“Actually, no. This one’s mine.” My voice comes out rough. “I mean, you can have it if you want, but… I don’t think me bringing you coffee was ever as important as I made it out to be.”
Her shoulders draw in slightly, and she shifts her weight, one socked foot dragging against the tile. A small crease of discomfort forms between her brows.
Even if I can’t fixus, I need to fixthis. Because this friendship of theirs matters more than anything between us. I’m not letting Julian and Robyn drift further apart because of the shitIcaused.
“You have to go meet Milo.”
Her eyes widen, breath catching. “Is everything okay?”
“No.” The cold bites through my jacket, or maybe that’s just the truth finally breaking loose. “This isn’t okay. I hurt you, and because of that, you haven’t met your best friend’s son. You have to change this.”
“Nate—”
“No.” I flex my hand at my side, wanting to reach for her but not daring to. “He’s two months old. Soon, he won’t even be a newborn. You can’t come back from not meeting him as a baby. Julian says you promised you wouldn’t miss the important stuff. He deserves that you do this for him.”
Her mouth tightens as she looks down, toes curling against the cold tile. Her eyelids quiver, a tiny tremor she doesn’t manage to hide. “I’ve waited so long at this point… I don’t know how to?—”
“You do know how.” I swallow hard. “You don’t need me to list the steps.”
“I’m afraid he’ll see?—”
“See what?”
Her gaze drops to the floor, away from me. “How much I’m struggling.”
“Robyn,” I whisper softly. “He’s struggling. You should struggle together. He’s your best friend.”
Her chin lifts a fraction. “You’re right.”
I have to bite my tongue so I don’t offer to buy her the ticket or drive her all the way to Chicago myself. My tongue aches with all the things I can’t let myself say.
“And when you’re there”—I rub a hand over the back of my neck, the cold wind stinging my knuckles—“own that you made a mistake. Julian needs to hear you say it.”
I turn and cross the short path toward my building, pulse banging in my ears, coffee going cold in my hand.
“Nate,” she calls.
I stop but don’t turn. If I look at her now, I’ll give too much away—how much I miss her, how much I blame myself.
“Thank you.”
The words hit between my shoulder blades, warm and heavy, and I stand there long enough for my breath to fog the air, nodding and murmuring a “Good night” I don’t think she’ll hear, before I force myself inside.
CHAPTER 25
The Opening
Robyn
The lab iscold and quiet, and thanks to Dr. Raymond’s veiled compliment—that I’m the only fellow he trusts with his samples—I have over a dozen vials to work my way through. I was supposed to land Sunday morning, but there wasfucking snow everywhere.
My fingers move on autopilot over the tablet as I log numbers and observations. As much as I love being in the clinic, the silence of the lab is kinder to my thoughts today. I spent five days in Chicago—mostly at Julian’s.
I finish my set and carry my lunch bag to the food area. When I open the pink container, a rush of mango and coconut blooms from inside. The scent is just as potent as when Rebecca—Nate’s mom—pressed the homemade goods into my hands during Saturday brunch, insisting they’d “fix anything if you gave them half a chance.”
Brunch had been our thing whenever Rebecca visited Nate. I assumed the last brunch we’d shared would be the lasttime I’d see her—that morning after Nate’s drunken tantrum. I loved her, but Rebecca is Nate’s mom. So when I saw the string of texts from her after I landed in Chicago—my son says you’re in town. Let me steal you for brunch—I figured creepy Nate saw me leave with a suitcase and felt more than hesitant to say yes.
And yet, there I was on Saturday, standing just inside The Breakfast Club, our go-to spot, waiting for the hostess to find us a table. Nate’s mom hadn’t hesitated at all, though. She crossed the floor and hugged me the second she saw me. Inhaling the vanilla and cardamom in her hair yanked me straight back to her home, to shared holidays and quiet weekends at her kitchen table. Her red hair, with signature wiry streaks of silver, was pinned back neatly into a half-up bun. When she finally pulled away her blue eyes scanned me.
