Page 75 of Doctor Second Chance

Elle's grip on my arm tightens slightly. She doesn't push; she just waits for me to continue.

"They've moved to supportive care," I explain the medical terminology and how they come to these decisions. "Basically, they're out of options. They'll keep her comfortable, but statistically, she won't come out of this."

I trail off, unable to voice the grim reality. Elle leans closer, her shoulder pressing against mine in silent support.

"Oh, Shep," she breathes. "I'm so sorry."

We sit in silence for a moment, watching Opie chase another boy around the playground equipment. His laughter floats back to us, a stark contrast to the heaviness I feel.

I hold back tears. I know she knows it is more about Opie than anything else, but it still feels odd to get emotional about someone I dated to the person I am now dating.

I did care for Ari. We made a really good team with Opie. Fuck, I'm already thinking about her in the past tense. We make a good team. And if I'm being completely honest, she did all of the hard work. She is an amazing mom.

"I don't know how to tell him," I admit, coming back to the present and Elle. My voice cracks, betraying my resolve. "He's so young. How do I explain that his mom might not..." I can't finish the sentence.

Elle's hand moves to my back, rubbing gentle circles. "There's no easy answer," she says softly. "I wish I could be more help to you. Know that I'm here, though."

7:59 pm

I close Opie's bedroom door quietly, my heart heavy. Tonight's bedtime routine felt different, more poignant. I linger over our goodnight hug, breathing in the scent of his hair and savoring the warmth of his small body against mine. The weight of the news about Ari presses down on me, making each step down the stairs feel like a monumental effort.

As I reach the bottom, I spot Elle through the patio doors. She's sitting outside, two glasses of wine on the table in front of her. The sight of her waiting for me brings a small measure of comfort, but I'm not ready to talk just yet.

I step out onto the patio. "Hey," I say softly.

Elle looks up, her eyes full of understanding. "Hey, yourself. I poured you some wine."

I nod, appreciating the gesture. "Thanks, but... I think I need a shower first. Today was... rough."

"Of course," Elle says, her voice gentle. "Take your time."

I run a hand through my hair, suddenly feeling the day’s exhaustion. "Bedtime with Opie was tough tonight. I just need to wash the day off, you know?"

Elle nods. "I understand completely. Go ahead. I'll be here when you're ready."

"Thanks," I murmur, grateful for her patience.

I turn and walk back inside, heading for my bedroom. The promise of hot water and a few moments alone to process everything is calling to me. As I close the bedroom door behind me, I let out a long, shaky breath. The shower can't wash away the decisions I need to make, but maybe it can help clear my head enough to face them.

I stand under the shower, letting the hot water pound against my face. My eyes are closed, the steady stream washing away the day’s tension. For a moment, I can pretend that everything is normal, that I don't have to face the harsh reality waiting for me outside this sanctuary.

Suddenly, I feel a presence behind me. Soft arms wrap around my waist, and I instantly recognize Elle's touch. She doesn't say a word, holds me close, her body pressed against my back.

The tenderness of her embrace breaks something inside me. All the emotions I've been holding back come rushing to the surface. A sob escapes my throat, and then another. I can't stop it now. The tears mix with the shower water as I finally let go of the sorrow I've been carrying since I got the call.

I cry for Opie, for the innocent child who will likely lose his mother. I cry for Ari, lying in a hospital bed with a life cut too short. I cry for myself, for the weight of the decisions I must make and the fear of being unable to do it alone.

Elle doesn't try to quiet me or offer empty platitudes. She just holds me tighter, her presence a silent comfort. Her hands stroke my chest gently, grounding me as I let out all the pent-up grief and worry.

I turn in her arms, burying my face in her neck. She runs her fingers through my wet hair, murmuring soft sounds of comfort. We stand like that for what feels like hours, the water cascading over us both as I embrace the vulnerability.

The water from the showerhead is like a warm embrace, enveloping us both as I turn to face Elle. Her eyes meet mine, filled with understanding and a silent promise of support. At this moment, I need her more than I've ever needed anyone.

I back her up against the cool tile wall, the contrast of temperatures mirroring the intensity of our connection. My hands trace the gentle curves of her body, every hill and valley familiar yet new as if I'm discovering her all over again. She yields to my touch, her body pliant and willing under my command.

I kiss her fiercely, a desperate attempt to convey all the emotions I can't put into words. She responds with equal enthusiasm, our tongues dancing in a rhythm that speaks of raw need and shared desire. My hands tangle in her wet hair, pulling her closer as if trying to merge our very souls.

I spin her around so her back is to me, the water cascading down her slender form. I take a moment to admire the view, the way the droplets cling to her skin, tracing the lines of her body like a lover's caress. I lean in, my breath hot against her ear. "Just let go, Elle," I whisper, my voice husky with desire. "Let me take care of you."

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