Page 23 of Breaking Hollywood

I move it into the parking garage and pay for the parking.

Heading back into the hospital, I get two black coffees from the cafeteria and some creamer and sugar in case he takes them. I’m a black-coffee girl myself. The stronger, the better.

Just how I like my men—dark and strong.

Not that Jeremy, my ex, possessed those traits. Well, he had dark hair. But strong? No way. Weak asshole? Definitely.

I had known he was difficult and selfish, but I didn’t realize how bad he was until after he was gone.

Don’t get me wrong; I was gutted when he told me he’d gotten an acting job in Australia, that he was leaving in a few days, and that he didn’t want me to go with him.

He said our breakup had been coming for a while.

He was right. It had been coming. And I know I’m better off without him. He was stifling me.

I’ve always been a strong person, but with him, I allowed myself to be weak. I let him boss me around and tell me what to do and be an asshole to me because I was afraid of losing him when losing him was exactly what I needed to do.

My only regret is that I wasn’t the one to end it.

I might have lost my job and my home, but I’m freer than I ever was when I was with Jeremy.

Things will work themselves out. I know they will.

They have to.

I take the elevator back up to Pediatrics. Unsure of whether to go back to Tate’s office or not, I decide to sit in the reception area and wait there.

I haven’t been waiting for long when Gabe arrives back in a wheelchair, Tate pushing him.

“What’s the verdict? Is it broken?” I ask Gabe.

But Tate answers, “First and second metatarsal. Clean breaks. And some tendon damage. It’s hard to break the first metatarsal, so you got him good.”

I wince. “Jesus. I’m so sorry, Gabe.”

He shrugs. “It is what it is. And, hold on, did you just apologize to me? Wait, I need to get it on camera that you did actually apologize to me once.”

“Hey! I’ve said sorry to you plenty of times since I ran over your foot.”

He grins at me, and I just shake my head, annoyed.

“Gabe, I’m gonna go sort out getting a boot fitted for you,” Tate tells him.

“Boot?” I ask.

“It’s instead of a cast,” Gabe tells me as Tate walks away.

“Oh, right.”

“One of those mine?” Gabe nods in the direction of the coffees on the seat next to me.

“Yeah, sorry. Here.” I hand his coffee over. My fingers touch his in the exchange, and my whole hand heats. “I got it from the cafeteria downstairs,” I tell him, like he really needs to know. “Do you want creamer and sugar?”

“Creamer and three sugars.”

“Three?” I frown.

“It keeps me sweet.”