Page 41 of Jordan’s Breakthrough (Unexpected Love #3)

MILES

Yawning, I reach for the extra-large mocha I snagged from the hospital coffee shop on the way out the door. It’s not bad, but it’s not great either. The flavor is lacking. My phone beeps with a notification. I expect it to be Jordan, so I finish feeding Lily before unlocking the screen.

Instead, it’s an email from ‘jsanchezpoetguy.’ Jordan? It has to be.

Subject: Just… read it?

Attached is a link to a Google Drive folder. No message body or explanation. Nothing to make me believe it’s actually him.

I take a screenshot and send it to him.

Me: Is this really you, or will this link eat my phone?

Jordan replies instantly.

Jordan: It’s safe, I promise.

Okay. Still, it’s weird that he didn’t give me a heads up.

I click the link to find three documents. The thumbnails offer no help, since it’s just a white background with illegible text. But the file names make my stomach flip.

‘TheSkyDividedPart1’ and ‘TheSkyDividedPart2.’

No way.

Jordan sent me his manuscript? Or manuscripts? As in plural? The third file is simply titled “Poems.”

I click the first manuscript, and it opens to a 500-page document, reading:

The Sky Divided

By Jordan Sanchez

I clap a hand over my mouth. It really is his novels!

I skim the first page, too in shock to actually absorb it. A second later, I call him. He connects the video call right away, smiling big.

“Hey.” He says it so casually, like he didn’t just drop a literary bomb in my inbox.

I get up to pace. “Are you for real right now? Are these your novels?”

“Yeah. I’ve been going through them the last two weeks. Just tightening some things up. Weeding the commas out. You know, that sort of thing. But yeah. Thought you might like them.”

“Jordan!”

He lowers his gaze, like he’s embarrassed. “I wanted your opinion. Charlie has been rearing his bald head lately, so I’ve been brainstorming the last book. And truthfully? I thought it might help you. With the shift transition, I mean. Thought you could read them when we can’t talk.”

I stop pacing, my heart lurching in my chest.

I must look like a complete idiot, because Jordan laughs. Like, really laughs. And it’s like someone opened the windows in my soul. That sound. I’ve missed it. I’ve missed him like this.

“Is there anything specific you want me to look for when I read it?”

“No. Just enjoy it. Keep me updated with where you’re at and let me know what you think. I have a developmental editor lined up for October, but I thought—”

“Wait a minute. What? You have an editor ?”

He grins. “Did I not mention that?”

“No! Damn, Jordan. This is a big deal.” He’s always talked about Charlie like the story was some far away dream. Something he was never sure he’d get back to. And here he is, jumping in.

He looks away again. “It’s kind of frustrating; I have to start the whole process again. The agent I had before is no longer in the business, but yeah. I’m not giving up this time.”

I shake my head, in awe of this wonderful man. “It must’ve been painful to get back into them.”

The screen shifts as Jordan repositions on his couch. “It was, yeah. I’m not going to lie. But you’ll see why when you read it. Just keep in mind that I haven’t written his ending yet, okay?”

“What does that mean?”

“You’ll know when you see it. And I’ll give you a heads up when you get close.”

His tone is dark. Heavy. My gut tells me exactly what it’s about.

I swallow hard. “Okay. Well, I’m looking forward to reading it. I’m still in shock you sent it to me.”

He cracks a smile. “I know. I wanted to surprise you. Thought you could use it today.”

An ache settles between us.

“Yeah,” I say quietly. “About that, though. I was thinking maybe I could fly down every other weekend or something, since I have three-day weekends now. I mean, it’ll be expensive, and I know you can’t take off from the bar that much. But it’ll be something?”

“I’d like that a lot, actually. I could come there too. I can talk to Declan about giving me a few days here or there.”

“Hey, if you do, I might actually go explore Salt Lake City.”

He laughs. “You still haven’t?”

“Aside from the art galleries I went to with Ana a couple weeks ago? No. I don’t have anyone to go with. But anyway, yeah. I’m going to look into that. I need to see you.”

Jordan leans forward, dark hair falling over one shoulder. “Me too. I miss you, Miles.”

When our eyes meet, I know he’s thinking the same thing I am.

Visiting won’t be enough. The goodbyes will be cruel.

But it’s only three months. We keep telling ourselves that. It’s only three months.

How time stretches when your heart is not in the same place you are.

I sit on the edge of the couch, hand curled around the phone like it’s the only thing tethering me.

“I’ll start reading tonight.”

He snorts. “No, you won’t. You’re going to crash as soon as your pretty little head hits the pillow.”

“You don’t believe me.”

“Miles. You’re exhausted. Save it for this weekend, okay?”

I sigh. “I’ll try. Did you get my package?”

He jerks up. “Oh, shit! I forgot. I haven’t even been outside at all yet.”

“What? Your poor plants.”

“I know! I was focused on finishing that for you.”

He hustles through the house, phone bouncing all over. It makes me a little seasick.

Sunlight blinds the camera when he steps outside, turning the screen to pure white before he’s moving again.

“Hi, Gena!” Jordan calls. After a few paces, Jordan lowers his voice. “You know what I just realized?”

“Hmm?”

He seems genuinely stunned as he says, “I haven’t smoked in three weeks.”

My eyes widen. I’ve never asked about the vapes, or the joints I saw in his bathroom. He never smoked them around me.

“That’s crazy.” He sounds truly stunned. “I’ll need to tell Whitney.”

“Who’s Whitney?”

“My therapist. I just started seeing her again.” He glances at me before looking down the street. “I probably shouldn’t have stopped, to be honest. But yeah. Every Tuesday at nine.”

“I’m so proud of you.”

“I know. But you want to know something?” He leans in. “I’m proud of me too.”

“Damn straight, mister.”

“Miles! I thought you knew this. I’m not straight.”

I laugh. “Oh, I know. Just wait until you see the package.”

“Almost there. Hey, Jace! Love your marigolds. They’re gorgeous.” Jordan waves at someone, then stifles a laugh as he continues on. A few yards down, he says in a whisper, “I think I scared him.”

“Have you ever talked to your neighbors?”

“Only Gena.”

“When you shared a joint?”

He smirks. “Maybe. Okay, setting my phone down for a second.”

I yawn again while I wait, exhaustion hitting me hard. The mocha is doing diddly squat.

“Oh, are you kidding me?” He flashes a piece of paper on the screen. “The package doesn’t fit in my mailbox! I have to go to the neighborhood manager.”

“Oops.”

He makes a face. “Oops? Just what the hell did you send me?”

“My love,” I tease.

Jordan laughs heartily. “That explains it. I’m going to need a bigger motorhome for that.”

“You know it.”

“Let me call you back. Rick is kind of a chatty dude, so.”

“Okay.”

I make the mistake of lying on the bed before he calls me back. I’m out within seconds.

When the alarm goes off the following morning, the room is still dark. I resist the urge to chuck my phone. Cracking one eye, I look at the screen, finding three messages from Jordan. At least seeing his name eases the pain of getting up so damn early.

I open the message thread. Two missed calls, and a video.

I play the video.

“Hey, hon.” His voice is soft and half amused. “Just as I expected, you fell asleep, didn’t you? That’s okay. I hope you get some good rest. Anyway, I know you wanted to see me open this so… here we go. I’m doing a video for you.”

Warmth spreads through me. No one is as thoughtful as Jordan. Truly.

“First of all, I like the box. Good shade of green.”

I snort when he flashes the universal “okay” symbol.

Jordan cuts the tape and opens the box, then bursts out laughing. “A dildo! Oh, damn. I should’ve known.” He leans into the screen. “Tomorrow night if you’re… wait, no. I work. Fuck. Um, Thursday night! Thursday then. We’ll use this. I promise.” He winks, but my heart sinks.

Thursday? That’s only two days away, but still. It’s a harsh reminder how limited our time together will be now.

I set the phone face down on the mattress, though Jordan’s voice still plays through the speakers. This hurts. This reality just fucking hurts. I’ll watch the video again later, but I can’t right now.

Instead, I drag myself out of bed, take a shower, and head to work.

My mood hasn’t lifted by the time I get there.

The lights are too bright and the people too loud.

I drift through the morning routine. Checking charts, administering meds, going through pre-op lists.

But I’m not really into it. I’m not really here.

My mind is a thousand miles away. In a greenhouse motorhome with a gorgeous man and a white cat.

A gurney comes into my periphery. The aide’s voice is low and gentle.

“Alright, Ruth, here we go. Your home away from home.”

My attention snaps up. Ruth. As in, my former patient Ruth?

I cut across the floor toward the room they’re steering her into. My chest is tight, and I’m praying I’m wrong, that it’s someone else with the same name. But when I step into the room and she turns her head toward me, I nearly stumble.

Ruth’s hair is a little messier than I remember, her skin pale, almost translucent, and she looks smaller, like the time away has taken more from her. But her eyes are as vivid as ever behind those huge glasses.

“Well, I’ll be,” she says in a soft rasp. “I thought you’d be long gone by now. Off on your next adventure.”

I laugh, but it sticks somewhere in my throat. “Well, how would I be here for my favorite patient then? I must’ve known you were coming. What is it this time? Hangnail? Paper cut?”

She gives me a tired smile. “My guts finally called it quits.”

I have no idea what she means by that. I step closer, taking her cool hand and giving it the gentlest squeeze. “What happened?”

“Oh, I’m all blocked up again. Worse this time. They’re gonna cut me open and see what’s worth keeping.”

Before I can reply, the glass door slides open and Dr. Mullins walks in with his chest puffed out like he owns the place.

I grit my teeth. Of course Dr. Mullins would be here today.

He narrows his eyes at me. “Thought your term was up,” he says coldly.

“Extended.” For eighty-eight more days and counting.

He is less pleased about this than I am. Without batting an eye, he jumps into directives. “Prep her for a resection. She’s NPO, fluids are going, and the consent’s already been signed for the surgery. I want her down to OR 3 before ten.”

“She just got here,” I say in dismay. “She’s weak and her last stay—”

“Is this a medical consult or a pity party?”

His question throws me off. What an asshole.

He clicks a pen, writing something on a notepad before shoving it back in his pocket. “Ruby’s stable enough for surgery.”

“Ruth,” I correct him.

He rolls his eyes. “Right. Ruth. Let’s not get emotional, nurse. This isn’t a hospice floor.”

Fuck, I hate this guy. I want to throw something at him for seeing a diagnosis instead of a person. To him, Ruth is nothing but a task to complete. It’s all he’s ever seen with any of his patients.

Ruth squeezes my hand. She seems worried, like she’s recalling how awful Dr. Mullins is. I wonder how hard I would have to push to have Dr. Nelson take over her case. Do I have any weight here, being a temp nurse?

“I’ll be with you every step of the way,” I say softly. “I promise.”

Her smile clearly costs her. “Don’t let him scare you.”

“Oh, I’m not scared of him,” I say. I’m used to jerks like him. There’s one in every hospital. I’m scared of losing you. Ruth has been one of my favorite patients here.

Two orderlies come for Ruth sooner than I’m ready, all efficient movements and clipped words. Like they’ve been working together for years. Ruth’s chart is signed off, her wristband checked, then they start to wheel her away.

Ruth’s hand searches the air, and I grab it without thinking.

“I’ll see you after, alright?” I’m not sure she can even see me without her glasses. “We’ll watch some Golden Girls later.”

Her sedated smile is comical. “You better.”

I follow them as far as I can, then head back to the nurse’s station and sink into the nearest chair.

It feels wrong to sit, like I should be doing something, but my legs don’t want to hold me anymore.

Missing Jordan’s call last night, not being able to talk to him today, and now seeing Ruth? It’s a bit much.

I pull my phone out to text Jordan, but pause. Knowing him, he would be sleeping with his phone on now, and I don’t want to bother him. He needs rest too. Besides, I don’t even have answers. It might not be as bad as I fear with Ruth. I’m just scared.

“Please make it, Ruth,” I whisper.