Page 48

Greer

Four Months Later

The tip of Rav’s pen hits the corner of his clipboard.

Still oak.

Still pretentious.

“So.” One brow rises on his forehead.

“So,” I repeat.

He rolls his eyes, but I think the corners of his lips twitch with the ghost of a smile. “I saw something interesting on my way here.”

I wave a hand. “You take the TTC. I’m sure you see lots of things.”

He exhales a laugh, reaching to the end table beside his cracked leather couch and tossing a magazine onto the coffee table between us. “The latest issue of Men’s Health . Riveting stuff—how Beckett Davis made kicking sexy.”

The magazine slides across the smooth surface of the wood, practically skidding to a stop before me. My eyes cut down to it, but I look back up at Rav.

I’ve seen the photo a million times. It really is beautiful—Beckett in black and white, left corner of his mouth lifted so the dimple pops in his check, uneven stubble dusting his jaw that somehow elevates the whole thing.

Nothing covering him except a strategically placed football held between his hands.

All those ridges and lines of muscle carving up his legs.

The best legs in the league.

Hall-of-fame legs, if the analysts are to be believed.

I raise my chin. “I picked that photo, you know.”

Rav smiles, brown eyes alight while the corners wrinkle. “I’m sure people across North America are thanking you for it.” He points to the magazine. “He says some very complimentary things about you in that article.”

“What’s there not to like?” I shrug.

He laughs this time, tipping his head back, the shoulders of his plaid button-down pulling tight. “Touché, Dr. Roberts.”

Sitting forward, he drops his elbows to his thighs. “How’s he doing? I was just as disappointed as everyone else to see the loss in the conference finals. But he played well. Great tackle in the third—a whole new world for a whole new type of kicker. Don’t quote me, but I think they referred to it as ‘changing the game’ on SportsCentre.”

They did.

And he did play well.

It didn’t change the outcome, and I think for the first time, he was okay with that. Content with what he had to offer and what he brought to the table.

“There’s always next year,” I whispered, tucking errant waves behind his ears when we sat in the bath afterwards.

“There is.” He nodded, and his shoulders didn’t slump at all.

I smile at Rav. “He’s good. We’re going to Tahiti in two weeks. You should see his suitcase. It’s full of books. My father introduced him to the world of high fantasy, and this might be worse than the Napoleon fixation. So, be prepared to hear a lot about dragons when I get back.”

“A vacation?” Rav pulls his head back. “When was the last time you took one of those?”

I roll my eyes. “Rav. There’s nothing to psychoanalyze here. Name a single resident or fellow you know who takes a lot of vacation.”

He grins, holding his hands up in concession. “You’re right. I got ahead of myself. How’s he doing with his family? How are you doing with them?”

Shrugging, I say, “We see his parents for dinner once a month. That’s his line, his idea.”

He cocks his head, eyebrows coming together and eyes widening like he’s waiting for more.

“I’m perfectly polite, if that’s what you’re asking.” I narrow my eyes.

“And Dr. Davis? His sister?”

“Good. We see them more. We have dinner, they come over. I have coffee with Nathaniel at work sometimes. Sarah and I go shopping. Her partner’s pregnant, so everyone’s excited about that.” I nod, lips twitching with a smile. They’re easier than his parents, but it’s all just learning—a work in progress. I hold my palms up. “Beckett’s excellent with a boundary now. Who knew? You’d be proud of him.”

“I’m proud of you,” he whispers it, and I can’t be sure I heard him right, but he gives me this sort of resigned smile. “I’m not supposed to say that to patients. I’m proud of everyone who walks through that door. But you. You’re—”

“Special?” I raise a shoulder.

He laughs, this full, big thing—and it’s just a laugh, just a sound, but I think I hear the years we’ve spent together in this room echoing.

“—still excellent at deflection,” he finishes, but he’s smiling.

He doesn’t wait for me to fill the silence before he asks another question. “Your dad?”

“Good. I went with him to a meeting last week. He invited me. The whole thing was strange. I felt uncomfortable the entire time, and I sort of wished I hadn’t gone. But before we left this ... a boy came up to me.” My voice catches in my throat. I bite down on my lip, and I offer Rav a shrug while a tear tracks down my cheek. “He was maybe Stella’s age. Probably closer to twenty-five. And he said he just wanted to thank me. For my dad. Because if I hadn’t—” I tip my head back and press my hands to my cheeks before I shake my head on an inhale. “If I hadn’t saved my dad, my dad wouldn’t have saved him.”

Tears bite my cheeks, and I wipe at my eyes. “What do they call that? The butterfly effect?”

“Saving lives,” Rav corrects. “I think they call that saving lives.”

“Huh.” I smile at him, but he’s all blurred edges as more tears slip across my face.

He spares me from sitting in whatever this is—because I’ve already stretched my lines, and they only go so far.

For now.

Rav taps his pen against his thigh. “Your anxiety?”

“Okay.” I lift one shoulder. “For the most part. Beckett and I were driving across Lakeshore last weekend and there was an accident two lanes over from us. Just your old, run-of-the-mill rear-end. But it was loud and...” I blink up at him, my voice this sort of hopeless and hopeful thing all at the same time. “Do you think my nervous system will ever catch up? That it’s ever going to learn?”

“Maybe.” Rav nods. The pen hits his leg, and he shrugs. “Maybe not.”

I inhale again, and Beckett’s right there like he was last week—hand on the back of my neck, holding me up, fingers pressing against my scalp, counting out my breaths with me. Eyes cutting between me and the road, his thumb tapping against the steering wheel of his truck in time with our breathing.

I’m about to tell Rav that it’s okay. There’s someone who wants to breathe with me, and that makes the whole thing easier.

But my phone goes off.

I glance down at the screen, and I hold it up. I don’t feel vindicated this time. There’s not really anything in here I’m trying to escape.

“How does that feel?” He points his pen towards my phone.

“Not always like it used to,” I offer when I stand.

“So, surgery, then?” he asks.

I tip my head, smiling quietly. “For now.”

Rav’s eyebrows rise. “I’ll see you in a few months?”

“A few months.” I nod, and I raise a hand to him before I leave.

I feel a bit like a hypocrite when I get to the elevator. But I press my shoulders against the wall, I close my eyes, and I breathe.

And it passes because these wonderful, magnificent, emerald eyes wait for me right there. A dimple carving a line through a stubbled cheek, and a smile that might be able to light up the world.

A beautiful boy I love so very much who loves me, too.

Sunlight , my brain says.

Love , my heart sings.