Chapter 12

Christian

The cold air bites at my skin as I pound the pavement around False Creek, trying to outrun the image of Hailey in her soaked T-shirt. It’s ludicrous, really, how in sync our tastes and humor are, like two tracks running parallel on a train line destined never to meet. A 17-year age gap should mean we’re worlds apart, yet here I am, struggling to keep her out of my head.

I pull in a sharp breath, the burn in my lungs matching the turmoil in my mind. Hailey has this irksome ability to remain practical, focused, entirely competent, when I seem ready to jump in on something I’ve never wanted before. Not that she’s at all aware of that, I suppose.

Every stride is a mantra. We can’t happen . I repeat that over and over. The notion that anything more could exist between us is a risk I can’t take. For Addison’s sake, just like Hailey said. A laugh bubbles up, bitter and mocking. Who knew I needed a twenty-three-year-old to be my voice of reason? But how long could it last before reality snaps back? Why is this even something I want?

My muscles protest with each step. I push harder, faster, trying to leave behind the aching desire. But even as the endorphins kick in, Hailey’s image persists, something I can never have.

Panting, my feet slow on the pavement and I come to a stop in my garage, by the sleek curves of my Porsche. I could go inside and tell her I’m heading to pick up dinner, but that would only be an excuse to see her. Shaking my head, I wipe myself down with a towel, then slide into the leather seat instead. The engine purrs to life under my touch, a subtle reminder of the control I have here, at least over something.

I navigate the city toward Tandoori Palace. Its reputation is well-earned, and tonight, I need comfort food. Traffic crawls and red taillights snake ahead of me, killing my sense of control, of mastery. I’m trapped here too. My fingers tap an impatient rhythm on the steering wheel, willing the cars to part like the Red Sea.

I’ve always been good at keeping things separate—work, life, relationships. It’s easier that way. No mess, no complications. But Hailey and my newfound interest in Addison have thrown all of that out the window.

Hailey’s been nothing but good to me, to Addison, and I’ve responded by treating her as someone lesser, mostly refusing to acknowledge her humanity, except where my libido is concerned.

But I think for a moment and realize that’s not right. That’s part of my fear, my confusion. I do think of her as more. I just won’t let anyone know. As usual, my fear of commitment—of losing control—runs the show.

My father disappeared from my life for years. He was never there when I needed him. Maybe that wasn’t entirely his fault, but I’ve promised myself I wouldn’t be like that. I promised I’d be better. But I haven’t given myself any opportunity to try. I see the pattern now. Every time someone gets too close, I run. I push them away because I’m afraid they’ll see how badly I’m broken. The only one to get past that is Addison, I suppose, and she was entirely forced on me. I’ve done the same thing with Hailey, and simultaneously tried to get her to offer me even more than what she already provides for me and for Addison. That’s horrible. Alone in the car, my face flushes with shame.

But what if I let her in and it all falls apart? What if I’m not what she wants, or I can’t be what she deserves? Maybe I’m not good enough for her, or Addison, or anyone? I know where I excel, and that’s at the hospital, in the operating room, in situations I’m prepared for. But the rest of this…

The fear erodes my thinking because I know what’s at stake here. If I continue to pursue her, there’s a chance she could walk away. There’s a chance I could lose her, taking her away from Addison. Am I even capable of the type of relationship I think I want? But if I don’t take that risk, if I keep pushing her away, I’m going to lose her anyway. She’ll leave on her trip with Dana and never look back. That might be even worse.

It’s strange how quickly things have changed. A few months ago, I couldn’t have imagined this life—sitting around at home, watching Addison play, with Hailey laughing in the background. Everything used to be so…rigid. My life was planned to the last detail. But now, they’ve changed everything.

Finally parking near the restaurant, I’m greeted by warm, spiced air that billows from the kitchen as they hand me my order. But as the city lights flicker past on the drive back, the scents do little to distract from the realization that distraction is exactly what I need.

“Ridiculous,” I mutter, my hands tightening on the wheel. The tension in my shoulders begs for release, not through exercise or fine cuisine, but from the company of someone who doesn’t stir this turmoil within me. Someone uncomplicated. That’s what I know. That’s how I need to manage this.

After we eat, I’ll head over to the club, a club with lights that blur faces and bass that drowns out any attempt at meaningful conversation. There are rooms that are private—or public if you prefer—and it will be perfect. No reminders there of Hailey’s infectious optimism or how she’s fit seamlessly into a life that isn’t supposed to accommodate her.

Maybe this is what I need to get Hailey out of my head, another body, another set of eager hands, and mindless sex all to quell the urges in me.

My grip loosens on the wheel, a plan taking shape. Hailey is good for Addison, indispensable even, but she’s destroying my carefully structured existence. I need to take charge of that again, find a new sort of balance. This has to be the first step.

The door shuts behind me at home, the rich aroma of Indian spices clinging to my clothes. As I step into the hallway, Addison’s wails cut through the silence. Hailey’s soothing voice floats out from the nursery. “Shh, it’s okay, sweet girl,” she coaxes.

I set the food down and continue to the nursery. I watch as Hailey’s every attempt to put Addison down is met with renewed cries.

I lean against the wall, catching Hailey’s eye. “She’s got a slight fever,” she tells me, her attention fixed on Addison.

“Teething?” I hazard a guess.

“Looks like it,” she responds, her fingers brushing over Addison’s gums before reaching for the Children’s Tylenol. She measures out a dose and gently administers it to my fussing child.

Withdrawing to the kitchen, I grab a plate, serving myself some chicken tikka masala. The spice hits my tongue, but the flavors are dulled by concern for my child. Surely, this is nothing. Hailey’s got it. I was just in the way. Hailey hums softly—I can hear her through the monitor—a lullaby that works like magic. Soon enough, Addison’s cries subside. She’s finally calm enough to eat a little, and I have to admire Hailey’s patience, her innate ability to soothe and nurture.

As Hailey rocks Addison to sleep, I finish eating and slide away silently, my resolve firming. I’ll slip into the shower, wash away the sweat from my run, and once Addison is down for the night, I’ll tell Hailey I’ll see her in the morning. I need this—distance, detachment, a night where demands don’t reach me.

The water pelts my skin, and I scrub and rinse, emerging from the steam a new man. After a few minutes more, I’m dressed sharply, hair styled just so. This is who I am, not the man beguiled by the gentle sway of Hailey’s hips as she comforts a child.

When I emerge, it sounds like Addison is asleep, and the house is quiet. In the kitchen, evidence of our dinner is gone, cleaned up, hidden away. Hailey isn’t there. My feet carry me to her room, propelled by a force I’m hesitant to name.

The door is ajar, and inside, the glow of the TV flickers across Hailey’s face. She’s sprawled on her bed, chest rising and falling evenly, lost in slumber. An action movie plays to an absent audience.

A sigh escapes me. I need to get to the club, but instead, something about her vulnerability draws me closer. I sink down next to her on the bed, careful not to wake her. Maybe it’s the warmth of the room or the steady rhythm of her breathing, but I feel my eyelids growing heavy. Just a moment , I tell myself. Just a moment to gather my thoughts and then I’ll go. But there are no thoughts I have in her presence that are going to be helpful. Still, somehow, the exhaustion of the day, the emotional tug-of- war, it all catches up to me and before I know it, darkness pulls me under.

The sharp cry from the baby monitor jolts me awake. My heart thunders. The faint blush of dawn seeps through the curtains of an unfamiliar room. I glance at the clock—nearly five o’clock. Damn, this is Hailey’s room. I never got to the club last night. I never sleep this well.

Hailey springs into action before I can further process the sound that woke us. She rushes out, disappearing down the hall to tend to Addison’s needs. Her soothing whispers carry faintly back to me through the monitor.

Shaking off the last tendrils of sleep, I rise and dress for the hospital. I have a shift in the emergency department after I do rounds, and I’m on call for the next two full days. Responsibilities await me.

On my way out, I pause in the nursery where Hailey has just gotten Addison back to sleep. Gently, I rub the baby’s back. “Be kind to Hailey while I’m gone,” I murmur, though I know she understands little. It’s more for me, a small plea to the universe to keep them both safe in my absence.

I turn to Hailey. “If Addison runs a fever again, please call Dr. Cordelia and go see her.” It’s a precaution, a safeguard against my absence, but the concern lingers. “I’ll be at the hospital if you need me.”

“Of course,” she responds.

My hand finds the cool metal of my keys in my pocket as I clear my throat. “Hailey,” I begin, and she turns to me, her expression shifting from maternal gentleness to attentive concern. “I’ll call you later,” I promise. “Take care of her,” I add, though there’s no need for me to tell her that. She gives me a small nod.

With one last glance, I push away from the door frame and head out into the crisp morning air. The hospital awaits.