“I love you,” I say simply.“I can’t keep going without telling you.I’d move here for you if that’s what you needed.I’d walk away from the hospital, the title, everything.”
“Whoa,” she says, blinking hard.“Just… slow down a second.”
I exhale, chest tight, and nod.“I know it’s a lot.It’s pouring out of me, and I can’t stop.But I didn’t want to hold anything back.I just needed to tell you everything so you could decide.So I wouldn’t wonder what if.Even if you say no… at least I’ll know I gave it everything I had.”
She doesn’t say anything.She just stares at me, dumbfounded, but I see a slight tremble in her bottom lip.So I keep going, softer now.
“You got me through my long hours.You made them bearable.You made everything fun.But waking up without you… not having you around to cuddle or just sit with or hang out with and have a coffee… I can’t imagine that kind of future with anyone else.”
I feel my voice thicken, but I push through it.
“These memories of us at work, at home, they’ve been reminding me every single day.And I had to come and tell you.I had to let you choose what this means for you.”
Her eyes are glassy now.She presses her lips together and then whispers, “Honestly, I’ve been the same.I’ve got the dream job, but it doesn’t mean much without you.”
Hope flares.It’s almost painful to learn she’s not happy either.
I wait, not sure where she’s heading, but I can feel the shift in her voice.She’s letting me in.
“I thought… when I left… that it’d be a clean break.That I’d get here, step into the dream, and not miss you.Not miss Pulse Point.Not even miss my dad.”She gives a soft, self-deprecating laugh.“I thought it’d be easy to forget.”
Her eyes lift to mine, and there’s a tiredness there.“But I’ve been struggling.I fill up my weekends with anything, errands, people, chores, just anything to avoid feeling.I don’t let myself stop long enough to notice how bad I feel.”
I lean forward, elbows resting on my knees.My heart is in my throat because this is the moment that everything changes.She’s admitting she’s not happy.That she misses this… us.And suddenly the drive, fear, rejection, all of it was worth it.
“My mom and I… we had a talk.”She continues.“She told me she thinks Pulse Point’s where I’m supposed to be.And I laughed, because…” Her voice breaks slightly.“I’ve already packed a bag.I was just trying to work up the courage to drive.”
“Courage?”I echo softly.
“Yeah.I didn’t think you wanted me.Not after how things were those last few days.You were barely around.You didn’t say goodbye.”
Guilt crashes into my chest.I reach for her hand immediately.
“I’m so sorry you felt like that,” I say, interlacing my fingers with hers.And touching her again fills that gaping empty hole where she left.She doesn’t pull away, in fact, she squeezes my hand in hers.“I wasn’t trying to push you away.I was just barely holding it together.Watching you leave… I felt this tightness in my chest, this need to stop you.But I didn’t understand what it was at the time.”I swallow.“I think I do now.I just didn’t want to face it then.”
She’s watching me, her expression softening with every word.
Before she can speak, I add gently, “That said, your dad would have you back at Pulse Point in a second.But this… me showing up it isn’t about dragging you back.I just want to be where you are.”
She stares at me, and I hope it’s a good thing and that I haven’t just terrified her with the intensity of what I’m offering.
“I’m just sick of going through the motions,” I say.“Sick of the day-to-day without any of the joy.I want to do the day-to-day with you.I want to argue with you.Kiss you.Wake up next to you.Take care of you.Watch you grow as a doctor.You’re so damn intelligent, and funny, and beautiful—”
A tear slips down her cheek, but she’s smiling.And fuck, I’ve missed that smile.
I lift my hand and brush the tear away with my thumb.Then I cradle her jaw, lean in, and kiss her.With just one kiss, all the last few weeks of misery falls away.
Her breath hitches.But her hands thread into my hair, tugging me closer.She kisses me back like she’s been waiting for this as long as I have.
When we finally break our kiss, both of us breathless, I rest my forehead against hers.
“I love you too,” she whispers.“Take me home.”
Epilogue
Regan
Is the chief of pediatrics treating more than just patients these days?
