Chapter Twenty three

Sunday evening settled quietly over the Elsher house.

The dishes from dinner had been washed and put away. Sarah was in the living room watching television, while Micah sat at the dining table with his laptop open, finishing paperwork from the hospital.

Max was upstairs.

Nate was in his room.

For the first time in several weeks, the house felt peaceful.

Then Nate's phone buzzed.

He ignored it.

A few seconds later, it buzzed again.

He reached for it reluctantly.

The message was from his academic advisor.

We need to discuss your clinical rotations. Please contact me as soon as possible.

Nate frowned.

He opened the email that followed.

His stomach dropped.

He read it once.

Then again.

Then a third time.

His clinical rotation schedule had already been disrupted by his sudden departure from school following the breakup with Eric. His advisor understood that he'd been dealing with personal circumstances, but the university could no longer accommodate an extended absence.

If Nate did not return and complete his remaining clinical hours immediately, he would not fulfill the requirements for graduation.

And if he missed the current rotation block...

He would have to wait until the following academic year.

An entire extra year.

Nate leaned back in his chair.

"No."

He rubbed his face.

He had spent years working toward this.

Years.

Long nights.

Exams.

Clinical assessments.

Hospital shifts.

Sleepless mornings.

His parents' deaths.

Everything he'd endured had been tied to one goal.

Becoming a doctor.

Graduating.

Starting residency.

Building a life.

And now, because he'd run away from the wreckage of his relationship, he was dangerously close to losing an entire year.

His phone buzzed again.

This time, it was his advisor calling.

Nate stared at the screen for several seconds before answering.

"Hello, Doctor."

"Mr. Whitmore."

Nate straightened.

"I just read your email."

"I imagine it wasn't what you wanted to hear."

"No."

"I'm sorry, Nate, but you've already missed too much of the rotation."

"I understand."

"You have an excellent academic record. I don't want to see you lose a year over this."

Nate closed his eyes.

"When would I have to return?"

"Immediately."

"Next week?"

"Preferably Monday."

Nate looked at the calendar on his desk.

Monday.

Tomorrow.

His heart sank.

"I understand."

"Are you prepared to return?"

Nate hesitated.

"I'll be there."

----------------------

He didn't immediately tell anyone.

Instead, he walked downstairs.

Micah was still at the dining table.

"Hey."

Nate stopped.

"Can I talk to you?"

Micah immediately closed his laptop.

"Sure."

Nate pulled out the chair opposite him.

"I got an email from my advisor."

Micah's expression changed.

"Is everything okay?"

"Not exactly."

Nate handed him the phone.

Micah read the message.

His eyebrows lifted.

"Tomorrow?"

"Yeah."

"Damn."

"I know."

Micah looked at him.

"So you're going back."

Nate nodded.

"I have to."

Micah sat back.

"How long?"

"At least until the rotation is finished."

"And then?"

"I'll come home when I can."

Micah nodded slowly.

"You know Mom's going to be worried."

"I know."

"And Max..."

Nate's eyes dropped.

"I know."

Micah studied him.

"You haven't told him."

"No."

"You should."

"I will."

"Tonight."

Nate nodded.

"I just don't know how."

Micah sighed.

"There's no good way."

----------------------

Dinner had already been cleared when Nate finally found the courage.

Sarah was sitting on the sofa.

Max was beside her, scrolling through his phone.

Micah sat in the armchair.

Nate stood in the doorway.

"I need to tell everyone something."

Max looked up.

Something in Nate's voice immediately caught his attention.

"What happened?"

Nate sat down.

"My advisor contacted me."

Sarah frowned.

"About school?"

"Yeah."

Nate looked at all three of them.

"I've missed too much of my clinical rotation."

Sarah's face fell.

"What does that mean?"

"If I don't go back now, I'll have to repeat the entire clinical requirement next year."

"Next year?"

"Yeah."

Max's phone slowly lowered.

"So..."

He looked at Nate.

"You're going back?"

Nate nodded.

"Tomorrow."

The room went silent.

Max stared at him.

"Tomorrow?"

"I have to."

"But you just got here."

"I know."

"You can't just..."

Max stopped.

His expression hardened.

"Of course."

Nate frowned.

"Of course what?"

"Nothing."

"Max."

He stood.

"I said nothing."

Sarah looked at him.

"Sit down."

"I'm fine."

"You don't look fine."

"I'm fine."

Max walked toward the stairs.

Nate stood.

"Max."

The teenager stopped.

For a moment, Nate could see exactly what was happening.

The fear.

The hurt.

The old wound.

You left me once.

You're leaving again.

"I have to do this," Nate said quietly.

Max turned around.

"You always have to leave."

Nate flinched.

"That's not fair."

"Isn't it?"

"No."

"You left for college."

"Because I needed to go."

"You stayed away for six years."

"I came back when I could."

"Not for me."

Nate went quiet.

Max's eyes were shining.

"I know you're not actually my brother."

The words came out shakily.

"But you were supposed to be."

Nate's chest tightened.

"You were there before Dad died."

"You were there when everything was normal."

"Then you left."

Max wiped quickly at his face.

"And now that I finally..."

He stopped.

"What?"

"Nothing."

Nate stepped closer.

"Max."

"I finally got used to you being here."

His voice broke.

"And now you're leaving again."

Sarah stood.

"Max..."

"No."

He shook his head.

"I know he's doing what he needs to do."

"I know."

"But I don't care."

The honesty of it silenced everyone.

"I don't want him to go."

Nate's heart broke.

He crossed the room slowly.

"I'm not disappearing."

"You don't know that."

"Yes, I do."

"You said that before."

Nate stopped.

Because Max was right.

Six years earlier, Nate had left with Micah believing he would come back.

Life had simply happened.

University.

Grief.

Distance.

Time.

Six years had passed.

To Nate, it had been complicated.

To Max, it had felt like abandonment.

"I can't promise I'll be here every day," Nate said.

"But I can promise I'll call."

Max said nothing.

"I'll come home whenever I can."

"You're going to finish school."

"Yes."

"Become a doctor."

"That's the plan."

"And then you'll leave again."

Nate smiled sadly.

"Maybe."

Max looked away.

"But this time..."

Nate continued.

"...you'll know I'm coming back."

Max swallowed.

"You promise?"

"I promise."

The room remained quiet.

Then Max stepped forward and hugged him.

It wasn't graceful.

It wasn't planned.

He simply walked into Nate's arms and held on.

Nate froze for half a second before wrapping his arms around him.

"I hate this," Max whispered.

"I know."

"I don't want you to go."

"I know."

"You better call."

"I will."

"Every day."

Nate smiled.

"Every day."

Max pulled back.

"And if you don't..."

"I'll get a threatening message."

"Several."

"Fair."

For the first time since the announcement, Max almost smiled.

Almost.

----------------------

Later that night, Nate packed his suitcase.

His medical textbooks went first.

Then his clothes.

His laptop.

His hospital ID.

His stethoscope.

At the bottom of the bag, he found the old photograph of himself and Micah from university.

He stared at it for a moment.

Then he smiled.

A soft knock sounded.

Max stood in the doorway.

"Can I come in?"

Nate nodded.

Max walked inside.

"I wanted to say something."

"Okay."

"I'm still angry."

"I know."

"But..."

He hesitated.

"I'm proud of you."

Nate looked at him.

Max shrugged.

"You worked really hard."

"Thanks."

"And you're going to be a doctor."

"That's the plan."

Max smiled faintly.

"Just don't forget us."

Nate's expression softened.

"I couldn't."

Max nodded.

"Good."

He turned toward the door.

"Nate?"

"Yeah?"

"Call tomorrow."

"I will."

"Before you go to the hospital."

"I promise."

Max left.

Nate sat on the edge of his bed.

Tomorrow he would return to the life he'd been building.

The hospital.

Clinical rotations.

Exams.

Graduation.

Residency.

The future he'd worked so hard for.

But for the first time, returning to that life didn't feel like simply going home.

Because now he had another home waiting for him.

And downstairs, a sixteen-year-old boy was probably lying awake, trying to convince himself that leaving didn't always mean disappearing.

Nate hoped he could prove it.

One phone call at a time.