It’s grueling and at times wholly unfair, and I’m not sure I would have survived it all without Connor. I’ve used him like a soldier in war clinging to the hope of love back home, buoyed by morsels of past contact and vivid daydreams. I’ve used him to get through month-long no-rest-for-the-weary study sessions, during my intern year that felt like it’d never end, during winter nights spent alone in the call room.
His existence sustained me.
There were times I’d walk on campus between classes, and I’d unexpectedly see him outside a coffee shop, working on his laptop. It’d lift my spirits for the rest of the day. Sometimes I’d arrive back at Noah’s townhouse after twenty-four hours of being on call and there he’d be, sitting on the couch, watching a game with my brother. My heart wouldn’t slow the rest of the evening. During my residency years, he’d show up for rounds and listen while I presented, seemingly pleased with my thoroughness, though he never outright said so.
For the last few years, he’s constantly been in my life, hanging on the periphery, never close enough for my liking.
Until tonight.
Tonight, he’s sitting right beside me at my graduation ceremony.
He’s here for me.
I can’t make sense of that fact.
Do I believe Noah had nothing to do with this? Did he threaten Connor? Send him a rapid text, pleading with him to come fill one more seat at my table? I cringe at the thought. No! Please no!
I’m still worried about that possibility when the banquet ends and Noah addresses Connor. We’re standing up near my table, me holding my plaque in both hands, the two of them towering over me. They face each other and I stand to the side, feeling invisible. I always feel that way in Connor’s presence. I think it’s because he hardly looks at me. Even now, he’s focused on Noah. I could slip out the back door and he wouldn’t realize until Noah asked where I’d gone.
“It was nice of you to come, man,” Noah says to Connor. “Did Natalie invite you?”
My eyes widen in panic.
Connor shakes his head. “No. Dr. Patel mentioned it.”
I watch him slide his hands into his suit pants, his aura reeking of smooth confidence and finesse in spades. Every surgeon has an ego. It’s a survival instinct, I think, a way to ensure you aren’t a twittering fool in the operating room, second-guessing your every move. However, that ego grows exponentially if the surgeon happens to work in the plastics department. Tack on the fact that Connor was a starting quarterback in his undergrad days, and well…the man has never bowed down to a single human. We bow to him.
“I’m glad you’re here, actually,” Noah says. “I have that key for you, if you’ve decided you want to take me up on the offer?”
My ears perk up. “What offer?”
Connor finally glances in my direction and I squeeze my plaque against my chest, using it like a shield to protect what’s beating hard beneath it. His eyes are the softest cornflower blue. An unexpected color, they almost don’t fit with the rest of him. They’re a chink in his armor, I think, the one feature that tips the scales away from someone altogether too severe. I’ve had a lot of dreams about those eyes.
“I’ve invited Connor to live at the townhouse while I’m away,” Noah answers. “He’s having renovations done at his place and needs somewhere to stay for a few months. It works out great.”
As Noah answers, Connor and I maintain eye contact.
My stomach flips.
“I-Is that a good idea?”
Connor’s mouth twitches, like he nearly wants to smile at my response, then he turns back to Noah. “I think it’s a great idea. I was having a hard time finding a temporary place near the hospital anyway.”
Noah grins. “Good. It’ll make me feel better too. I don’t like the idea of Natalie living on her own while I’m gone.”
I scowl at him, worried Connor will think of me as a child if Noah treats me like one in front of him.
“Noah, I’m twenty-eight. I’d be just fine living on my own.”
“I realize that, but still, it makes me feel better knowing Connor will be in the house with you.”
Just the idea of Connor staying in the townhouse makes me feel heated, like I’m standing too close to an open flame.
“Technically, I won’t be in the house much unless I’m using the kitchen or watching TV. I stay in the guest house out back,” I say, speaking to the ground. “A small garden separates it from the main house.”
Connor’s voice edges toward amusement when he replies, “I know.”
Of course. Duh. He’s been to the townhouse before—plenty of times, and I’m sure Noah has filled him in on our arrangement. I’ve lived with my brother for the last few years, ever since the start of my residency. It’s a setup we both like. I couldn’t afford to live on my own, so Noah invited me to live with him, and his guest house, while small, affords me plenty of privacy. With our erratic, busy hours, we prefer the proximity. Otherwise, we might not ever get to spend much time together. Sure, there’s been the occasional awkward moment when I walk into the kitchen in the morning and stumble upon Noah cooking breakfast for a woman barely dressed in one of his shirts—in which case, I immediately run screaming from the house—but Noah’s usually pretty good about using discretion.
Dr. Patel comes over to our group then, apologizing as he steals Noah away for a moment, wanting to introduce him to a colleague. I panic as Connor and I are left in total silence, hovering near the edge of the room.
He could leave.
I could leave.
One of us could speak, but we don’t.
It grows more awkward by the second. I fidget on my heels, glance down to my toes, then peer up at him from beneath my lashes. I try to read his features. At times like this, he reminds me of a rock. Hard and unyielding. What would it be like to trace my finger along his sharp jaw? Why does it matter? I’d never work up the courage to actually do it. Still…what would his lips feel like if I pressed up onto my toes and fit my mouth against his? Could I make him smile? A full-blown knock-your-socks-off grin? As I stare, his attention is elsewhere, focused out across the room. His brows are furrowed. Like always, I’m not sure he even realizes I’m still here standing beside him. I hate how invisible he makes me feel.
Then suddenly he speaks, and I nearly jump.
“I’m not trying to intrude on your privacy.” His voice is low and intimate, and it makes my toes curl. He turns toward me, blocking me from the rest of the room, and I resist the urge to take a step back. It’s like my body can’t help but think of him as a predator. The more distance between us the better. “As Noah said, I’m having renovations done on my townhouse, and he offered me a place to stay while they’re underway. I won’t intrude—”
“No, of course it’s not an intrusion,” I say, cutting him off. Now that there’s a chance of him moving in, of being so close to him day in and day out, I want it desperately. “As I said, I live in the guest house. You’ll have the main house to yourself most of the time. I use the kitchen, and sometimes I watch TV in the living room, but it’ll be fine. Of course. Not an intrusion at all.”
Did I already say that?