“Yes—I’d like to eat you.” He manages a grin.
It should sound cheesy. It doesn’t. It sounds honest. Raw. We haven’t had sex in a couple days, which seems like weeks considering how much we’d been going at it previously.
Now’s probably not the time, though. I guide him to the couch, fingers laced in his. “Sit. I’ll get you a towel.”
“I love you.” He sounds wrecked, like the day sanded him down to the nerve.
Tension bunches in my core as I head toward the bedroom. “Love you too.”
I mean it. Every inch of me knows Seamus is the one for me. I also know this—what we’re building—isn’t easy. It’s not going to get easier. Not with the life each of us has chosen.
I return with a towel and crouch in front of him, my knees protesting the position. “Lift,” I demand.
Seamus leans forward, eyes half-lidded, and I pull his drenched hoodie over his head. His scrub top sticks to his skin, damp with rain and dried sweat, and I peel it off too.
He doesn’t resist, just watches me like I’m his savior. “You gonna undress me every night?”
“Don’t tempt me. I’ll make a chart and everything.”
I towel off his waves gently, raking my fingers through them, and he sighs so deeply it feels like something inside him loosens. The towel drops to his shoulders and I lean in, pressing a kiss to the space above his heart. He’s warm, solid, alive.
“You don’t have to talk about today,” I whisper. “But, you can.”
“I’m just so tired.” The words are barely audible. “I keep wondering if I made the wrong call. Going back. Pushing through. Acting like it doesn’t bother me Caldwell’s icing me out while everyone else pretends it’s normal.”
I crawl into his lap without thinking, straddling him carefully, the towel draping us both like a cloak. My hands frame his face. “You didn’t make the wrong call. He’s the one being reckless, not you. You’re not alone, Seamus. You’re not.”
There’s a war behind his eyes. I kiss his forehead. His nose. His cheek. Then I hold him. Until the shaking stops. Until the shallow breaths even out.
“I hate Caldwell taking up space in your head.” I stroke his chest. “After everything.”
“I can handle the pressure. I always knew the risk that doing the right thing by Miranda could tank my residency.” He palms my lower back and tugs me toward him. “It’s a weird vibe at the hospital. I feel like everyone’s watching me.”
I set down my mug and turn to him. “Because of him?”
He nods, jaw tight. “He’s the head of my program. If he wants to ice me out, doors will close. Slowly. Quietly. I’m working with a lot of other surgeons right now, which is normal during research year…” He exhales, frustrated. “I can feel it. Something’s shifted.”
“Could you switch specialties?” I hate how helpless I sound.
“No. It would be starting over.” He shakes his head. “I’ve come too far. I’m halfway through my residency. Iloveneurosurgery. I can’t let this derail my dream.”
I struggle to find words. “I’m sorry, baby…”
“Don’t. It’s not your fault.” He puts his finger to my lips. “I made a choice. I’d make it again. I don’t know what comes next. I’ll fight for what I believe in.”
I shift to the side of him, curling one leg under me as I study his face. He’s not just tired. He’s…worn thin. Like something’s slowly eating away at him, and he’s been trying to outpace it for weeks. “Could you transfer? I mean—if Caldwell keeps making things worse, would another school take you?”
He leans his head back and stares up at the ceiling like it holds the answer. “I don’t want to leave Seattle. My family’s here. You’re here. Everything I love is here.”
His words should comfort me, right? He doesn’t want to leave. He’s factoring me into the calculus.
Instead, it makes my mind race.
“Did you ever try to talk to him?” Even though he said it isn’t my fault, let’s be honest. He’s only in this situation because of me. All I want to do is fix the mess I made for him. “You were close before all this happened.”
Seamus lets out a sharp, humorless laugh. “Right. March into his office and ask him why he’s been treating me like a radioactive threat.” He shakes his head sadly. “I used to be one of his favorites, you know? The golden boy. First in, last out. The one my mentors wanted in their OR. Now I walk into a room and it goes quiet. Conversations stop. People watch me like I’ve got a knife in my coat.” His voice drops. “I feel like a snitch. Like I betrayed some unspoken rule.”
I place a hand on his thigh, grounding him. “You did it for Miranda.”
