“That’s because she—” I stop. “A stupid teenage prank and deliberately, maliciously torching my career are not the same thing.”
He concedes that, at least. We go quiet again. The air between us is still thick. “Rose, I love you. I’m sorry I didn’t trust you. I just came here because I wanted you to know I’m working on it. On myself. None of this was ever about you, or your fault. I know I have a long way to go. But I hope we can try to have a relationship again.”
“I’m done trying, Dad. I’m done being the one who shows up. If you want a relationship with me, that’s on you now. I’m done.”
I turn and walk away before he can answer. The guilt pulls at me the whole way down the block, but I don’t stop. My head is pounding. It stings to hear him say all that out loud. But my shoulders feel lighter.
Unfortunately, the only person I want to talk to about it is Logan. I pull out my phone. He’s still blocked. I can see the messages he sent, sitting there unanswered.
I miss you.
I miss him too. But missing someone isn’t the same as forgiving them.
Chapter 25: Logan
The days bleed into each other. I wake up. I work out. I make an egg white omelet with spinach because it’s what I always make, because routine is the only thing keeping me upright. Then I go into the office.
Surgery days are the easiest. I scrub in, and for a few hours the only thing that exists is the work—the clean, answerable problem of a body that needs fixing.
It’s the off days that are hard. It’s the nights, lying in bed with the city outside my window, trying to sleep, trying to stop running through the plans I’d made in my head, the ones I told her about, where we discussed how we’d fit into each other’s lives.
I get out of work early—a six AM surgery that went quick. After catching up on paperwork, I leave before anyone can ask me to stay for the department dinner. I don’t decide where I’m going. I just drive, and before I realize where I’m going, I’m stuck in traffic on the expressway heading out of the city.
My parents keep an apartment downtown for long stretches at the hospital, but my father has long since earned the right to be selective with the cases he takes. I’m still young. I have more to prove—or I did; I stopped giving a shit about advancing my career.
The arborvitaes lining the driveway catch the last of the evening light as I pull in, tall and dark and perfectly even. I pass the garage, which is really more of a hangar. Our private plane hangar is only about a few miles from here, though I’m sure Henry would agree the property could be used as a landing pad in a pinch.
The memory of the plane coming down arrests me suddenly. Rose beside me, silent, hands white-knuckled on the armrest. I remember she was all I could think about as the plane went down. Even my less charitable thoughts, they were all about her. Not my career, not my parents, or friends, not the years of work.
It’s always been her.
I don’t realize I’ve stopped the car until the front door opens and my mother appears, squinting out at the driveway, one hand raised in a small, uncertain wave.
I climb out. “Hey, Mom.”
She smiles and clutches her shirt at her heart—the way Pearl used to. I wonder now if that’s where Pearl picked it up. My mother does it without thinking. She does it because she means it, like she’s so happy to see me, she braces her heart.
She waits by the door as I approach, but the second I’m within reach, she pulls me into a hug.
“My darling, why didn’t you tell me you were coming? I’d have prepared a dinner,” she fusses.
“I didn’t need dinner. I just needed to get out of the city.”
She takes my arm and walks me through the house, telling me about Dad’s new meal plan—chicken and greens, strictly enforced. He hates it. Despite his career in cardiology, he’s always indulged a love of red meat. I like that. How she looks after him. How he lets her.
Rose wouldn’t fuss after me like that. She’d smack me upside the head and tell me to use my brain. I’m almost smiling at the thought when we find my father in the kitchen with his hand in abag of chips. He freezes when he sees us. Mom crosses the room and puts the bag back in the cupboard without a word.
“Not until you eat your protein,” she chastises.
He gives me a look like,you see what I have to deal with?
I’m smiling, but it makes me jealous. I watch them and feel it—wanting someone to spend my life with. And now that I’ve met her, now that we’ve been together, now that I’ve lost her—my heart feels tight knowing I’ve lost the chance. I place my hand over my chest and take a deep breath, but it’s difficult.
“Son?” Dad says, suddenly worried.
“I’m fine. I’m just—” There it is. Another pinch. Waves of anxiety roll through me. My heart races while I struggle to take a deep breath. The lack of oxygen makes me dizzy, and my hands shake. This intense, terrifying sense of loss makes my throat tight. I take a deep breath. That’s all this is. Anxiety. Panic.
Mom makes a distressed sound, rushing across the room to pour a glass of water. Dad practically shoves me into a chair at the counter.
