Page 69 of Ten Day Affair
Cole’s eyes stay on the water, but I can feel the shift.
“I mean, sometimes a restructure isn’t about greed. Sometimes it’s just what keeps the doors open and makes sense, so a hospital can keep helping people.”
I scoff, but it’s quieter than I intend. “You sound like every consultant that’s ever tried to gut a place and call it mercy.”
“I’m not saying I agree with all of it,” he says, almost too quickly.
"What are you saying, Cole?"
“The vote isn’t some evil coup, Sam. The people behind it aren’t cartoon villains. They’re real. And they’ve assessed that the old model’s not sustainable. Maybe the only way to save it long-term is to change it.”
He finally looks at me, and there’s something so calmin his expression, it disarms me. Like he’s not trying to win, but he’s trying to get me to consider it.
I narrow my eyes. “Why are you defending them?”
“I’m just saying, maybe this isn’t black and white. Maybe saving what your mother built means letting it evolve. Even if it looks different on the other side.”
The words sting more than they should. Not because they’re mean, but because they sound reasonable.
I smile, but it doesn’t fully land. My chest tightens. “I’m serious, though. If you know anything, if there’s something I can do to help shift this vote, please tell me.”
Cole’s jaw flexes again. He looks at me like he’s weighing every possible version of the truth, then finally exhales.
“I wish there were something I could tell you.” His voice is low, and he leans in and brushes his thumb across my cheek.
Before I can respond, he continues, “But I think the train’s already moving, Sam. And I don’t want you standing on the tracks.”
I look at him for a long second, trying to read what’s behind his eyes. But they’re too careful tonight. Guarded.
"Interesting analogy."
“It doesn’t mean you stop fighting for what matters to you. It might just mean you pivot when things evolve.”
“That’s not exactly reassuring. You just told me to duck before the train hits me,” I say, forcing a small smile.
SIXTEEN
Cole
The silence hangs between us after her last comment, the kind that leaves a mark.
Sam’s fingers tighten slightly around her glass. She looks out at the horizon, where the last of the sun has disappeared and only the faint glow of the coastline remains.
Finally, she exhales. “I know you’re trying to be gentle. But you’re not saying anything that actually helps.”
“I’m not trying to hurt you.”
“Maybe not. But you’re not trying to help me, either.”
That one lands. She stands, wrapping the blanket tighter around her shoulders like armor, and steps toward the door.
I follow her inside, not touching her, not pushing. She doesn’t stop me, but she doesn’t look back either.
In the kitchen, she sets her glass in the sink and turns like she might say goodnight. But then her eyes flick to the counter.
She blinks once.
“I should go.”
