“Spill the beans, then!”
“Got a meeting about a promotion tomorrow,” I share, trying to mirror her excitement.
“Ooh, big shot! Drinks on you next time,” she teases before darting off to her next task.
The next day, I sit across from Dr. Hanson in his office, the walls lined with diplomas and accolades—a testament to his own dedication. He peers at me over the rim of his spectacles, clasping his hands together as if ready to pass down sacred knowledge.
“Lincoln, this promotion isn't just about the title. It's about taking on a leadership role that will shape the future of our department. You'll oversee a team, implement new protocols, and yes, it means longer hours.” His gaze searches mine for a reaction.
“Longer hours,” I echo, feeling the tug of war between my career ambitions and the life outside these walls that seem increasingly like a mirage.
“More responsibility, but also more opportunity to make a difference, Lincoln. You're the perfect fit for this.” Dr. Hanson leans back in his chair, waiting for me to piece together the puzzle of my future.
“I appreciate the confidence you have in me,” I start, my words deliberate, measured. “I’ll need to think this over.”
“Of course, take your time. But not too much,” he adds with a chuckle that didn't quite reach his eyes. “We'll need your decision soon.”
“Understood,” I say, standing up. I shake his hand, feeling the firmness of his grip, a silent reminder of the gravity of the choice before me.
As I leave his office, the hospital corridors are narrower than before, the weight of potential change heavy on my shoulders. I need to think, to weigh my options. But first, I need to breathe.
I jump in my car and make the drive back to Lawson Ridge. I’ve been going back more often now to see Heather and my Dad.
The redbrick storefronts and ivy-covered benches are as much a part of me as the deep breaths I draw to clear my thoughts. A promotion at the hospital is big, career-defining even, but it also tugs at the corners of a life I am trying to piece together—one that includes Heather.
I sit on the edge of the fountain in the town square, where children laugh and splash nearby. As water dances and shimmers, I ponder the weight of additional hours in sterile rooms against the warmth of Heather's green eyes when she laughs. Can I really sacrifice moments with her for meetings that stretch into the night?
With a sigh, there is one person who will help me sort through this tangled mess of ambition and affection: my father, Bill. His advice has always been my north star, and right now, I feel lost in uncharted waters.
Picking myself up, I make my way to his barbershop. The bell above the door jingles cheerfully as I enter. Dad looks up from his current client, a look of recognition softening his features.
“I didn’t know you were coming back today. What’s with the look? Let's talk after I wrap up here,” Dad says, dusting off his client with a practiced flick of his wrist.
“Sure thing.” I pick up a magazine but not really seeing the words. My mind is already formulating how to broach the subject of the job offer and its implications for my future with Heather.
“Alright, what's going on?” Dad asks minutes later, his tone gentle yet direct as we stand facing each other.
“Got a job promotion,” I start, then pauses, searching for the right words. “But it could mean less time for... everything else.”
“Everything else,” he repeats thoughtfully, understanding flickering in his eyes. “You're talking about Heather.”
“Yeah,” I confess, feeling a knot in my stomach loosen slightly. “I’m not sure if I can—or should—take it.”
“Son,” he begins slowly, leaning back against the counter and folding his arms. “Life is about choices. Sometimes they're between good and bad. But often, it's about choosing between good and better. What does your heart tell you?”
That is just like Dad, guiding without steering. I take a deep breath, letting the wisdom of his words sink in. It is time to figure out what 'better' means for me. And I have a feeling it isn't just about a title or a corner office. It is about who I want by my side as I face whatever came next.
Chapter Eight
Heather
Red never just enters a room; she makes an entrance, her presence like a breath of fresh air on a crisp fall morning. I watch her vibrant red locks dance with each animated step she takes.
“Hey, Heather!” she calls out, her voice carrying over the low murmur of the café as she spots me.
She envelopes me. The kind of hug that says, 'I've got you,' without uttering a single word.
“Missed you,” Red whispers, her voice muffled against my shoulder. “Sorry I had to go out of town. But I’m back. Okay, spill,” she demands, leaning forward, her elbows resting on the table. “What's got your beautiful brain in a twist?”
