Morning light spilled pale and cold across the city. My feet hit the pavement in a steady rhythm—bridge, waterfront, the familiar loop I'd been running since medical school when I needed to escape my own head.
The burn in my lungs was supposed to silence my thoughts, supposed to replace the chaos with something simple and physical. It wasn't working.
Xavier's voice kept looping through my mind.
The marriage is dead. You're the only woman I want. Just a little more patience.
Each explanation sounded reasonable in isolation, but together they formed a pattern I couldn't unsee. A pattern of delays and excuses and promises that never quite materialized.
And underneath that, festering like an infection I couldn't drain—the team offer. Still unanswered for a fifth day, still waiting in my inbox like a bomb I was too afraid to either defuse or detonate.
I pushed harder, trying to outrun my own indecision. The cold air burned my throat, and I welcomed the pain. At least it was simple, at least it made sense.
Then someone's footsteps fell into pace beside me.
"Nice morning for a run." Jay's voice was irritatingly casual, barely winded despite matching my pace effortlessly. "Little cold, maybe, but I've always liked the waterfront this time of day. Something about the light on the water. Very cinematic."
I nearly stumbled. "What the hell are you doing here? Are you stalking me now?"
"Just running. Same as you. I live about six blocks that way. This is my usual route too—crazy coincidence, right?"
He grinned, all easy confidence and athletic grace.
"I've actually seen you out here a few times before, but you always looked so focused I didn't want to interrupt. Today I figured, what's the worst that could happen? You tell me to get lost, I nurse my wounded ego, life goes on."
"Get lost." But I didn't slow down, and neither did he.
His presence shouldn't have felt significant—he was just a patient, my brother's teammate, a complication I didn't need. But my pulse stuttered in a way that had nothing to do with exertion, and I hated myself for noticing.
"See, you say that, but you're not actually speeding up to lose me. Which means some part of you doesn't totally hate the company." He matched my stride easily, long legs eating up the pavement. "So, how's the doctoring going? Save any lives lately? Perform any miracle surgeries?"
"I'm an intern. I mostly update charts and try not to kill anyone."
"Modest, I like it." He was quiet for a moment, and I thought maybe he'd given up on conversation. "What made you want to be a doctor, though? Was it always the plan, or did you wake up one day and decide you wanted to spend a hundred years in school learning how to stab people with needles?"
The question caught me off guard. In my experience, conversations had a way of circling back to Nathan. At family gatherings, relatives would corner me with questions about his season, his stats, whether he was planning to propose to Madison soon.
When I met new people and they somehow learned I had a brother in the NHL, the dynamic shifted instantly. I became a conduit to someone more interesting, more important.
What's it like having a famous brother? Can you get me tickets? Is he single?
Nobody asked about my interests or problems, my dreams, what I wanted from my own life.
But Jay had just asked me. Like my answer actually mattered.
"I wanted to help people," I said carefully. "And I liked the idea of having answers. Medicine is complicated, but there are rules, protocols. If you do X, you get Y. I liked the certainty of it."
"But?" He glanced over at me, something more serious in his expression now. "There's definitely a 'but' in there somewhere."
"But real life isn't that simple," I said, keeping my eyes forward. "People lie about their symptoms. They ignore medical advice. They make choices that hurt them even when they know better—show up with suspicious injuries several times every week, for example."
There was a beat of silence before Jay laughed, the sound bright and unapologetic in the cold morning air. "Wow, okay. Just going to call me out like that?"
"If the inexplicably frequent head wound fits…"
"Those were legitimate injuries," he protested, but he was grinning now. "Mostly legitimate. Hockey is a dangerous sport, Dr. Ellis. People get hurt all the time."
"Mmhmm. And they all specifically request the same doctor? Every single time?"
"What can I say? I have excellent taste in medical professionals."
I shook my head, but I couldn't quite suppress the smile tugging at my lips.
We ran in silence for a while, the waterfront stretching out beside us in shades of gray and silver. I could feel him glancing at me periodically, could sense the questions building behind his careful expression.
"Can I ask you something personal?" He didn't wait for permission. "The team offer… You haven't responded yet. I know because Coach Torres mentioned it yesterday, said he was starting to think you weren't interested. Why are you hesitating?"
"How do you know I haven't responded? That's none of your business."
"You're right, it's not. But I'm asking anyway." He kept his eyes forward, giving me the illusion of privacy even as he pried. "What is it about? Is it about the schedule? The commute? The fact that you'd have to spend time around a bunch of sweaty athletes who think ice baths are a personality trait?"
"It's complicated." The words came out sharper than I intended, trying to hide the fact that he is the main part of it. "There are factors you don't know about, things I'm dealing with that have nothing to do with the job itself."
"Okay."
He was quiet for a moment, and I thought maybe I'd finally shut him up.
A girl can dream.
"Or maybe—and feel free to tell me to go to hell if I'm wrong—maybe you're hesitating because you don't think you're good enough."
I stopped running so abruptly that he was three steps past me before he realized and circled back with an infuriating smile. Is he for real right now? Is he really daring me right now? That arrogant piece…
My breath came in harsh gasps, and not from the exertion. "You don't know anything about me."
The anger felt good—clean and sharp and easier than the complicated mess of everything else.
"You don't get to psychoanalyze me based on a few conversations and some stitches. You don't get to show up in my life out of nowhere and pretend you understand what I'm dealing with."
"I’m just fucking up with you right now, relax. And you're right, I don't know everything about you. "
He stood right in front of me now, not backing down despite the fury in my voice and towering over me with all his stupidly nice muscles in the compressive t-shirt and bright blue-green eyes.
"But I know you're talented—genuinely talented, not just competent. You stayed calm when most interns would have panicked."
"You don't—"
"I also know," he continued, talking over my protest, "that I'm the one who recommended you for the position. I told Coach Torres about the doctor who treated me at St. Caroline's. I told him she was sharp and steady and exactly the kind of person we needed on a team.”
The anger drained out of me, leaving something raw and uncertain in its wake.
"I wanted you there, Summer. Specifically. Because of who and what you're, and you deserved the opportunity." He paused, something shifting in his expression. "And yeah, okay… Maybe I also have ulterior motives."
My heart stuttered. "What kind of ulterior motives?"
"The kind where I get to see you more often." He said it plainly and with a smile, no trace of embarrassment. "The kind where you're in my world instead of me having to find excuses to show up in yours. I'm not ashamed to admit it, Summer. I'm interested, very. I think you know that by now."
I opened my mouth to respond, but no words came.
He'd stripped away my defenses so efficiently that I was left standing on the waterfront with nothing but the cold wind and the uncomfortable sensation of being pursued. Openly, honestly, and by someone who wasn't hiding his intentions behind excuses or secrets.
Jay stepped back, a small smile playing at the corner of his mouth. Then he turned and started jogging backward, facing me with infuriating confidence.
"Think about it, Summer. The offer's real, the opportunity's real, and so am I. Whatever's holding you back?" He spread his arms wide, still moving away from me. "It's probably not as scary as you think. Sometimes you just have to jump and trust that you'll figure out the landing on the way down."
He turned and picked up speed, rounding the corner before I could formulate a response.
Jay Callahan was pursuing me.
The boy who'd never seen me, who'd walked past my locker a thousand times without registering my existence was now chasing the woman I'd become.
And despite everything—Xavier's promises, the secrets I was keeping, the old hurt that still throbbed beneath my composure—some treacherous part of me wanted to be caught.
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