her eyes, it’s obvious she wasn’t expecting to see me when she turned the corner.
“Hi.” My smile reaches a new high, one it hasn’t seen in weeks.
It feels good and awful. Refreshing and heartbreaking.
“Gulp.”
I chuckle. That feels pretty damn good too. It just happens. I’m not doing it to play the part. I’m not doing it for her. It’s for me.
The smile.
The laugh.
The warm sensation of contentment.
It’s for me.
And it’s fucking incredible, even if this moment passes in a blink. For now, I’m just going to keep my eyes open.
“Did you actually just say gulp?”
“Well…” she wipes her hand down the front of her scrub top, making the dripped coffee spread into bigger spots “…I uh, thought it first. Then it just came out.”
“You might need a new top.”
Keeping her chin tipped toward her chest, she continues to mess with the spots. “I don’t have a matching top. Not one that will work with my undershirt and shoes.”
More laughter fills my chest as my grin threatens to crack my entire face. “Sometimes you have to make the alternative work, even if it feels all wrong.”
“Easier said than done.” She looks up.
My words that were spoken with no great meaning, take on a life of their own. Sucking all the oxygen from the space around us. Echoing a very grim reality. Erasing my smile and silencing my laughter.
The elevator doors open. I step aside and let her go first. She pushes the button to the fourth floor. The same floor as my lab.
The doors close.
I move behind her to hide everything that’s etched into my face.
I miss you.
I love you.
I’m living with the alternative for Roman … and for you.
“How are you?” I whisper.
She doesn’t have to say it this time. I hear her gulp. “Fine,” she squeaks like it barely makes it past her throat.
Fine.
I don’t like fine Dorothy. Fine Dorothy breaks my heart because I know her “okay” is spectacular, but fine feels along the lines of barely breathing. Does she know how incredibly fucking fine I am right now too?
The doors open.
She bolts out.
And I would let her go. I really would, but she lifts her hand and wipes her face as her feet move as fast as they can away from me.
I take one more sip of my coffee, toss it in the trash, and follow Dorothy, doubling her pace to catch up to her.
“Don’t! What are you doing?” She tries to move past me when I get ahead of her and turn to stop her. I want to grab her. Shake some sense … shake some more emotion out of her. But I don’t physically touch her.
“A word.”
She shakes her head.
“I’m not asking.”
She bites her upper lip, but it doesn’t keep her bottom lip from quivering or prevent the redness building in her eyes. I jerk my head toward the on-call room, and she leads the way, again wiping her eyes with her back to me.
A groggy resident lifts his head when I open the door to the otherwise vacant room.
“Out,” I snap, holding the door open.
“But I just—”
“Out!” I blow out an exasperated breath, not feeling patient enough to explain my demand with more than one word, and definitely not patient enough to listen to his reasons for not getting out right this minute.
Dorothy turns like she’s decided to flee as the resident slips on his shoes and slides past us with a grumble. But I step in her way again, taking several steps to force her backward as I close and lock the door.
She opens her mouth to protest again, I grab her face, lowering mine to her eye level.
More tears fill her eyes.
“I need you to be okay. I need it like oxygen.”
“Eli …” she whispers, making a solid effort to keep those tears from leaking down her face.
“Tell me you’re okay, Dorothy. Tell me you’re okay, and I’ll let you walk out of here right now.”
“I’m fine.”
“Not the same.” I grimace, feeling her pain as if it were my own … because it is my own.
“I’m fine.” She blinks, losing the battle with her emotions.
“Yeah…” I whisper, resting my forehead on hers for a few seconds before ghosting my lips along her tearstained cheek “…I’m fine too.”
My pulse pounds so hard it’s deafening. When our mouths lock, reality ceases to exist. I’m just so tired of doing the right thing when it feels so wrong.
When she unties my scrub pants, I let go.
I let go of reason.
I let go of worry.
I let