“I can’t fathom why you feel the need to go work at that dingy little hospital in the country.”
I used to think Rob was a nice guy.
Now, I know better.
“Well, Robert,” I drawl, using his full name to piss him off as I shove a final sweater into my overfull suitcase. “I’m not sure if you’re aware, but there are humans—real live ones—who live in the country who are also in need of medical attention.”
I’m not sure why I’m packing so much for a single shift. When I’m in Chestnut Springs, I live in scrubs in the ER and in leggings in my hotel room at night.
“Thanks for clarifying, Winter.” There’s a biting tone to his voice that might make some people flinch. But not me. A dark part of me takes immense pride in the fact I know exactly how to piss off my husband. My lips twitch as I struggle to contain my satisfied smile.
“But why that hospital? Why Chestnut Springs? You’re constantly taking off out there and you don’t even tell me you’re leaving. Come to think of it”—he scrubs at his chin in an overly dramatic fashion while leaning up against the doorframe of my bedroom—“you never even considered my opinion on whether I would want my wife taking this job. This isn’t a smart career move for you at all.”
I used to think Rob was a good man.
Now, I’ve heard him whine like a child.
Nothing makes a man’s masculinity shrivel up and die for me quite like complaining about a woman exercising her professional independence. He might as well stomp his foot and storm out like a tiny chauvinist toddler.
I reach for the zipper and start forcing it together against the bulging contents of my suitcase. “It’s funny,” I start, ensuring that I keep my tone cool and even. “It’s almost like . . . you are the very last person I would ever consult about career choices.”
With a huff of air, I finally slide the zipper into place and look down at the hard-shell case, propping my hands on my hips and letting a satisfied smile touch my lips.
“What the hell is that supposed to mean, Winter?”
The way he adds my name to the end of every sentence feels like he’s trying to scold me.
Jokes on him. I won’t be scolded.
He’s blissfully unaware of what it takes to navigate the medical system as a young female doctor. If I let men as weak as Rob steamroll me on the regular, I wouldn’t stand a chance.
And this career is the only thing I’ve ever had that’s mine. So, he can fuck all the way off.
Flipping one hand over, I gaze down at my neglected nails, trying to look bored by him. I’m wondering if I can find a good place for a manicure in Chestnut Springs when I reply, “Don’t play stupid. It pairs so poorly with whining.”
I find myself wondering why I’m still married at all. I know why I thought I was sticking it out. But now? Now, I just need to buck up and get it done. I glance back down at my suitcase, packed like I’m leaving for a long ass time, and wonder if my subconscious knows something I don’t.
Maybe that bitch is putting her foot down and breaking me out once and for all.
I’m not averse.
“You will not speak to your husband that way.”
My eyes narrow on my cuticles as I struggle to bite down the rage bubbling inside of me. Hot molten lava simmering below the cool surface, just waiting to erupt all over the place.
But I’ve kept that at bay for years now. I will not let Doctor Rob Valentine be the one to make me erupt.
He’s not worth the energy.
I shift my eyes to him across the room. My room, because when I told him in no uncertain terms that I wouldn’t be sleeping in the same bed as him any longer, he directed me to the guest room rather than moving himself out—like the true gentleman he is.
Even though it was him.
He’s the reason we are where we are.
And the worst part is I loved him once. He was all mine. A safe place for me to land after growing up in what felt like some sort of domestic cold war.
I let my guard down with him. I fell so damn hard.
He broke my heart far worse than I’ll ever let anyone know.
I don’t respond to him, instead I grab the handle of my suitcase and shove past his lean frame, heading toward the front door of our sprawling ten-thousand-foot home.
I hear him following me. Dress shoes against marble. And of course, he doesn’t offer to carry my suitcase for me.
A wry smile twists my lips, and I shake my head at the thought he’d bother to lift a finger for me. The hardest thing for me to accept with the implosion of my marriage is that I didn’t see it coming. That I can be smart, and accomplished, and strategic in everything I do yet still allow this asshole to blindside me is just . . . offensive.
Being swindled this way irks me to no end.
I can feel the rage radiating off of him as he seethes behind me. And I just carry on serenely, slipping my socked feet into a pair of tall leather boots and wrapping a long, brown wool coat around myself.
“Seriously, Winter? You’re not even going to dignify me with an answer?”
I methodically tie the coat belt around my waist, deciding I have zero desire to dignify him at all.
The problem is, Rob knows me well. We’ve been together for five years, which means he understands how to piss me off too.
His eyes trace over my face, taking on a vicious little slant. “I liked you better with your hair lighter.” His pointer finger sweeps over my head, judging the darker streaks topped with a warmer tone. He’s always been obsessive about me having the silvery blonde hair, telling me how much he loves it. “This new look isn’t appealing.”
But the root touch-ups, the purple shampoo, and the deep conditioner were too much work for an exhausted resident, which is why I requested the stylist put in lowlights.
I blink a couple of times, like I can’t quite believe he has the nerve to act like the way I color my hair is a personal slight to him.
Except I can. Because this year he took his mask off and showed me all the entitled ugliness underneath.
“That’s funny. I liked you better when I thought you hadn’t groomed my little sister and then fucked her over.”
He scoffs. Scoffs. “That’s not how it was. She was obsessed with me.”
My nose wrinkles, smelling the bullshit wafting off of him. “A much older doctor saves his underage patient’s life. Uses his looks and power over her to get her eating out of his hand. Becomes a hero to her. Then, as soon as she turns eighteen, starts fucking her on the down-low like she’s some sort of dirty secret. And when he meets her older, more appropriate sister, he drops her like a stone and marries the one that won’t lose him his job for a medical license violation. Oh!”—my finger shoots up in the air —“except, here’s the kicker. He keeps contacting her anyway, hoping to sabotage her with boyfriends when she tries to move on, stringing her along, just because he can.”
My anger swirls, but I’m the one stirring my pot by giving in to him at all.
His arms cross and he glares at me. All golden coiffed hair, bright blue eyes, and Ken-doll good looks. “You know I never loved her.”
White hot rage lances through me. Everything around me blurs as my eyes focus on the asshole I married. I try to keep my voice cool. Years of practicing this facade have carried me through the most heartrending of moments. I have this act down pat.
But today I struggle.
“You think you never loving her makes it better? That’s my baby sister you’re talking about. The one who almost died. And you fucked her around for years.”
My words echo in the spacious foyer as we stare each other down.
“For what you’ve done to me? I am indifferent to you. For what you’ve done to her? I hate you. I wouldn’t have touched you with a one-million-foot pole if I’d realized the type of man you really are. Fool me once, never again. That’s the new saying, Rob.”
With that, I tug my suitcase up and spin on my heel, flinging the door open so hard it smashes into the wall behind it. I hate how fired up I am. How out of control I feel. But I hold my chin up, press my shoulders down, and walk out of that house with all the placid, unaffected composure I can muster.
“Does that mean you’re leaving me?”
How can someone so educated be so stupid? I almost laugh. Instead, I flip him the finger over my shoulder and keep walking.
“You don’t even like her!” he yells in a whiny tone that scrapes down my neck like nails on a chalkboard.
But I don’t dignify his jabs with a single glance back. I just take satisfaction in knowing he’s wrong.
That he’s not as smart as he thinks he is.
Because I love my sister.
I just have a fucked-up way of showing it.
I hope I don’t die now that I’m taking some control of my life back.
Chestnut Springs General Hospital is only an hour away from the house I live in, but it seems I’ll never get there. I started taking shifts here a few months ago, so I could probably make the drive with my eyes closed, but today it’s snowing hard enough that I’m white knuckling the steering wheel.
I’m also still stewing over losing my cool.
Rob started that fight by saying he can’t fathom why I’d want to work at this dingy hospital, and I didn’t feel inclined to tell him the truth.
One, that working in a hospital where I’m not his wife and my mother’s daughter is a relief. I can practice medicine and take pride in my work without having to contend with all the whispers and pitying glances. Without that shit hanging over my head.
Because everyone knows, but no one talks about it, and that approach to life is wearing on my sanity.
And two, because I’ve never wanted to be around my sister more than I do now. When she was sick, I used to sneak into the hospital and check on her, read her chart so I knew how she was doing even though I was still only in university. And now? Now, I look at my little sister and just see too many years missed.
I see a woman who lived in misery to save me a little of my own.
It would seem we’re kindred that way.
She’s happy now, engaged to a man whose hair is far too long but who loves her in a way that makes me green with envy. But I’m also happy for her—god knows she deserves a little peace. She left her law degree and secure job at our father’s sports management firm in the rearview mirror to run a gym and live on a picturesque little country bumpkin ranch.
I admire her.
But I have no idea how to mend the rift between us. So, I took a part-time position in the small town she’s living in, hoping I might run into her organically.
I have this recurring story in my head, one that crops up all the time. I must be trying to manifest it or some shit.
In it, she’s strolling down the sidewalk, and I bump straight into her as I exit the adorable little Parisian coffee shop on Main Street. She looks shocked to see me. I offer her a warm smile, and it isn’t forced. Then, I hike a thumb over my shoulder and say, “Hey, you, uh . . . wanna grab a coffee?” in a casual and charming way that will make her smile back at me.
Of course, I’d have to spend time somewhere other than the hospital or hotel for that to happen. But I keep slinking between the two safety zones, too scared and too embarrassed to face her.
“Fuck it,” I mumble as I sniff and sit up taller, eyes laser focused on the road. “Siri, call Summer Hamilton.”
The beat of silence that greets me is heavy, laden with years of anticipation.
“Calling Summer Hamilton,” the robotic voice replies. The formality is a jab to the chest. Most sisters would have some cute nickname in their phone. Perhaps I’d call her Sum if we were friends. As it is now, I might as well include her middle name in the contact listing.
The phone rings. Once. Twice.
And then she’s there. “Winter?” she asks breathlessly. My name isn’t an accusation on her lips though. It’s . . . hopeful.
“Hi,” I say stupidly. Because no number of years of education or reading medical textbooks could prepare me for this conversation. Since everything blew up in the hospital that day, I’ve played out this conversation in my head a million times. I’ve laid awake at night preparing myself.
And it wasn’t enough.
“Hi . . . are you . . . are you okay?”
I nod, while the bridge of my nose stings. I’ve been awful to Summer over the years and her first inclination is to ask if I’m okay.
“Win?”
I suck in a deep breath of air. Win. Fuck. That nickname. She just falls into it so easily. I absently wonder how I’m named in her contacts. I always imagined it was “Evil Half Sister” or something along those lines.
She’s just so fucking nice. It almost makes me nauseous that someone could be this nice to me after everything that we’ve been through, after how cold I’ve been to her.
I don’t deserve Summer. But I want to. And that comes with being honest.
“Not especially,” I finally say, trying to cover the hitch in my voice by clearing my throat.
“Okay.” I can imagine her nodding right now, rolling her lips together, mind-whirring as she tries to solve this problem for me. That’s just how she is. A fixer.
“Where are you? Do you need me to come and get you? Are you hurt?” She pauses. “Oh! Do you need legal help? I’m not practicing anymore, but I could—”
“Can I see you?” I blurt. And now it seems like it’s her turn for stunned silence. “I’m on my way to Chestnut Springs already. I could . . . I don’t know.” A ragged sigh drags its way up my throat. “Buy you a coffee?” I finish lamely, glancing at the digital clock that shows it’s already six p.m.
Her voice comes through the phone a little thick, a little soft. “I would love that. But we could do wine instead?”
A knot of tension unfurls in my chest, one I didn’t even know was there until now. And now that I’ve noticed it, I can’t help but feel like it’s been there for years.
“Yeah.” My fingers pulse on the steering wheel. “Yeah. Wine. Good.”
I sound like a fucking cavewoman.
“We’re having a family dinner at the main house tonight. There will be a bunch of people. I’d love if you came too.”
My throat clogs uncharacteristically. This brand of kindness feels foreign after living in a sterile bubble with Rob and my mom for so long. This brand of forgiveness . . . I don’t know how to react to it.
So I just roll with it. Seems like the least I can do.
“I’ll be there. Can you send me the address?”
In my haste to get the hell out of the city, I ignored my gas tank for as long as I could. No doubt, cutting it dangerously close. Which has only added to my anxiety the farther away I’ve gotten from that city limit.
So, I give in and stop for gas in Chestnut Springs before hitting the sketchy back road my phone mapped out to the ranch.
As I stand here, freezing and wishing I’d worn more appropriate outdoor winter clothing, I let all the worry creep in through my carefully erected walls.
Worry over seeing Summer.
Worry over sitting down to dinner with a bunch of people who no doubt think I’m a heinous bitch.
Worry over the snow packed roads. I’ve seen too many car accident traumas roll into the ER lately.
Worry over my career and what the hell I’m going to do—where I’m going to land.
Hilariously—albeit a dark kind of hilarious—I feel next to no concern over the thought of leaving Rob for good. I’ve strung that out for a long time. I’ve thought about it, looked at it from every angle.
Only a stupid person would stay married to Rob with nothing tying them to him.
And I’m a lot of things, but stupid isn’t one of them.
I sigh a deep, heavy sigh and watch my breath puff out from between my lips into a smoky little cloud, more obvious under the neon lights that flood down over the gas bays. The tips of my fingers go from tingling to downright numb in a matter of seconds, where they’re wrapped around the red plastic handle. I bounce on the spot and look up when I hear a bell jangle at the door of the gas station.
The man who walks out through the glass door is all swagger and broad shoulders. Dark hair, darker eyes, lashes that make the blonde girl in me a little irritated. He’s smirking down at the lotto ticket in his hand, like he thinks he’s going to win.
I could tell him he’s not going to win. That it’s a waste of money. But I get the distinct impression that this is the type of man who doesn’t care.
He’s got unlaced boots, jeans stacked around the tops. A couple of long silver chains adorn his chest, disappearing under a plaid button-down that is open just a little too far, a heavy knit cardigan slung carelessly over the top.
He’s sexy without even trying. He doesn’t even seem cold. I bet he rolls out of bed after sleeping in yesterday’s socks and just shoves them back in those worn leather boots.
I’ve stared at him so long, so thoroughly, that the gas pump makes a loud clanking noise as it bumps back into my palm, signaling the tank is full.
The noise of it draws his attention my way, and he turns the full force of his good looks on me. The square jaw dusted with the perfect amount of stubble, topped off with lips that are just wasted on a man. The way this man looks? It’s absurd.
I drop my head quickly, fumbling with the pump to get it latched back in his holder. My tongue swipes at my lips.
I get the distinct sense that the man is watching me, but I don’t glance up to see. There’s a flutter in my chest and a heat in my cheeks, one I haven’t felt for a very, very long time.
Because I was actually happily married. And now I’m . . . not.
I think.
And this is the first man I’ve really let myself look at inappropriately. A man who can’t bother to tie his shoes and plays the lotto.
“Ugh,” I groan at myself as I approach my door, suddenly a lot less cold than I was before I saw him.
But as I’m about to slide into my seat, I look back over my shoulder at the man.
The one standing at his silver truck.
The one who’s still looking at me with a knowing smirk on his face.
The one who runs a hand through his perfectly tousled hair and winks at me.
I’m in my car and out onto the dark road like a shot, getting away as quickly as possible.
Becausethe very last thing I need in my head is a man like that.