But once it was all over—once she’d quietly agreed, once she’d promised to keep his confidence, once she’d apologized—he’d felt heavy with guilt, because he hadn’t told her the full truth. He hadn’t told her what else he’d heard that day—her laugh and her voice, high above. He hadn’t told her about his heart, that the way she made it beat felt like the last relic of who he’d been before everything changed.

He hadn’t told her that it wasn’t only the memory of Donny he was afraid of.

It was the memory of her back then, and it was the reality of her now.

It was the way she made him feel. Rash, reckless, selfish. Like the most intense version of himself.

And it was that version who’d struggled to go—who’d bent back over her bed, who’d taken one last chance to touch her. Who’d kissed her. Soft skin, soft hair. Everything about her smelled good. He’d said I’m sorry, right against her skin, but he knew he was being a coward. He knew she wouldn’t hear him, and then he’d gone.

Two weeks and two days ago.

“Dr. Sterling.”

“Yeah,” he said, irritated, and then he looked up to see who else but Gerald goddamn Abraham looking down at him, standing at the workstation with his white coat and his permanent look of judgment.

He suppressed a heavy sigh.

“Yes,” Will corrected.

“Dr. Viswanath started his shift an hour and a half ago. You’re meant to be off.” If Will was meant to be off, then so was Abraham. But he supposed it wasn’t worth it to point it out.

“I’m doing notes.”

Except that he wasn’t. In fact, at some point, the screen saver had come on. He nudged the mouse with the edge of his hand. “This computer is broken.”

Amara, the nurse in the chair beside him, made a noise. He looked over at her, and she stuck the straw of her water bottle into her mouth and raised her eyebrows while she took a big drink. She’d already told him to clear out twice because she said he typed so slow it made her want to murder him.

Will sighed and stood up. “Fine,” he muttered, patting at the chest pocket of his scrubs, then at the waistband. His favorite pen, check. His badge, check. Amara’s smirk of victory, check.

“I’ll walk you out,” said Dr. Abraham, and Amara chuckled quietly.

“I need to stop by the workroom, get changed.”

“I’ll wait.”