Xavier's office looked different in the harsh light of betrayal.
The same mahogany desk where he'd bent me over and made me forget my own name. The same leather couch where we'd talked for hours about our future, about the life we'd build once the timing was right. The same blinds that came down every time the door clicked shut, turning this space into our secret world during breaks.
I stood near the door, maintaining a distance I'd never needed before.
My hand rested on the handle—not quite ready to leave, but needing to know I could. Xavier remained behind his desk, watching me with the careful expression of a man already preparing his defense.
"You're married." I kept my voice flat, clinical. My eyes dropped to his left hand—bare, as it had been every single day I'd known him. "Did you take your ring off before our shifts? Hide it in your locker?"
"How did you—"
"Or did you stop wearing it long ago, so you could pretend the marriage didn't exist? So you could cheat and look at yourself in the mirror, telling yourself you weren't really lying?"
"Summer…"
"You had a wife this whole time." I cut him off before his calm, rational voice could start weaving explanations I'd be tempted to believe. "And you let me become the mistress without ever giving me the choice."
Xavier exhaled slowly, his hands flat on the desk like he was trying to ground himself.
"I know how this looks, I know you're angry, and you have every right to be. But please, let me tell you the truth."
"The truth." I laughed, and it came out bitter enough to taste. "That's rich, coming from you. When exactly were you planning to tell me? After another six months? A year? Were you ever going to tell me, or were you just hoping I'd never find out?"
"I was going to tell you. I've been just trying to find the right time, the right way."
He stood slowly, moved around the desk with deliberate caution, like approaching a wounded animal.
"I know that sounds like an excuse, but Summer… My marriage has been over for years. Camille and I, we're strangers who share a mortgage. We haven't been husband and wife in any real sense since before I met you."
"Then why hide it?" My voice cracked despite my efforts to control it. "If it's over, if she means nothing, why couldn't you just tell me from the beginning?"
"Because the divorce isn't final yet. Because I'm still legally bound to her, and if she finds out about us before I've gotten everything in order legally, she could destroy everything."
He stopped a few feet away, close enough that I could smell his cologne. That familiar, woody scent that used to make me feel safe.
"So this is about protecting me." The sarcasm cut sharp. "How noble."
"It is about protecting you. Your career is just starting—do you have any idea what it would do to your reputation if it came out that you've been sleeping with your married mentor? I won't let that happen to you, won't let my mistakes destroy what you've worked so hard to build."
The worst part was how reasonable it sounded, how logical.
Xavier had always been good at that—making everything seem measured, considered, for the best. I'd found it reassuring once. Now I recognized it for what it was: a sophisticated form of control dressed up as care.
"I won't be the dirty secret you keep hidden while you figure out your real life, Xavier." The words came out steady, final. "I won't be the mistress, I won’t be the other woman."
"You're not the other woman. There’s only you."
He moved closer, and I should have stepped back, should have maintained the distance I'd promised myself I'd keep. But my feet stayed rooted to the floor as his hand rose to cup my face with tenderness.
"You're the only woman I want, Summer. The only one I think about, dream about, need. Camille is paperwork—you're everything else."
His thumb traced my cheekbone, and I hated the way my body responded to his touch. The way six months of conditioning made me lean into his warmth despite everything I now knew.
"I just need a little more time, sunshine," he murmured. "A few more months to get everything in order, to make sure the divorce goes smoothly and neither of us gets hurt. And then we go public, we stop hiding. I take you to dinner at the nicest restaurant in the city and let everyone see that you're mine."
I wanted to believe him. But wanting was easier than accepting I'd been a fool. Easier than admitting I'd given six months of my life to a man who'd been lying to me the entire time.
"Patience," he said softly, pressing a kiss to my forehead. "Just a little more patience, and I promise you—this won't be our life forever."
I didn't pull away. I stood there in his arms, breathing in his familiar scent, feeling the steady thrum of his heartbeat against my chest.
And I hated myself for it.
***
Priya's apartment smelled like Indian takeout and impending judgment this evening.
"So let me get this straight." She pointed a chopstick at me from across her coffee table. "You found out he has a wife he's been hiding for six months, and your response was to... let him explain and not break up with him?"
"I told him I needed time to think." I pushed pad thai around my plate without eating. "I just... didn't officially end things."
"Time to think about what? The man is married, Summer. That's not a gray area, not a 'communication issue' or a 'timing problem.' That's a whole other human being he's legally bound to while he's been sneaking around with you in supply closets."
"He said the marriage is over. That they're basically separated, just not legally yet. He's working on the divorce, but it's complicated because…"
"Oh my god, do you hear yourself?"
Priya set down her chopsticks with a clatter.
"You sound like every woman in every Lifetime movie right before everything goes horribly wrong. 'He's leaving his wife for me. It's complicated. He just needs more time.' Summer, men who actually leave their wives don't need six months of secret affairs first."
The words hit somewhere bruised and tender. I set down my own plate, appetite completely gone.
"I know it looks bad. I know it sounds like every cliché in the book. But Priya, you don't know him the way I do. The way he looks at me, the things he says… it feels real. It feels like more than just an affair."
"It probably does feel real. That's how these things work." Her voice softened, losing some of its edge. "I'm not trying to be cruel, Summer. I'm trying to be your friend. And as your friend, I'm telling you—this situation is a clusterfuck."
Before I could respond, my phone chimed with an email notification. I glanced at the screen automatically, expecting spam or a schedule update, but the sender line made my breath catch.
"What?" Priya leaned forward. "What is it?"
I opened the email with numb fingers, scanning the official letterhead, the formal language, the words that rearranged everything.
"It's from the hockey team. Nathan's team." I looked up at Priya, something complicated churning in my chest. "They're offering me a part-time position on their medical team."
"Holy shit…" Priya grabbed the phone from my hands, reading the email herself. "Summer, this is huge! This is an actual opportunity—good money, career advancement, professional experience outside the hospital… This could be exactly what you need!"
"It could also be a disaster." I took the phone back, staring at the words without really seeing them. "Nathan would be there every day, watching my every move. And Jay's been showing up at the hospital with all these suspicious injuries."
"Speaking of Jay…" Priya's expression shifted into something more speculative. "You've mentioned him approximately seven hundred times in the last week. Want to tell me what's actually going on there?"
"Nothing's going on. He's just…"
I struggled for words that didn't make me sound like a confused teenager.
"He's confusing. He never noticed me in high school, and now suddenly he can't stop staring at me, can't stop finding excuses to be near me. It makes me angry and flattered and suspicious all at the same time. I don't know what he wants from me."
"Maybe he wants you." Priya shrugged. "Maybe the pretty boy finally grew some depth and developed the ability to see past the surface."
"Or maybe he just likes the chase. Maybe I'm interesting because I'm the first woman who hasn't fallen at his feet the second he smiled at her."
"Also possible." Priya grinned. "But you have to admit—between the married Dr. Grandpa who keeps you hidden in closets and the hot young hockey star who can't stop finding excuses to see you… one of these options is significantly less pathetic."
"When will you stop calling Xavier a ‘grandpa’?"
"The man is a thirty-six year old senior doctor and hiding a wife. If the orthopedic shoe fits…" She dodged the pillow I threw at her, laughing. "I'm just saying—maybe Jay isn't the answer either, but at least he's hot and rich and single, due to the Internet."
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