Page 21 of I’ll Find You

After several consults and trailing behind Dr. Morgan through the emergency department for the rest of the shift, it’s finally time to leave. I grab my bag from the locker in the surgeons’ changing room when the bathroom stall door opens behind me. Chelsea steps out and pauses when she sees me. Surprise flashes across her face, but she quickly recovers and moves to the sink to wash her hands. After drying them with a paper towel and tossing it into the trash, she walks toward me with purpose.

“Oh, my God, Rose,” she says, pulling me into a quick hug, “How have you been doing?”

I stiffen slightly before returning it. I've never been much of a hugger, and even now it feels strangely invasive, but Chelsea doesn't mean anything by it. I’d hate to hurt her feelings.

“I’m so sorry for what they did,” she continues in a hushed voice, like she’s sharing some scandalous secret. “I had no idea.”

I nod, but don’t say much as I sling my bag over my shoulder. Chelsea grabs hers, too, and we walk toward the door together.

“Well,” she says, slipping her arm through mine as we head down the hall, “I just want you to know I don’t agree with what they did to you.” She hesitates before finishing. “And I was hoping…we could still be friends?” There’s a hopeful look in her eyes.

I offer a small smile and nod. “Yeah,” I say. “I’d like that.”

“Great. Hey, want to study together?” Chelsea asks, glancing around the hallway. “I’ve been trying to avoid Maxwell and Lucinda all day, but I’m sure they’re somewhere nearby. I bet Maxwell is really missing his favorite study partner since you’ve basically carried him.”

“Pfft. I couldn’t care less,” I say, linking my arm with hers as we head toward the door.

She chuckles under her breath. “We should get going.”

Her comment immediately makes me scan the hallway, paranoia prickling under my skin. The last thing I need is Maxwell cornering me again with another desperate attempt to explain what was painfully obvious. There’s no explanation for that. No excuses can fix what he broke because even if there was no love lost between us, he was my friend, or so I thought that was at least the case.

“Yeah, sounds good,” I tell her.

Chelsea’s face lights up with relief. “Meet you there in a couple of hours?”

We agree and part ways. I’m halfway across the parking lot when I glance toward the hospital entrance and spot Maxwell and Lucinda exiting from another door, calling out to Chelsea. I almost missed them. A wave of relief passes through me. If Chelsea and I had left together, Maxwell would have seen me for sure, and I’d probably still be standing there while he tried to deny the undeniable. I don’t want to hear another word from him, not with the lies that slither off his venomous tongue. Not now. Not ever.

After grabbing a quick bite and changing clothes at the townhouse, I head to the library. The moment I push open the door, the familiar scent of polished wood and old paper greets me. I pause for a second, inhaling deeply. I’ve always loved the smell of libraries. There’s just something peaceful about the rows upon rows of stories on shelves with entire worlds tucked between those pages. Places you can disappear to for a little while and forget everything outside those walls. Right now, that sounds perfect.

I find a table near the windows. It’s one of those larger ones meant for group study. I set my bag down before pulling out a chair. Spreading my books across the table, I settle in, preparing to spend the next couple of hours studying. The quiet envelops me like my favorite cozy blanket. A few minutes later, I glance up and spot Chelsea walking toward me. It’s the table we’d always meet at. Seeing her makes me feel lighter. Even as I open my notebook, I catch myself glancing toward the entrance before forcing my attention back to the page. Old habits die hard.

“Want to meet up again this week?” Chelsea asks, hopeful.

I pull another book from my bag and drop it onto the table with a soft thud. My smile widens.

“Definitely.”

Chapter

Fifteen

Rose

By the end of the week, Chelsea and I find our rhythm studying in the library. We sit at our usual table by the window, books spread out between us, highlighters uncapped, and notecards on human anatomy scattered around in a perfectly imperfect system that’s entirely ours.

“Okay,” Chelsea groans, dropping her pen. “If I have to go through one more differential diagnosis, I’m going to lose it.”

I chuckle. “You always say that, yet here we are again. Back at it.”

“Because it’s true, babe. I’m hanging on by a thread here.” She leans back in her chair, stretching, her gaze drifting lazily around the room. She suddenly stiffens, sucking in a sharp breath. She grabs my arms, digging her nails into my skin.

“Oh, my God.” Her hold tightens, frozen in place.

I don’t look up right away. “What?” I hiss as her talons claw me tighter.

“Don’t be obvious,” she whispers, but it’s so loud, she might as well be talking normally. “He just walked in.”

My entire body goes rigid. I knew that we might see Maxwell here, but I thought we had planned times that he wouldn’t be here, different from the usual time we all would study together. Now I feel like a mouse caught in a trap. I look behind me and to the side, trying to plot my escape route. My stomach drops, and I think I might be sick. I don’t want him to cause a scene. Slowly, against my better judgment, I lift my gaze.