Page 6 of Waiting for You

I'd met her years ago at a venture capital pitch while I was still getting my first clinic off the ground. She ran a major investment firm she'd inherited from her father, an aggressively funded group, and she was famous for being ruthless about where she parked her money. She'd done her homework long before I walked into that boardroom. She believed in my vision, said so flat out, and strong-armed two skeptical investors into backing me. I took her to dinner to celebrate.

We slept together once—and the chemistry came up short enough that we agreed it wouldn't happen again.

Somewhere after that, we figured out we liked each other's minds and chose a structured companionship. I warned her up front that I wasn't built to fall in love. And she agreed without question, admitting that something in her past had left her guarded, too.

I didn't dig into her ghosts, and she didn't ask about mine.

We just knew each other's boundaries without spelling them out.

That shared detachment was the foundation.

And it held.

There were no blowup fights or messy complications—just two high-functioning lives running side by side and crossing without either of us giving anything up.

We shared dinners, talked about market trends and hospital politics, and then she went back to her pristine penthouse while I drove home to my empty estate.

The arrangement was undeniably clean.

But there was a void in it, a hollow echo I only felt once the corporate chatter dried up and nothing of substance was left to fill the quiet. Yet as a rule, I left it alone.

I knew that some chasms hold steady, and as long as you map the edges, you don't go looking for the bottom.

"How's the latest pharmaceutical trial going?" Eliza asked, eyes still on her greens.

I set my glass down. "The team's at sixty percent certainty it kills the cancer cells without the usual toxicity."

She lifted her gaze, her dark brows pinching over the bridge of her nose. "That's a major breakthrough."

"If the phase-two data holds up."

"Good luck with the rollout."

She went back to her meal and I reached for my wine—another gap opening up between us.

Across the room, the young couple stayed tethered. The woman was talking now, leaning across the table while he listened like she held every secret in the world.

"You still finalizing the move to New York?" Eliza prompted.

My thoughts went straight to my younger sister, Violet, and the painful stretch where we went from polite strangers to something I couldn't call anything but fiercely close. She'd needed someone in her corner during the fallout with Simon—since our toxic parents couldn't be trusted to offer an ounce of real support.

And I'd stepped up. Finally.

Somewhere in between, she started calling me just to talk about nothing. She'd text me a picture of a heart-shaped river stone she found on a hike. She'd demand my opinion on which dress to wear for her engagement party. She video-called me to show off the cover of her first published novel, holding the screen up to a bookstore display window with a breathless Look at this. The connection turned into a vital part of my week—a comfort we'd never managed as kids.

I'd always played the golden son. I answered our parents' demanding calls, memorized the obligatory birthdays, and kept the fragile family peace.

And for years, I confused that performance with being present.

I sent extravagant flowers on behalf of parents who showed up for Violet less and less. I ran that act so long it got easier than asking her what she needed from her big brother.

But she forgave my absence without hesitation.

Now, she was getting married, building a permanent life in New York with the man she loves. They were going to have kids. And I refused to be the checkbook uncle who mailed expensive gifts from three states away.

I wanted to be there. I needed to be close to her—and be the family she'd barely had in the past.

"Yeah," I said, meeting her gaze. "The new Columbus facility will wrap construction soon. Once it's running, I can shift my base for good. We've always had the New York office. I just haven't been using it."