Chapter 15

Chance

The next morning, I blink into the soft light filtering through my bedroom curtains, noting a lightness in my chest. As I stretch, my muscles waking up with the day, it hits me—no dreams of Céline last night. That's a first since… I can't even remember. Always, she's been there, dancing at the edges of my sleep, but not this time. It's strange, unsettling almost, but there's a hint of freedom too, like fresh air after a long confinement.

I sit up, the sheet pooling around my waist, and my thoughts drift to Lucy. Our conversation from last night replays in my mind. I told her things about Céline that had never crossed my lips before. Why? What is it about Lucy that cracks open my vault of secrets?

The clock on my nightstand tells me it's still early, but my mind's already racing ahead to tonight—Lucy's date. She told me was going out with another teacher this evening, someone she met at a training session. She mentioned him in passing as we were heading home, her words breezy, but they left a mark on me, heavy as lead.

I swing my legs out of bed, feet finding the cold hardwood floor. I should be okay with Lucy dating someone. She's just a friend. Yet there's a gnawing feeling in my gut. It's not jealousy—I'm not that guy—but something stirs, something territorial. I told her I was still getting over Céline, but what if I might be ready for more with her?

Would she want that? How do I navigate this? Maybe it's not even real. But something in me wonders what it would be like if Lucy looked at me and saw more than just a friend.

Right now, I need to get into the hospital. And the pitter-patter of rain against the window yet again reminds me that I need to find a vehicle. But today, I need to get paperwork done and dig deeper into the Prometheus Health drug trial.

I arrive at the ED to find that one of the doctors scheduled today had a last-minute emergency. So rather than order a locum—a doctor temp—I step in to help. I'm determined to get to the bottom of the drug-trial situation, but locums cost me almost twice as much as my docs cost, and the one who's out today is still getting paid. I'd rather put money toward the nursing staff.

The shift passes with its usual assortment of illness and injury, and hours later, after a long day in the emergency department, I stop off in my office briefly. But I don't have the mental strength left to make progress on this drug-trial mystery. Instead, I head across the street and push open the door to Barney's.

It's an attempt at normalcy, but I find that being here just sends my thoughts toward Lucy and her date. Janelle, with her perpetual smirk and a notepad ready in hand, glides over to my spot at the counter.

"Hey, Chance." She pushes a menu across the polished surface. "What brings you here? Didn't Lucy tell you she had a date tonight?"

"She did," I confess, rubbing the back of my neck. "I'm trying not to think about that."

Janelle raises an eyebrow, pouring me a glass of water. "Oh yeah? Well, I've heard about him." She leans in conspiratorially, her voice dropping to a whisper. "He canceled on her last week, then sent some picture that made Lucy go red as a tomato—not in a good way if you catch my drift."

My grip tightens around the glass, a surge of protectiveness flaring within me. The thought of someone disrespecting Lucy like that… "Seriously?"

"Yep," Janelle confirms, polishing a glass with more vigor than necessary. "And from what I hear, he's the type who thinks a fancy dinner means he's entitled to…more."

Something stirs within me, dark and unpleasant in my chest. Even if Lucy and I are just friends— only friends —this sounds like bad news for her.

"Chance, you've got that look," Janelle observes, snapping me out of my storm of emotions.

"What look?" I ask, feigning ignorance.

"The I'm-going-to-do-something-stupid look," she replies.

"Maybe I should check on her after," I muse, the words spilling out before I can stop them.

"Isn't that a bit…more than friend-like?" Janelle probes.

"I think it's exactly what a friend should do," I counter. But she appears to see right through me. "Maybe," I concede. "Either way, I can't shake this feeling. Something's off."

"Off enough to lose sleep before your early hospital shift tomorrow?" she asks, perhaps making one last attempt to tether me to reason.

"Apparently," I reply with a shrug. I need to make sure Lucy is okay.

Concern for a friend—that's all this is. At least, that's what I tell myself as I decline to order anything and, instead, take my bike over to Lucy's apartment. It's still pretty early. She may not be home. Will I wait around until she gets there?

In no time, I stand at the entrance of Lucy's building, my finger hovering over her buzzer. The night air is cool against my skin, a contrast to the heat in my chest. I press the button before doubt can change my mind.

"Hello?" Her voice crackles through the speaker, steadying my racing heart.

"Hey, it's Chance. Can I come up?"

"Sure, I'll buzz you in."

The door clicks open, and I step inside to climb the stairs two at a time. What am I doing here? Janelle's words echo in my head, but they're drowned out by the louder drum of my own concern—or is it jealousy?

When I reach her door and knock, it swings open almost immediately, revealing Lucy in yoga pants and a T-shirt, her eyes wide. "What are you doing here?"

"Janelle and I were worried about you," I admit, my throat tight.

She steps aside, allowing me entry. I cross the threshold, suddenly aware of how intimate this unexpected visit feels.

"Really? Why?" There's warmth in her smile, but confusion lingers in her furrowed brow.

"Your date… We just wanted to make sure everything went okay." My hands slip into my pockets.

Lucy lets out a soft chuckle as she closes the door behind me. "We had dinner, and I came home. That's pretty much the whole story. No chemistry there."

Relief filters through me. Yet, as I watch her, I'm unable to fully grasp why I'm so rattled.

"I was going to make myself a cup of tea. Would you like one?" Lucy offers.

My thoughts bounce every which way. I don't know what to do, now that I'm here and she's okay. "Sure."

Lucy moves about making tea. The kettle whistles a soft tune, and she pours the steaming water into two mugs, a faint aroma of chamomile lifting into the space between us.

"Want to tell me about your evening?" I finally get out .

We settle onto her couch, and she starts in on the details. She wraps her fingers around her mug, and her voice carries a tiredness that wasn't there yesterday. "And then, when I told him about an incident with a student who wouldn't focus…" She pauses and takes a sip. "He started lecturing me on classroom management, as if I haven't been doing this for years."

I lean back, my own mug cradled in my hands, and listen. There's an earnestness in her venting, a need to be heard and not advised. And so, I offer silence, a nod, a small smile where it fits, but mostly, I just take her in.

The slope of her neck draws my gaze as she tilts her head back, laughing at the absurdity of her date's arrogance. It's an elegant line that runs down to her shoulders, disappearing under the fabric of her shirt. Strands of her auburn hair escape her bun, curling rebelliously against her skin.

My eyes trace the contours of her face, lingering on the soft curve of her lips as she talks, the way she bites the lower one when she's in deep thought. It's easy to get lost in the details of her, the ones I've memorized unknowingly, unintentionally.

"Lucy…" I find myself interrupting, my curiosity piqued by something that's nagged at me for a while now. "Why do you always wear your hair up?"

She blinks, seeming surprised by the question, and reaches up to touch the twisted knot at the back of her head. "Oh." A small laugh escapes her. "Silly reason, really. When I was a kid, children used to tease me about being a ‘carrot top'. So, I guess I just got used to hiding it away."

"Hide it? But it's beautiful," I say before I can stop myself, my words more than a compliment. They're an admission, a revelation of sorts.

Her cheeks flush a shade that rivals the fiery strands, and she looks away with a bashful smile. "Thank you," she murmurs.

The air shifts slightly, charged with something new. I clear my throat, hoping to steer us back to safer waters.

But I don't know what to say. I look around, and the ping of fat raindrops begins its tune on her patio. "Is it early for this much rain?"

Lucy laughs. "Nope. It's a little late actually. How's the Harley these days?"

"Ready for the garage. I really need to go shopping for that car. Are you still okay with getting your friend to offer me that discount? I've checked out the Explorer, and I think that would be a good vehicle for me."

"I'll call him tomorrow and see if he can meet us. Do you have a color in mind?"

"No. Whatever is fine, unless it's some strange pink or something. White or black would be perfect."

She picks up her phone and sends a text. It immediately pings back. "Looks like he has a new shipment coming in later this week, and he can see us this weekend."

"Great. Thank you."

"No problem. We can go Saturday afternoon, maybe?"

"Great." I look out at the rain. "Anyway, tell me more about this guy. He sounds like a real piece of work."

She begins to speak again, and I'm perched on the edge of her couch. She's so close that if I shifted just a bit, our knees would touch. A part of me aches to bridge that gap, to lean in and confirm whether her lips are as soft as they look. But then I'd cross a line that can't be uncrossed, wouldn't I? And I'd go against everything I've told her about where I am right now. I exhale slowly, watching the steam curl from my tea and vanish into the air.

"Chance?" Her voice is gentle, tinged with concern, and it pulls me back from the precipice of reckless decisions.

"Yeah?" I manage.

"Is everything okay? You seem…distant."

I offer her a lopsided smile, a shield against the truth of how close I am to shattering our comfortable camaraderie. "Just tired, I guess." It's not a lie, not entirely. The weight of unspoken words is exhausting.

She nods, accepting my excuse without question, and I'm grateful. I value what we have—this easy friendship, her laughter, the way she trusts me enough to share the raw edges of her day and her life. Would I risk losing all that for a moment of selfish indulgence? Because that's what it would be—selfish. Lucy deserves more than a clumsy advance borne of jealousy and a moment of weakness.

"Lucy," I start, my voice firmer now, the decision made, "we haven't known each other long, but you've been such a wonderful friend to me. I'm here for you, always. And I want you to value yourself. Make sure your dates are worthy of your time." I manage a smile, but my words are a vow, an anchor grounding me to the role I've chosen.

Her eyes soften, gratitude and something deeper gleaming within their depths. "Thank you. That means a lot."

I take a sip of my tea, letting the heat move over my tongue, washing away the remnants of temptation. Tonight isn't about what I want or don't want. It's about being here for her.

"Anytime," I say, and I mean it. We're friends, and that's enough. It has to be.