I’m the one who put him here.
I sit for a long time, staring at nothing.
How do I tell him?
Dr. Madison loved his proposal. He has a lifeline because she was impressed and excited to participate. On the other hand, she made it clear—if he wants to pursue this focus on the neuroscience of female sexual response, he needs a clean slate. A solid platform to stand on.
He doesn’t have one right now. Not even close.
It’s time to face this head-on. The mental toll this is taking has gone on too long.
For months I’m bearing witness to him barely holding it together. It breaks my heart when he insists everything’s fine and yet he continues to unravel. Always trying to protect me from the fallout while the ground shifts beneath his feet.
I don’t deserve it.
Caldwell’s not ignoring him out of pettiness—he’s expertly playing the long game to get rid of him while Seamus tries to keep hope alive.
My calendar dings.
A canceled deposition clears the rest of my day.
Good.
I’m done sitting on the sidelines. He’s working a split shift today, which means he’s probably napping at home. I’m going to him now. To fight. To fix. To love.
Whatever it takes to get him out of this—I’ll focus all of my legal skills to give him the best chance.
Fifteen minutes later, I step through the door of my condo, I know he’s here. There’s music playing softly, it’s coming from the kitchen. The air smells of something slightly burnt. Probably toast.
I round the corner and there he is, barefoot in his scrub pants, standing at the stove with an empty plate, a book open beside him and a mug of coffee on the counter.
He turns when he hears me. “Hey.”
I cross to him, wrap my arms around his waist and bury my face in the crook of his neck.
“Hey,” I whisper.
He stiffens for a half second before melting into my hold. “I didn’t think I’d see you before I went back to the hospital.”
“Seamus.” I squeeze him as tightly as I can.
We hug for a long beat. His hands stroke over my back, slow and soothing. “Is everything okay?”
“No. We have a problem.” There’s no sugar coating this conversation. I owe him complete honesty.
He pulls back just enough to meet my eyes. “What’s going on?”
I hesitate. This is hard. The hardest thing I could ever imagine.
He notices.
“Marcella,” he says quietly. “Tell me.”
So I do.
The report from Carlos. The call with Lucy. The fact five women have seemingly agreed to speak out against him and even if they initiated, he’s the one with the most to lose. Caldwell doesn’t need to file charges or start a legal process. All he needs to do is whisper the right thing to the right people, and the hospital will gut Seamus’s future to avoid liability.
I watch the color drain from his face.
