Page 441 of The Doctors Will See You Now

Before I could stop myself, or even try to stop myself, I snagged the remote from the coffee table and flipped on the television. Immediately, my eyes caught sight of the familiar The Doctor Is In logo on the screen.

Shit. It was really happening. Nick’s episodes were getting ready to air right the fuck now.

I attempted to sit down, but when the camera footage zoomed in to Nick’s office, and then his handsome, gorgeous face filled the screen, I hopped off the couch and turned my back to the TV.

His smooth as honey voice filled my living room as he introduced himself and his practice and invited viewers into his world of medicine.

God, just the sound of his voice made my heart ache.

I fucking missed him, and nothing was more painful than missing someone you knew you could never have. It was like your soul throbbed painfully over the reality that you’d have to spend the rest of your life missing that special person. That there was nothing you could do to fix the situation.

By the time the music started up again, and what I assumed were the flash of words related to stir intrigue with the viewers, I couldn’t take it. Even though I wasn’t even looking at the screen, I still couldn’t take it. Just the sound of his voice was too much for me.

I flipped off the television and walked into my bedroom, cursing myself the whole way there. I felt like a pathetic coward. We hadn’t been together for a while now, but yet, I couldn’t even watch his stupid reality show. It was insane. What was wrong with me?

You still love him.

Yeah. I still loved him.

That was the crux of the situation. And when you still loved someone, just the mere sight of them or the sound of their voice was enough to intensify the already difficult emotions of losing them.

A text notification pinged from my phone and echoed into the hallway.

Even though it was probably Harper or Ivy or Doreen, I walked back out into the living room and grabbed my phone off the kitchen counter. The instant I unlocked the home screen and tapped on my message inbox, I couldn’t believe my eyes.

Nick: Can we talk?

My heart screamed, Yes! Go to him now!

But my brain protested, No…don’t even go there. Seeing him in person would be too much right now.

Holy hell. I didn’t know which was the right option.

I mean, we weren’t together, hadn’t been together for months.

What more was there to talk about?

Instead of responding to him right away, I locked my phone screen and slipped on my shoes. I grabbed my keys and purse and headed for the door.

I needed a walk. I needed to breathe in the city, the people, the buildings, the life. I needed to clear my head and find some semblance of peace from the constant tug-of-war my head and heart were providing.

Instead of losing my mind inside of my apartment, while watching a fucking reality series make a mockery out of my life and career, I decided to take a day off and get away from the city—and hopefully away from streets filled with people who now thought they knew something about me.

Twenty-four hours ago, I’d sent Charlotte a text message, asking her if we could talk. She still hadn’t responded, and I wasn’t sure if it was because she was scared or she really had moved on from us—from me.

God, I fucking hated the idea of her already moving on with someone else.

It felt like the absolute most wrong thing in the entire world.

She belonged with me.

As I walked up the gravel driveway, my shoes crinkling against the rock and sand, I realized it’d been years since I’d stood here, on the threshold of all of my mistakes.

My childhood home in Staten Island was beautiful. Elaborate moldings and decorative sconces, along with a nine-foot, iron-embellished solid wood front door.

Of course, my parents had sold that when my father had stopped working in Manhattan and settled into Chip’s, the hardware store my grandfather had founded a few blocks from my grandparents’ house.

The house they moved into, the one I stood at the door to today, was a shoebox at 900 square feet, and the fixtures were all from the seventies.