Chapter 27

Chance

The following Monday afternoon, I push open the heavy door to Joe Forte's, a popular restaurant and bar known for television and movie star sightings and a decent steak menu. Céline selected it for us. She's already at the bar. We've been going back and forth for days now, and I've mostly avoided seeing her. But something in her voice when she called this meeting made me feel like I should show up. I have to be at work a little later, so that will keep things from spiraling out of control.

I just want this done so I can face Lucy with a clear conscience, my past left firmly behind me. She and I have exchanged a few messages and spoken briefly, but she's made it clear I need to handle this on my own. So that's what I'm going to do.

"Hey," I say as I slide onto a stool beside Céline, offering a smile that feels stiff around the edges.

"Chance," she says with a nod.

She orders something pink and frothy in a martini glass, and I ask for glass of water because I have to work later. It's become a taste of home or what's starting to feel like it. I take a pull from the cool glass when it arrives.

We attempt small talk, batting trivialities back and forth. "How do you stand all the rain?" she asks, swirling the stem of her glass between slender fingers.

I shrug, watching the droplets race down the windowpane. "Better than shoveling snow," I reply, thinking of Quebec winters. "There's something about the rain, the way it cleanses everything. Makes the world feel…renewed."

She doesn't seem convinced, peering into her drink as if it holds answers or perhaps an escape route. She finally sighs, a sound that seems heavier than the atmosphere in the room. "I'm leaving," she says. Her voice is soft but steady, like she's practiced this.

"Back to Quebec?"

She nods, and I notice a slight tremor of her hand. "I can't leave my sister, my family… I thought I could, but…" She trails off, looking away. "I may not have a job right now, but they're my everything."

My mind shifts to all the arguments we had when we were together. All the cajoling and talking about how great it would be here, but Montreal is where she belongs; I see that now. I just hope she really means this.

"Family's important," I concede. "You need to be where your heart feels at home."

She searches my face for something—resistance, maybe, or a plea to reconsider—but she finds none. Because even though saying goodbye carries a sting, it's not the sharp, unbearable pain it might once have been. It's an ache, a pang of what was, and perhaps also a silent acknowledgment of what will never be.

"Will you be okay?" she asks after a moment, concern knitting her brows .

"Yeah," I assure her, and I mean it. "Yeah, I'll be okay."

Céline's eyes shimmer with unshed tears. "Chance, I was lying to myself," she admits. "The idea of moving here, it was all so…romantic in my head. But when it became real, I panicked."

I lean back, taking in her confession. It's been some time since I felt she was truly being honest. Sadness sparks in my heart. I remember the connection we once had, and I wonder what changed. I wonder if somewhere beneath all her discontent, she's still that woman I once loved. But then…

"Come back with me," she begs. "Let's go back to what we had, to Quebec, to us."

A sigh escapes me. Nothing has changed. She's still ruled by fear, by a desire to control me and my choices. My hand wraps more tightly around the cold water. "Céline, I can't," I say firmly. "I won't. I love my life here in Vancouver."

Her head snaps up, eyes searching mine for an explanation. Maybe the truth will help this become real to her.

"I'm doing important work at my job, and there's Lucy," I confess. I've told her these things all week. I don't know why we have to go through it again. "She's important to me."

"Is it serious?"

"Could be," I murmur, thinking of Lucy's fiery hair.

"You will always be my biggest regret," Céline says, each word laced with pain. "I thought if I came here, you'd fight for us."

She hasn't heard a word I've said for months. Or maybe I wasn't saying it clearly, unsure what I truly wanted as well. I close my eyes briefly, wrestling with guilt and relief in equal measure. I want to comfort her, to reach across the gulf that has opened between us, but it wouldn't be fair. "I'm sorry," I finally say, and mean it.

She doesn't cry, doesn't make a scene. She simply nods, seeming to accept the finality of my words. "Then I guess this is goodbye," she whispers, standing.

"Goodbye, Céline." My voice is steady as I watch her walk away, her shoulders squared.

I look down at my watch; it's time to prepare for my night shift. As I stand and button my coat, my mind drifts to Lucy, to all the things I need to tell her. I think I might finally be ready. Once this shift is behind me, I'll put everything I have into making things right with her. Showing her I'm ready for us to move forward. I hope that's what she wants too. I hope the damage can be repaired.

I pay the tab and step out into the Vancouver drizzle, the rain a fitting backdrop to the end of one chapter and the uncertain beginning of another.

A few hours later, the fluorescent lights of the emergency department flicker above me as I lean over the chart, my mind churning a constant pattern of worry in the background. The more I think about Lucy, the more I worry about the chasm that's opened between us over the last week. What if it's too late? What if it took too much time to resolve things with Céline? What if she doesn't believe me that the past is done?

The patient before me, a middle-aged man with deep-set lines in his face, is contorted in agony, his breaths shuddering through clenched teeth.

"One hundred milligrams of morphine," I order.

Melissa, the nurse standing across the bed with syringe already in hand, freezes. "I can't do that."

Frustration flares. "He's in pain, Melissa. We need to manage it now."

She doesn't back down, her eyes shifting to something behind me. "Look at the chart," she says .

I spin to grab it, the patient's moans a dissonant soundtrack to my own racing heart. In bright red, almost screaming off the page, I read, Severe allergy to opioids .

"Damn it." A rookie mistake, one that could have been catastrophic. I'm not this careless. But then again, I've never been this distracted. What is happening to me? Do better, Chance.

"Chance?" Griffin's voice cuts through the fog of self-reproach. He's got that look, the one that says he's not asking so much as telling. "Dinner break. You're coming with me and Kent."

"Griffin, I—"

"Nope." He's suddenly right up in my face, his expression unyielding. "You're making time."

The urgency in his voice pulls me away from the precipice of guilt. There's no arguing with that tone; besides, maybe stepping away is exactly what I need to reset. I nod, leaving instructions for an alternate pain-management plan, and follow Griffin out of the ED.

We walk in silence, the rhythmic sound of our steps on the wet pavement grounding me in reality. Kent joins us, jogging to catch up. The sandwich shop a few blocks away feels like a world apart from the life-and-death decisions of the hospital. Maybe here I can clear my head enough to figure out how to fix the mess I've made of things—with Lucy, with my job, with myself.

I pull open the door and step inside, flanked by Kent and Griffin. The smell of fresh bread and grilled meat does little to ease the tightness in my chest, but we order sandwiches and find a corner booth, away from the other patrons.

"All right, spill," Kent says. "What's got you so twisted up that you're almost dosing patients with their allergens?"

I run my fingers through my hair and exhale deeply. "It's my ex, Céline… She showed up out of nowhere and made a big scene. Took me days to get rid of her, and I think I may have alienated Lucy in th e process."

Griffin leans forward, elbows on the table. "I thought the Céline chapter was closed."

"It was," I agree, tracing the grain of the wood on the table with my fingertip. "Or at least, I'd told myself it was. But I don't think Céline had been hearing me, or maybe I wasn't clear. I was twisted up in a mess with her for a long time. Threw me off balance." I look up at them. "I think she understands that we're finished for good now, though."

"And what about Lucy?" Kent asks. "How does she fit into this?"

I hesitate, my mouth dry. "She's helped me see what a relationship can truly be. What it means to be in partnership with someone, but she walked in at a really bad moment with Céline, and I realized I haven't been fair to her from the beginning... She's not really talking to me," I confess. "She wanted me to take the space and time I needed to sort this out. I think I have, but now, I don't know if she's going to want to hear it."

"Look, man," Griffin says with a wry smile, "sometimes all it takes is getting between the sheets to clear your head, make things right."

I manage a weak chuckle, knowing he means well. "Maybe for some people, but I don't think Lucy wants that kind of fix—if she wants any part of me at all."

Kent nods. "You'll sort this out. I know it. And remember, we've got your back, no matter what."

Griffin claps me on the shoulder, and we turn our attention to the menus. The comfort of their solidarity settles over me. Their friendships are another thing new for me since moving to Vancouver. So many things are better here, so surely, I can navigate through this storm, get Lucy to understand how clear things are to me now, even as I'm still realizing the depth of my feelings for her.

Back in the ED, buoyed by the support of my friends, my mind feels a bit clearer. The shift is a slog, with one minor emergency after another, but I am grateful to avoid any further mistakes. I treat a child's infected ear canal, swollen and weepy, and then a twisted ankle, skin stretched taut over swelling, the owner looking embarrassed at his own clumsiness. I open another curtain to the sharp distress of a kidney stone, sweat beading the patient's brow.

This isn't the adrenaline-fueled pace of critical care that fuels my passion, but there's still satisfaction in easing these quieter urgencies. In the grand tapestry of life, every thread has its place, and I remind myself that each bit of relief I provide weaves strength back into someone's world. Things come together one piece at a time. That's how problems are solved. I should remember that in my own life as well.

I emerge from the hospital early the next morning, and the rain lashes down, relentlessly. Lucy was right about losing the bike and buying the SUV. I can almost hear her voice, that light I-told-you-so lilt, and for a moment, the memory of her smile calms me.

It's Tuesday, and Lucy's school day is just starting, so I know going to her now wouldn't do me any good. I navigate the slick streets, wipers working overtime and every turn a cautious negotiation with the elements. When I finally pull into my driveway, the house looks welcoming, with a lamplight beacon through the downpour. I check on Ginny before anything else.

"Hey, you okay here?" I ask, stepping inside, feeling the chill of her space through my scrubs.

"Yeah, just saving on heat." Ginny's voice floats from the living room, a touch too nonchalant.

"Come down to my place for dinner later? I'll order in Chinese, and we can play some backgammon. But first a nap for me."

"Sounds lovely," she replies, and I catch the relief in her tone, hidden beneath layers of independence.

"I'll see you about five?"

She agrees, and I disappear down the stairs. My eyelids are leaden as I collapse onto the bed. The constant churning of my brain from earlier has given way to total exhaustion. I have to recharge before I'll be any good to anyone. The hum of the rain against the window is a lullaby, coaxing me into sleep's embrace. In the quiet space between consciousness and dreams, Lucy's image flutters behind my eyes. Part of me wants to drive to her school, make a scene, and lay out all my cards.

But I don't. I need to do this carefully, respect her wishes. For now, I let the exhaustion claim me, and I fall into a deep sleep, where Lucy still exists in softer hues, untethered by reality. She laughs, unrestrained, in my dream, and for a moment, everything feels like it could be okay. But even in sleep, there's a weight that presses down on me, the need to face what's been left undone, to right the course of a ship that's veered too far from its path.

When I wake up, the afternoon light filters through the blinds, casting thin stripes across the room. The dream clings to me but recedes as reality sets in. It's not yet time to order dinner, and Lucy's still at work, so I'm at a bit of a loss as to what to do with myself. I grab my phone and walk out to the kitchen, dialing home to check in with my mother.

After a moment, her voice fills my ear, warm and inviting. "Chance, mon cher," she says.

"Hey, Mom. What are you up to?" I ask.

"Making tourtière, your favorite. With minced venison this time." Her voice holds a smile I can practically see.

"Venison? Sounds perfect." My stomach rumbles. "Save me a piece?"

"Of course, my boy. When are you coming to get it?" Her laugh tinkles through the air.

"Hopefully soon, Mom. Hopefully soon." I lean against the kitchen counter, phone pressed to my ear. "I've been working on reducing the ED's wait times," I tell her, feeling a mix of pride and exhaustion as I explain.

"Ah, you can do better than that," she replies, her tone both challenging and supportive. Her belief in me is a beacon, always urging me to push harder, reach farther .

I hesitate before delving into more personal matters, my gaze drifting across the room. "Céline came out and tried to convince me to return to Montreal," I confess, the words bitter on my tongue.

There's a pause, and then, "Mmm…" That single hum of contemplation tells me all I need to know about my mother's feelings for Céline She's never one to hide her opinions, especially not from me. "I'd love to have you back, but Céline was always more interested in the latest fashion than anything substantial," she notes. I can't deny the truth in that observation.

The conversation shifts, lighter now as she tells me about her planned visit. "We're coming out there this summer, and your sister too. Make sure you can take some time off."

"Will do, Mom," I promise.

After we say goodbye, I hang up and look out at the yard. Vancouver might not get buried in snow like we do back home, but winter here demands its own rituals of readiness. And I still have a little time before dinner. Lucy's done with school, but is this the right time to drop all this on her? I'm not sure. As much as I want things to be good between us again, I'm having trouble mustering the courage to face her.

Instead, I pull on a jacket and step out into the chilly air. Ginny's bushes need protection from the frost, so I start with them, wrapping each one carefully in burlap. My fingers work deftly, memories of past winters guiding my movements.

Next, I tackle the garden, raking out the dead leaves and spent perennials that Ginny had planted with such hope in the spring. The physical labor is grounding, pulling me away from tangled thoughts of repairing things with Lucy and into the simple reality of earth and debris.

"Chance, you're an angel," Ginny calls from her window. Her gratitude warms me against the biting air.

"Just doing what needs to be done," I reply with a smile. The work might be mundane, but it feels good to be useful, to make things a little better for someone else. It's the same drive that propels me in the emergency department, though the stakes are undeniably higher there.

As darkness begins to settle and the last leaf is bagged, I straighten, muscles protesting pleasantly. I make a call as I head inside, and in no time, the aroma of garlic and soy sauce wafts through the air. I set the white plastic bag of Chinese takeout on the counter as Ginny makes her way down the stairs. My stomach growls in anticipation. Ginny's favorites are also my guilty pleasures. I extract the containers of egg foo young and beef and broccoli, arranging them on plates as Ginny arranges the backgammon board on the dining table.

"Thanks for dinner," she says. "I've been craving this all week."

"Least I can do," I reply, trying to keep my tone light despite the heaviness in my chest. We settle into our respective seats, the familiar pattern of the game unfolding between us, a welcome distraction from the restless thoughts that refuse to give me peace.

Several dice rolls later, as I contemplate yet another losing position, Ginny finally breaks the silence, her words sharp and direct. "So when are you going to get off your butt and go fix things with that beautiful redhead?"

I flinch and put down the dice. "Céline left yesterday, and I think she's gone for good. Lucy made it clear that she wanted me to sort out that situation before I approached her again. So I think that means I'm ready now, but I don't know how to reconnect with her. I want to talk, but I don't know how hard to push. I don't want to make things worse," I mutter, a defensive edge creeping into my voice.

Ginny tsk s, shaking her head as she captures another one of my stones. "Chance, Lucy wouldn't be so torn up if she didn't have feelings for you. You need to see that. And if something's bothering her, she needs a friend. I can't think of much that gets better in a vacuum."

Her words shine a light inside my head. Could Lucy have deeper feelings for me? Not just be annoyed? Is that why she's been pushing me away? A jolt of hope surges through me, but it's quickly doused by uncertainty. I still don't know quite how to approach her. "Damn," I whisper, losing all interest in the game.

Ginny's gaze softens. I'm grateful for her insight, even if it leaves me more confused than ever. "Think about it," she advises.

"Thanks, Ginny," I tell her. "I have to get ready for work, but I definitely will."