Page 37 of (Not Really) Faking It With My Best Friend's Brother

I'm not going anywhere—you're too important to me. :) Nate."

I clutched my phone to my chest as relief washed over me. Nate's thoughtful words were precisely what I needed to hear. He didn't get defensive or make demands. He gave me the space I asked for while reassuring me of his feelings.

My eyes watered at his words. They were like a soothing balm to my raw emotions, and I couldn't help but laugh at the thought of his head spinning off. Perhaps one too many cartoon scenarios were clouding my thoughts. I wiped away a stray tear and took a calming breath.

Emily's concerns bounced around in my head like a ping-pong ball in overtime. But there was the undeniable truth of my own heart, throbbing out a rhythm that spelled N-a-t-e in Morse code.

I sat there amidst the quiet library stacks, comforted by the familiar smell of old books. I traced my fingers over the worn spines, taking in the titles that had become old friends over the years.

My mind drifted back to Nate's text. He did understand me, didn't he? Under that confident exterior was a sensitive soul who knew precisely what to say to set my anxieties at ease.

I thought back to our peddle boat ride and the kiss. Could all of that have been an act? No, I realized it couldn't have. What we had was real.

Still, Emily's concerns nagged at me. I owed it to her to take this slowly and examine my heart before rushing into anything. I sighed and walked over to pull my favorite novel off the shelf.

As I flipped through its pages, I felt a wave of determination. I would follow my heart and protect the special friendship Emily and I had always shared. There had to be a way to reconcile both loves. I just needed faith and an open heart. For now, I allowed myself to get lost in the familiar story, drawing strength from its happily ever after.

Chapter sixteen

Nate

The shrill beep of my alarm jolted me awake. I slapped it off and stared up at the ceiling, wishing I could hit snooze on life. Susan's silence was deafening. Five days without a text or call. My mind raced with questions. Was she okay? Did I do something wrong?

I dragged myself out of bed and shuffled to the shower, hoping the hot water would revive me. It didn't. I toweled off and threw on my usual button-down and slacks, but even getting dressed felt harder today.

At the hospital, I put on a smile and tended to a waiting room packed with sniffles and coughs. But my thoughts kept drifting to Susan. I found myself staring blankly at a chart, reading the same line over and over.

"Everything okay, Dr. Reynolds?" nurse Amy asked, her voice pulling me back.

"Hmm? Oh, yes, fine," I said, clearing my throat and refocusing.

After the morning rush, I headed to the gym, cranking up the treadmill faster than my usual pace. My frustration propelled me forward. Susan's distant demeanor weighed on my heart. Why had Susan said she needed space? Was she pulling away because of my history of fleeting commitments? We had connected so deeply at the picnic. Had I misread things?

Twenty minutes later, drenched in sweat, I admitted this wasn't helping. My emotions were still churning.

In the locker room, I changed and splashed cold water on my face. As I toweled off, my eyes caught my reflection in the mirror. The circles under my eyes betrayed my exhaustion. Susan's withdrawal was affecting me more than I wanted to admit. I had to tell her how I felt.

Before I could spiral further, my pager buzzed. A young boy in the pediatric unit was having a severe asthma attack. I raced upstairs, pushing my jumbled feelings aside.

"What do we have?" I asked calmly as I entered the room. The boy's mother looked at me desperately, her own breath quickening.

I put a hand on her shoulder. "It's going to be okay. I've got this."

Over the next hour, I focused everything I had on helping him slowly regain his breath. But part of me connected with that little boy fighting for air. I knew all too well what it felt like to gasp for breath, longing for relief.

After stabilizing the young boy's breathing and updating his relieved parents, I retreated to my office, exhausted both mentally and physically.

As I sank into my desk chair, I glanced at my phone sitting nearby.

Should I call Susan? Text her? My fingers itched to reach out, but I hesitated. Susan's silence over the past few days spoke volumes. She clearly wanted space from me, from us. What if she rejected my attempts to connect? The thought made my throat tighten. I didn't know if I could handle hearing her push me away.

A soft rap at my door startled me from my wandering thoughts. I quickly composed myself as Ethan poked his head in, a signature easy-going smile on his face.

"Hey man, you got a minute?"

I waved him in, hoping my face didn't betray my inner turmoil. But Ethan's smile faded as he looked at me.

"Whoa, you look beat. Rough day?"

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