Page 81 of Resisting You

He wasn’t really sure if that was the truth. It was just what he was telling himself in that moment to make the pain a little less profound.

“But now he’s gone. He didn’t even let me try to fix it.”

Dallas bit his lip, then said, “You’re not one to give up without a fight. Are you really going to roll over and let him walk away?”

Frey shrugged. “What else can I do?”

“Talk to him. Tell him everything you just said to me.”

Frey’s eyes widened, and he sat back. “And if I spill my guts and he laughs in my face and says it was never that serious…?”

“Did it seem like it wasn’t that serious tonight?” Dallas asked.

Frey couldn’t deny that. Renato had seemed broken when he left, and God only knew what he was doing now. Or where he was. Or if he was okay. “Do I call him?”

“I think,” Dallas said very slowly, “you give him some time to process everything. Everything in that book, Frey, nothing in there was kind about him.”

No. He’d never written down anything kind about Renato. There had been no balance—no good with the bad.

But it was giving him an idea. It might not pan out—Renato might spit in his face—but at the very least, it would give him something to do before work because he sure as hell wasn’t going to be sleeping, and it would take all of his self-control not to chase Renato down, drop to his knees, and beg for forgiveness.

Chapter Twenty-One

Frey’s initial plan had been to quietly woo Renato at work. He’d driven across town to the fancy coffee shop that had imported espressos and got a cappuccino. He’d added a cinnamon bun since they didn’t have Italian pastries, and he thought a good blowjob would probably do the trick. Which would happen after he read Renato the pages he’d written down the night before in lieu of sleep.

Renato had been scheduled for three surgeries that day, and Frey was on two of them.

Now, the words were blurring as he tried to blink past the frustrated tears in his eyes. The cappuccino in his hand was cold, and the cinnamon bun was getting stale.

“Why were they cancelled?” His voice didn’t sound as confused as he felt, which was his only saving grace.

Saanvi Chopra—the newest resident—didn’t look exactly put out about it. It was obvious she was trying to hide her smile. “I don’t know. I was just told a few minutes ago when I went to scrub in.”

Frey tried not to sigh. It was too fucking early to be scrubbing in, and that would have earned her a less-than-kind comment from Renato. So maybe it was her saving grace. He turned and saw Celia walking by. She was the current charge nurse and one of the better gossips on the floor.

He managed to catch up with her and saw her attempt to conceal her eye roll. “Don’t start with me, Cel.”

“What do you want?”

“Dr. Agosti’s surgeries were all cancelled. I want to know why.”

She stopped and rounded on him. “I have no idea. I just know that he cancelled them and is working on rescheduling two of them with a different surgeon. I figured you’d be getting ready to throw a party for the floor.”

In another life, maybe. But Frey’s stomach was sinking. Renato was rescheduling two of them. Two. Probably the two Frey was scheduled to work because yeah…this was how it was going to go. He was hurt. But he was also pissed.

The least Renato could have done was talk to him before acting like a goddamn child.

“I have somewhere to be. Can you cover me?”

“You’re going to end up fired if you keep this up,” she warned.

In that moment, Frey didn’t care. He should have, but everything felt like too much. He barely noticed the walk down the corridor, or into the wind tunnel, or even when he stepped through the lobby and into the office building. It was too early for patients, so he had to use his card to swipe in, and there was no one behind the reception desk when he got into Renato’s office.

“Dr. Agosti!” he called. “Can you please get your ass out here!”

A moment later, one of his nurses popped her head around the corner, looking thoroughly pissed. “You’re joking, right?”

Frey shrugged and realized he was still holding the goddamn cappuccino and bun. He really should throw it away, but he couldn’t seem to let it go. “Does it look like I’m joking?”

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