nothing. Just watch him go.” He stares at the table, his reflection fractured across the glossy surface. “I get why, I respect it even,” he adds, voice quieter now. “They’re just the hardest ones for me.” He exhales hard, the air catching on the way out. “And Marisol?—”
I want Julian settled, to have someone. But Marisol?—
He shrugs, rubbing his face with both hands. “She gets our schedules.”
I almost snicker. “Just because Nate couldn’t handle it doesn’t mean you’re stuck with someone in the medical field.”
Julian’s head snaps up. He shakes it once, hard enough that the muscles in his neck stand out. “If someone who loved you like Nate does couldn’t deal, nobody can.”
His words land heavy between us. He leans forward, elbows on his knees, and presses his palms together, knuckles whitening. “I’ve got all this pent-up energy.”
“Go for a run,” I mutter. “You’re not safe for another two months. You need the follow-up testing.”
“I fucking know.” He shakes his head again, slower this time, eyes fixed on the floor.
“And you haven’t heard from the woman?”
“Nah.” His jaw works. He scratches at the back of his neck, gaze sliding toward the corner of the room. “She was on the pill. If she were pregnant, I’d know by now.”
“Because you left her your number?” I arch a brow.
He snags his coat, shaking it out once before shoving his arms through the sleeves. “My break’s done. You heading out?”
