12.

Ava

Emerging from the shower back at home, I wrap a towel around myself, feeling the chill of the air conditioning more acutely than ever. The pain of losing a patient in surgery still surrounds me, though it shouldn’t. You had two successful procedures after that , I remind myself. But I’ve been on my feet all day after no sleep last night.

Roman hasn’t texted . That thought rises from the turbulence of my emotions—a strange mix of relief and disappointment. A part of me longs for his presence, craving the comfort it might bring, but he’s silent, and maybe that’s for the best. It was a mistake, after all .

My phone feels heavy in my hand as I dial Zara’s number. “Hey, you free tonight?” I ask.

“Sure, what’s up?”

“Chinese takeout. My place?” I suggest, hoping she’ll understand the unspoken plea for company.

“Be there in thirty,” she replies, no questions asked.

When she arrives, the smell of kung pao chicken and shrimp lo mein already fills my kitchen.

“Rough day?” Zara asks, handing me a cup of green tea.

“Lost a patient,” I say as we settle onto the couch, containers spread between us.

“Damn. I’m sorry.” She reaches over to squeeze my hand.

“Me too,” I admit, taking a sip of tea. “And then there’s Roman.”

“Roman?” Her eyebrows shoot up. “What about him?”

“Last night happened,” I confess, picking at a noodle. “And now…it’s complicated.”

“Complicated how?” Zara prompts, nudging a container closer to me.

“Chemistry is still there, but so is the history. He hurt me, Zara. When he left after I got the fellowship…” I trail off, unsure if I can put the pain into words.

“Did he say anything? About wanting to try again?” She’s always been one to cut to the heart of things.

“Apologies, yes. Promises, no.” I take another bite, letting the spice distract me from the dull ache in my chest.

“Sounds like you haven’t really let go of him.” Zara’s gaze is piercing.

“Maybe not,” I concede, leaning back against the cushions. “But can I risk it?”

“Only you can answer that,” she says softly. “But he’s trying, right? Maybe give him a chance to show you it’s different this time.”

“Perhaps.” My reply is noncommittal, but inside, hope flickers weakly, refusing to die.

After a minute, I ’fess up to exactly what made last night so complicated with Roman, and Zara and I spend the evening dissecting every moment, interspersed with laughter and shared memories. Zara’s perspective eases the sting of uncertainty.

“Thanks for coming over,” I tell her as she stands to leave.

“Anytime,” she says, pulling me into a hug. “And think about what I said about Roman.”

“I will,” I promise, though I’m not sure which way my heart is leaning.

As the door closes behind her, my phone remains silent. I should be relieved, shouldn’t I? Instead, I’m tired and lonely in a way that food and friendship can’t quite cure. The silence buzzes in my ears like the aftermath of an explosion. On impulse, aching for some connection to him, my fingers dance across my phone screen.

Me: Did everything go okay with the contract?

I hate how casual I’m pretending to be. Seconds stretch into minutes. The waiting gnaws at me until his reply lights up my phone.

Roman: Left it at the front desk for the salesperson this morning.

My heart sinks a notch with each word. His message is so matter of fact, devoid of warmth, of any hint of what happened between us last night.

Me: Great. Thanks. Let me know if you hear from her.

That’s as nonchalant as I can muster.

Roman: Will do.

That’s all he sends.

I stand there, phone in hand, feeling stupid. Of course he’s moved on. He’s out there, probably laughing over a glass of whiskey while I’m here dissecting every syllable he sends, looking for hidden meanings where there are none.

With a sigh, I drop the phone on my bed and peel off my clothes, leaving them in a crumpled heap on the floor. The sheets are cool against my bare skin as I slide between them, my mind too tired to keep up the pretense of indifference.

Unbidden, flashes of last night sear through the darkness. Roman’s hands, his lips, the way he moved. God, it was Earth-shattering. And I’d been starved for it, for him, without even realizing the depth of my need.

I’m a world-class heart surgeon. I repair hearts all the time, but I can’t fix mine . With that, I close my eyes, letting sleep take me away from this crappy day, away from the pain, the loss, and the confusion that is Roman Quinlan.