Page 60 of Yours to Keep

This was exactly why I’d walked out of that hotel room. Sleeping with Sullivan and even caring about him didn’t change any of this.

It didn’t change that he was still my boss. That I was still bound by a contract I couldn’t afford to escape. It didn’t mean that the hospital I loved wasn’t being reshaped by decisions I had no real power over.

No amount of chemistry rewrote power dynamics, despite how good it’d felt in the moment. As soon as I realized that, I spun around and grabbed Mrs. Jones’ chart. “Let’s just wait and see what happens. Not all rumors are based on fact.”

Leaving them staring after me, I went back to the floor and threw myself into work. This was what I always did when things felt impossible. I focused on vitals and the quiet victories that came from doing my job well and told myself, over and over again, that I’d made the right call.

Because I knew I had, but that didn’t mean I didn’t hate it.

By the end of the day, I felt completely drained, stuck between wanting something I couldn’t afford and standing by a decision that hurt more than I’d expected.

Every logical part of me knew walking away had been necessary, but every other part wanted me to turn around, go find him, and pretend the world would sort itself out later. Instead, I just kept working, trying to stop thinking about him and failing miserably.

A feat that didn’t get any easier when my phone chimed with a text about two hours after that conversation at the nurses’ station.

Sullivan C: How are you?

That was it. Just three, casual little words that somehow felt heavier than anything else he could’ve sent. I stared at my phone for so long, the screen dimmed twice while my thumb just hovered over it.

Finally, I tapped out a reply, then deleted the whole thing and started again. Every response I came up with felt like too much or not enough.

This is insane. Just stop.

Since I still hadn’t come up with anything to actually say, I listened to my inner voice and set the phone facedown beside me, going back to charting instead. It was a full hour later when I finally caved and picked it up again.

Me: I’m good. Busy week. Hope you are too.

I hated myself a little for how carefully neutral it sounded, but I hated myself more for the tiny sting I felt when he replied.

Sullivan C: Glad to hear it.

Knowing I was going to do something catastrophically stupid if I stayed alone with my thoughts any longer, I met up with Ellora and Mercedes for drinks after work. At the very least, it would distract me for a couple more hours from texting my boss something honest. We met at our usual haunt and Ellora slid a margarita toward me the second I sat down.

“You look like someone who’s been holding a secret hostage,” she said. “Drink.”

I picked up the glass and drank. Deeply. With a disproportionate amount of gratitude.

Mercedes leaned forward, her eyes bright as they met mine. “Okay. Start talking. How was the wedding?”

I exhaled slowly. “I, uh, well, the wedding didn’t happen.”

Ellora frowned. “What do you mean it didn’t happen? I thought you were headed straight there from my place.”

“I was, but I wasn’t the problem. It turned out that we were all there. The guests. The bride, but not the groom. He, uh, he didn’t go.”

Mercedes’s mouth dropped open. “You’re kidding.”

“I wish, but no. The asshole stood her up. He texted Sullivan when the damn music was already playing.”

Ellora’s eyebrows lifted. “Sullivan, huh? How do you know when he got the text? Were you… with him when he got it, perhaps?”

“No, but I was with him minutes before and then again a few minutes after.” I groaned. “Things might’ve escalated.”

She smiled knowingly. “Escalated how, exactly?”

“With me and Sullivan.”

Both of them froze, but Mercedes recovered first. “When you say Sullivan, you do mean your Sullivan, right? Your boss, Sullivan Crowne?”