Chapter 4

For the first time in three years, Adrian and I went weeks without speaking.

The timing coincided with the opening of Vanessa’s play, *Love, Again*.

My colleagues talked excitedly about it.

“It’s about former lovers finding their way back to each other. Apparently the ending’s wonderful.”

“My friend saw it and texted her ex afterward.”

I stayed out of the conversation.

Instead, I put a thank-you card in my bag and went to the medical center.

Owen accepted the paper bag in the corridor.

“Adrian isn’t here,” he said. “Do you want me to give him this?”

“It isn’t for him.”

I handed Owen the card.

“Thank you for finishing my surgery. The cookies are for the whole team.”

Behind his pale blue mask, his eyes rested on my face for a moment.

He put the card in his office and asked a nurse to take the cookies to the break room.

“Could I see you for my follow-up?” I asked.

“Yes.”

He checked his schedule.

“If Adrian isn’t available, book my clinic.”

Adrian wasn’t available.

During our silence, he moved back to his parents’ house and increased his weekly clinics from two to four.

He never contacted me.

I didn’t go looking for him.

I booked my follow-ups on weekends when Owen was working.

Two weeks later, Adrian finally called.

“Why do you keep seeing Owen?”

“For follow-ups.”

“My clinics run Monday through Thursday. You deliberately book him on weekends.”

I sat in the examination room with my coat folded on my lap.

“I teach Monday through Thursday. You know that.”

His voice hardened.

“Clara, do you realize what you’re doing?”

I looked at the chart rack by the window.

“You could move your clinic to the weekend.”

He didn’t answer.

Vanessa’s performances were on weekends.

I ended the call and looked up.

Owen was watching me.

“What?”

“You’ve asked for a stronger sleep prescription three times this week.”

I smiled faintly.

“I’m having trouble sleeping.”

“I’m not increasing it again.”

He closed the chart.

“Your wound is healing. We need to address the sleep problem, too. More pills won’t fix what’s keeping you awake.”

“I understand.”

I picked up my coat.

“Maybe I’ll find somewhere to have a drink instead.”

He didn’t smile.

“Don’t replace sleep with alcohol.”

As I stood, he asked, “Would you like to have dinner with us tonight?”

“With you?”

“The department. Adrian usually comes.”

My hand stilled on my coat.

“All right.”

Ironically, the man who usually attended never arrived.

His colleagues left a chair empty for him.

No one asked why we weren’t together. They simply passed me dishes and offered water a little more often than usual.

Owen sat beside me.

After my first glass of wine, I reached for another.

He slid my water closer.

“Try this first.”

I drank it, though I kept hold of the wineglass.

Near the end of dinner, several phones chimed at once.

Owen’s lay beside my plate.

When the screen lit up, I saw a photograph in the department’s group chat.

Adrian stood in a kitchen with his sleeves rolled up, cooking.

His parents’ kitchen.

Less than thirty seconds later, the picture was deleted.

Then Adrian posted:

*Sorry. My mate was playing around with my phone.*

The clink of silverware stopped.

People looked from their screens to me.

I was sitting beside Owen.

I hadn’t touched Adrian’s phone.

I hadn’t been to his parents’ house.

Yet he had called the woman photographing him, the woman using his phone, his mate.

I put down my wineglass.

One colleague opened her mouth, then quietly poured me more water instead.

I drank it.

After dinner, several women hugged me.

“Get some rest. Don’t let this keep you up.”

I thanked them.

Owen drove me home.

The car was quiet. He drove smoothly, and I fell asleep against the window.

His phone rang after he parked.

I woke to find we were outside my building.

My phone had slipped from my coat pocket toward his seat.

When I reached for it, something caught my hair.

His watch.

I bent forward, bracing a hand against the seat.

For a moment, I was in almost exactly the same position Vanessa had occupied on the day of my discharge.

“Sorry. My hair—”

Owen didn’t lean closer.

He unclasped the watch, removed it, and handed it to me before shifting toward his own door.

“Take your time.”

I had just freed the last strand when the passenger door flew open.

Cold air rushed inside.

Adrian stood outside.

His gaze moved from the watch in my hand to Owen’s face.

“Clara.”

His voice was frighteningly calm.

“You’d better explain what you’re doing.”

Before I could answer, he grabbed my wrist and pulled me from the car.

Pain tugged at my chest.

Owen got out immediately.

“Let her go. Her wound hasn’t healed.”

Adrian didn’t look at him.

“I’m speaking to my mate.”

I covered my chest with my free hand.

“Let go. I didn’t do anything.”

“I saw you.”

His grip tightened.

For the first time, I saw naked anger in his eyes.

I remembered the other car door.

The other watch.

The other strand of hair.

That day, he had demanded that I trust him and spare Vanessa’s feelings.

I lifted Owen’s watch between us.

“My hair got caught on his watch.”

I smiled a little.

“Don’t get the wrong idea.”

Adrian froze.