Page 83 of Careless Whisper

“Why didyouthink I came here?” he asked when the silence between us stretched to the point that it was evident I didn’t have much to say to hislove of my lifedeclaration.

“You felt guilty?”

“I do.”

I took a deep breath and exhaled. “Honestly, I believe you when you say you came here forus, for me…but I don’t know what to do with that.”

“Because you don’t trust me?”

I jerked my head in a decisive nod. “I also don’t trust myself. After Boston, I should’ve kept you at five arms’ distance; instead…we started seeing each other again in Seattle, falling into that old pattern of on-call room fucking and…” I trailed off.

“Maren?” he offered.

I lifted my shoulders in a helpless gesture. “Yes.”

“I’m sorry,” he whispered.

I turned to him then. He looked tired but still himself, stripped down in some ways, honest.

“I don’t even know who you are anymore,” I complained. “Seattle Elias. Boston Elias. Head-of-surgery Elias. The man I loved, the man who broke me, the man who came to Mexico.”

He didn’t argue or interrupt me—he just listened.

“You left me to drown,” I continued, quieter now but angrier. “In that M&M meeting and in the silence that followed. I was still swimming my way back from it…andbam, you’re in Seattle, and history was repeating itself.”

He nodded slowly, breathing in like it hurt.

For a few minutes, I shut the hell up. There was just the murmur of Spanish from a nearby food cart, the clink of plates, a baby crying, and the city exhaling around us.

“I can’t promise anything,” I murmured.

He looked at me sharply.

“That’s the best I can give you right now,” I added.

His eyes reflected both relief andheartbreak. “Then I’ll take it. And I’m not asking for promises, Gigi, just a chance to try again.”

“Thanks for listening to me.” I meant it.

He’d given me the space to unload my feelings, and it had helped. I felt lighter because I felt like I no longer had to carry all that sordid history alone.

“Thanks for telling me.” He brushed his lips against my cheek. “May I walk you home?”

“Yes.”

We walked hand-in-hand, and it felt like we were on a date.

CHAPTER 30

Elias

Working in a small clinic was humbling. No one gave a rat’s ass where I went to school, what papers I’d published, or what titles followed my name. All they cared about was one thing: could I help them. That went for the staff just as much as it did for the patients.

However, the best part was working with Reggie again.

Ever since we treated Quito—the ten-year-old with a puncture wound and nerves of steel, who came by a couple of weeks later with warm tamales to say thank you—the current between us had started to shift.

Reggie and I had begun spending time together outside the clinic. Walks through town. Long talks over coffee. Quiet moments in crowded plazas. We weren’t rushing anything; we were just… trying. Slowly mending what had been broken. Finding the bruised places inside both of us. And doing the hard, quiet work of healing.

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