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My incomplete text sat above hers, a half-finished confession that said everything and nothing.

I should’ve told you the truth at the picnic. I should’ve…

Should’ve found a way to want her that didn’t require choosing between her and the only real friend I had?

I didn’t know then. I still didn’t know now.

But sitting in this parking lot, watching the space where her car had been, I knew one thing for certain. Ten months ago, I’d made a choice I thought was right.

And I’d spend every moment since wondering if it was the biggest mistake I’d ever made.

I started the truck and drove to imaging.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

ELLIE

I’d been gripping the steering wheel hard enough to leave dents since I’d parked fifteen minutes ago, staring at my condo’s garage door without seeing it.

The professional mask I’d kept locked in place while telling Coach Beecham his starting goalie was out for at least the first two playoff games cracked.

I screamed, a full-throated, primal sound that came from below my ribs. The windows fogged. My throat burned. I hit the steering wheel with both palms until my hands stung and the horn gave a pathetic bleat.

The anger wasn’t just about today. It was the picnic, and every condescending smile from an attending physician who’d seen only half my solid patient outcomes. Every “are you sure?” and “let me just double-check that.” I’d spent months telling myself I was fine, only now discovering I’d been wrong about all of it.

He hadn’t turned me down because of my weight. That was on me. I’d personalized his rejection, a natural thing. He wouldn’t have been the first.

I sat in my driveway breathing hard, mascara running down my cheeks before I caught my reflection in the rearview mirror. I looked like I’d been in a fight. Red-faced, blotchy, my carefully applied eyeliner smudged into something that belonged in a horror movie.

I forced myself to breathe. Four counts in, hold, four counts out. The same technique I taught patients, though I usually didn’t have to coach them while mascara ran down their faces.

In. Hold. Out.

Again.

Crim was expecting me at his place for dinner at 6:30, and it was 5:52 already. I had less than an hour to stop looking like I wanted to murder someone.

I grabbed my bag and went inside.

After patting Marzipan, who gave me her usual resting bitch face, I stomped upstairs and showered, dressing in something comfy and casual. Then I got back into my car and drove to my brother’s townhouse.

I climbed his front steps at 6:32, just as he swung the door open.

Crim took one look at my face. “What happened?”

“Nothing. Work stuff.”

“El.” He stepped back and urged me to enter. “I’ve known you since you were eight. Try again.”

I walked past him into the entryway. His townhouse was nice, all high ceilings and pale gray walls, full of touches that screamed permanent residence. Photos of his parents lined the hallway. Me and him in the orc kingdom. After we’d all moved to the surface. At my dissertation defense, me grinning at the camera. Team photos from different seasons.

“Tell me what’s going on,” he said.

“How’s your shoulder?” I asked. “I noticed you favoring it during practice.”

Like any athlete, he loved talking about his body.

“It’s fine. I think I slept on it wrong.” I followed him into his kitchen made up of shiny countertops and equally shiny appliances. He’d gone for a modern look when it was built, and I always felt at home here. “I’m making khesva.”