Page 120 of Ten Day Affair

How did I end up here? This is all wrong. What have I done, thinking I could do this?

I slip into the bathroom and stare at my reflection. My eyes are hollow under the harsh fluorescent lights. Dark circles emphasize how exhausted I feel.

Don't cry. Not here. Not now. But my throat tightens anyway.

I push through the heavy metal door marked "Authorized Personnel Only" and step onto the hospital rooftop. The Atlanta skyline spreads before me, all glass towers and construction cranes reaching toward gray afternoon clouds. The air up here tastes like exhaust and humidity, but it's better than the antiseptic suffocation downstairs.

My hands shake as I pull out my phone. Arden has a big meeting today, so I already know she can't talk. But I need to connect to a friendly voice, someone who doesn't look at me like I'm an intruder, even if only through text.

I hate it here.

She'll worry. She'll want to fix everything, and there's nothing to fix except my own weakness.

Her reply comes fast.

The first few weeks of something new always suck. You're gonna kill it. Want to call later?

The kindness makes my chest tighten. I lean against the concrete ledge and dial Kip instead. He answers on the third ring, and I can hear the chaos of a busy café behind him.

"Well, well. If it isn't Atlanta's newest trauma queen. How's the battlefield?"

His voice is exactly what I need. It's familiar, easy, and completely normal.

"It's..." I pause, watching traffic crawl through downtown streets below.

"That good?"

"It's intense. The residents here act like I showed up in pearls and heels. I don't know what I was thinking, picking a place like this after living in my bubble."

"Please tell me you wore the good pearls, at least."

"Shut up."

Kip laughs, and for a moment I can picture him sitting in some Indianapolis coffee shop, probably wearing that ridiculous Northwestern baseball cap he never takes off.

"They're just testing you. Remember Andrew Gilly at Good Sam? He barely spoke to me for two months."

"That's because you kept flirting with his girlfriend."

"Not flirting-flirting." Papers rustle on his end.

"Same difference."

"How's the actual work?"

"I feel like I'm moving underwater. Everything takes twice as long as it should." My voice catches, betraying me.

"Sam." His tone shifts, becoming serious.

"I'm here."

"Grady isn't Palm Beach. But it's real. And you belong there. You do."

"What if I don't? What if I made a mistake leaving? What if I'm only cut out for the small town, cushy hospital?"

"Then you made an honest mistake trying to grow. That's not the worst thing in the world. That's the thing about this life, you can always pivot."

I press my hand against my chest, willing my breathing to slow down. The concrete is rough under my palm as I lean harder against the ledge.