Page 9 of What Should Have Been Ours

“Still,” he says, shaking his head with a playful smirk, “it all checks out. The girl who wanted therapy dogs for doctors, tried to resuscitate a goldfish, and forced me to volunteer with her at the animal shelter, is now out there saving animals for a living. Honestly, it’s kind of poetic.”

I roll my eyes, but I can’t stop the small, proud smile that tugs at my lips. “Well, if I remember correctly, you begged your parents to let you volunteer with me just so you could be around me more, and not to brag, but I’ve gotten a lot better at keeping my patients alive.”

Cam nudges me lightly. “I actually won’t deny that. And good to know, but just in case, maybe stay away from fish.”

I shake my head, laughing softly. Same old Cam. Same old us.

Snapping us both out of the trance we were in, the barista calls out, “Order for Cameron.”

As Cam turns towards the counter to grab his gigantic hot chocolate, someone shouts from a couple of feet away, “Hayes, let’s go, man. We’re gonna be late, and Dr. Covington will be pissed. He’s already been on a rampage all morning. I don’t need to hear anymore about how incompetent we are today.”

Cam exhales, rubbing the back of his neck before grabbing his drink. “Yeah, I’m coming,” he calls back, but doesn’t move right away.

Instead, he turns back to me, hesitation written all over his face.

“I’d love to see you again, Gab.”

Yeah, that’s what I was afraid of.

Seeing him felt like a breath of fresh air. Like the first full breath I’ve been able to take in a very long time.

But I’ve worked so hard to move on from the boy who left me behind twelve years ago. I know it was never his choice to move, but it was his choice to leave me behind, never looking back. I was still left scrambling to pick up the pieces of my heart, all the same. Letting him back in now would just lead to reopening the wounds I spent years stitching back up.

I know how this story goes. The past rushes in, filling the cracks I swore were sealed, and before I know it, I’m back where I started—aching for something I’ll never get to have.

Because he didn’t want that.

So I force a smile, even though my chest feels tight. “I don’t know, Cam…”

His eyes search mine, like he’s trying to find a way in. But he doesn’t push. Instead, he pulls a small notepad from the pocket of his white coat, tears off a sheet, and jots something down.

He folds it twice, presses it into my hand, and holds my fingers there for a moment before moving them back.

“Only if you want to,” he says, his voice softer now. “And now you know where to find me.”

Then he’s gone, walking back toward his colleagues, hot chocolate in hand, blending back into the sea of people.

I look down at the paper once he’s out of sight.

It’s his number.

And beneath it, in his messy handwriting:

Hot chocolate and old friends.

-Doctor’s recommendation.

I exhale a quiet laugh, shaking my head as my fingers tighten around the note.

Why is he able to so effortlessly make me feel this way still?

4

Cameron

Walking back to the elevators with the other doctors, I can’t help but replay her voice over and over in my mind.

You know when you get a song stuck in your head, so you play it on repeat until you get sick of it and start to hate it?