He was still terrified to tell Julian—but his night alone had made him realize one very important thing. He wasn’t afraid of Julian’s anger. He was afraid of his best friend abandoning him, and then Fredric deciding he couldn’t lose his son. Ilan would be left on his own with no one.
He’d spent his life carefully cultivating a giant wall around his feelings, and the only people he had let in were the ones at risk of fleeing now. He had no real friends, his parents were dead, and he had just abandoned the place he’d called home for thirty-six years.
He wouldn’t survive, and no matter how many promises Fredric made to him that he wasn’t alone, there were no guarantees.
‘I could die tomorrow,’ a voice that sounded suspiciously like Fredric said in his head. ‘Julian could hop on a plane here, and it could crash the next day. There’s never a guarantee—but you can’t let that stop you from trying to be happy.’
He felt so stupid he could choke on it.
Reaching the front of the line, he ordered a red-eye, knowing it was going to kill his empty stomach, but he needed the caffeine. He swiped his card, then shoved some bills into the tip jar and shuffled toward the end of the counter. He wanted to pick up the phone and call Fredric right then—to just explain it all, and admit he’d been in the wrong, and beg for another chance.
But he also wanted to do right by the man he loved—because he did love Fredric. In a damn kaleidoscope of ways, changing and shifting with every turn, but never ever less than all-encompassing. He loved him, he was in love with him, he was done running.
His coffee arrived on the counter just as he was pulling out his phone to send another text, and as he reached for it, a number popped up on his screen. He frowned, not recognizing it, so he picked up and moved toward the cream and sugar. “This is Dr. Nadav.”
“Dr. Nadav—I’m Rick Waller, the foreman at the construction site.”
Ilan breathed out a frustrated sigh, but tried to keep it quiet as he dumped sugar into his now-pale brew. “Mr. Waller, what can I do for you?”
“We’ve run into a support beam issue that conflicts with the plans you signed off on, and I was hoping you could run down here today and take a look at the changes.”
“I’m not sure I can swing by today,” he started.
“It’ll only take a minute,” Rick pushed. “I need you to sign off on them before we can move forward, and I’d rather not have any further delays.”
Ilan rubbed at the side of his temple, then glanced at the wall clock. It was half an hour to ten, which meant he could swing by on his way. He might be late, but if Fredric was going to forgive him for the epic mistake he’d made walking away, surely he’d forgive a few minutes being late.
“Yeah, I can do that. I’m grabbing coffee right now, and then I’ll head over.”
“I appreciate it,” Rick said, and the call cut off.
Ilan shoved his phone into his pocket, then took a long drink, wincing at the searing burn that the cream hadn’t taken the edge off. He needed it though. The pain grounded him, and the caffeine would soon reach his blood and give him the energy he needed to get through what he had to say.
With any luck, it wouldn’t be a thing. With any luck—assuming he deserved it at all—he would be able to collapse in Fredric’s arms and take a long nap in the one place he finally felt safe.
Ilan reached the site five minutes later, feeling a small rush at the sight of the building gutted and empty. It had been a dental office before his realtor found it, and it needed a total overhaul, but it would be perfect. The top floors had an expansive view, and knocking down the walls allowed him to build a rehab facility with a small gym for his patients. They were going to install an elevator in the back, and re-do the entire lobby, flattening the sidewalks and updating the door sizes and ramps to better fit the bulk of electric wheelchairs.
It was expensive, but the cash was worth it, and the insurance companies he’d been speaking to seemed excited for something inclusive in the area. He was itching to get back to work, and it wasn’t because he needed to be kept busy. He just finally felt like his work had a deeper purpose than keeping him distracted.
No more fleeting names from accident patients he’d never see again. No more hysterical over-night shifts where everyone’s faces became a blur. No more working himself exhausted so he didn’t have to think. He could reclaim the passion he’d lost somewhere after med school, reclaim the piece of him that really loved what he did.
And he could do that while his personal life flourished. He might, for the first time in his life, feel something close to complete.
Running a hand through his hair, Ilan stepped out of the car just as the tall, burly man with the thick beard came out the space where doors would be. He was around Ilan’s age, maybe a little younger, and his mouth was always set in a firm line, but he was always kind.
He extended a work-roughened hand to Ilan, who took it, and they stepped under the shade of the awning as Rick pulled out his tablet. “One of my guys nearly took out one of the support beams on the second floor that had gone unmarked. They managed to secure it yesterday, but it’s going to take an additional week to get it repaired, and we have to move the doorway here”—he pointed to a spot on the blueprints that looked like a squiggle—“and then the wall with the mirrors here. It changes the lay-out of the room, but not the shape.”
Ilan couldn’t really picture it in his head, but he trusted Rick to keep as close to the design he needed as they could. He nodded, then waited for him to scroll down to the page, and he signed at the bottom. “Is the place okay right now?” he asked as he handed the stylus back.
Rick shrugged. “It’s as stable as it can be. We’ll have the beam secured by Monday, and then we’ll begin to reframe the upstairs. I’ll give you a call if anything comes up. I’m just heading out now, and I’ll be back tomorrow morning when the bathroom fixtures get here.”
Ilan’s brows rose. “Sunday?”
At that, Rick laughed. “No rest for the weary.”
They shook hands again, and then Rick headed for his car, and Ilan leaned in to grab his coffee. He wanted to head out and get to Fredric, but being this close to done, his curiosity was getting the better of him.
He clutched his coffee, then ducked his head inside and moved into the main lobby. Sun shone down from the floor above him where there were massive holes, and it was hard to picture what it would be like when it was finished. He never really considered having his own space. He was grateful enough to have his own office and a handful of regular patients before.
This felt new. It felt…real. It felt like all of his hard work and years of education had finally culminated into something that made him…well. Him. He heard voices down one of the halls, and Ilan ducked past large sheets of plastic that were draped over a banister, and he moved into where they were building the elevator. He saw the stairs leading up, and he paused at the bottom of them. The voices got louder, men talking, laughing, something hammering, something large falling on the floor. He reached his arm over the stairs and leaned over to try and see what was going on.
It all happened in a flash, really. He was aware of something falling—too fast for him to react. He lifted his arm to shield his face, and the pain hit first—sudden, intense, knocking the breath out of him. And a second piece of the concrete fell, clipping him on the side of the head. For a brief moment, the world swam.