Page 9 of Love Overdose: St. Louis

The last woman I allowed myself to care about had tried to accept this life. At first, she’d said she understood. She admired my dedication. She knew my work mattered. Then dinners became reheated plates covered in foil and weekends became apologies. The night she left, she hadn’t argued. She stood near my front door with her suitcase beside her and exhaustion where love used to sit in her eyes.

You keep asking me to understand, Elijah, but you never make room for me.

She’d been right.

The romance between us hadn’t survived my absence. Whatever it might have become ended when she walked through that door, and I didn’t chase her. I’d known better than to offer another promise my schedule could break. She was long gone now, but the lesson had stayed.

“What if this is all I have to give?” I asked.

Xander released a breath. “What is?”

“Canceled plans. Missed calls. Leaving in the middle of dinner because somebody needs emergency surgery. Asking a woman to understand that a stranger will sometimes come before her.”

“You save lives.”

“That doesn’t make being left at a table feel any better.”

“No, it doesn’t.” His voice softened. “But you’re deciding Frankie can’t handle your life without giving her a chance to decide for herself.”

My jaw tightened.

“She told me not to introduce her to something I couldn’t sustain.”

“And what did you tell her?”

“That I needed access beyond one night to sustain anything.”

“There you go.”

“That doesn’t answer the question.”

“No, but calling her might.”

I looked down at the phone resting against my palm. Love had never frightened me. Failure did. Inside an operating room, I knew what to do with risk. I studied it. Measured it. Controlled every variable within my reach and prepared for the ones I couldn’t. Romance offered none of those assurances. There was no scan revealing where the damage might occur. No monitor warning me before a heart slipped beyond saving.

“You still there?” Xander asked.

“Unfortunately.”

“Bring Frankie Friday.”

“You bring somebody.”

“This conversation isn’t about me.”

“It became about me because you don’t want Aunt Bernice interrogating your ass alone.”

“That may be part of it.”

“I knew it.”

“Seven o’clock,” he said. “Bring Frankie. Or don’t. But stop hiding behind your job.”

I glanced at the closed door. “Goodbye, Xander.”

His laughter filled my ear. “Love you, little brother.”

“Love you, too.”