Page 40 of Stuck with Doctor Grump

“You make me want things, Damien. And then you leave me standing in the middle of them alone.”

“I never meant to leave you.”

“But you do. Over and over. With silence. With doubt. With that look you get like you’re already halfway gone.”

I swallowed hard. “Because I’m terrified.”

She blinked.

“You scare me,” I said, stepping closer. “You make me want things I swore I didn’t need anymore. A life. A home. Someone to wake up beside who doesn’t just admire what I do—but sees me. All of me. And still stays.”

She whispered, “I do see you.”

My heart felt like it might split open in my chest.

“I’ve spent years being the guy with answers. In hospitals. In surgery. In grief. I knew my purpose. I was useful. Predictable. Respected.”

She tilted her chin. “But not happy.”

“No,” I admitted. “Not happy.”

The night wind rustled the ivy-covered trellis behind her. The smell of roses and something citrusy—hers—hung in the air between us.

“I love you, Damien.”

My breath caught.

She said it like it had been waiting to break free. Like it hurt to say. Like it hurt more not to.

“I do,” she continued, voice shaking. “And if you leave, I’ll survive. I’ve survived worse. But if you stay…” She took a step forward. “If you stay, maybe—just maybe—we both get to stop surviving and actually start living.”

I stood frozen, words caught behind the tidal wave rising in my throat. I couldn’t speak. Couldn’t think. Her eyes searched mine for something—hope, maybe. Or the courage I hadn’t yet found.

But I didn’t give it to her.

So, she gave me a sad, soft smile instead—the kind you give someone right before goodbye.

And then she walked past me, barefoot on the flagstone path, into the soft shadows of the courtyard, and disappeared back inside the party.

I didn’t stop her.

I turned toward the roses and braced my hands on the wrought-iron railing, her words echoing in my ears like a vow and a dare all at once.

I love you. I do. But if you stay…

Behind me, the music swelled into the slow dance. A song I didn’t recognize. A rhythm I couldn’t follow.

Because the only beat I could hear now was the echo of her footsteps, walking away.

Chapter eleven

Ruby

I ducked behind the velvet curtain at the edge of the stage, heart pounding like I’d just sprinted barefoot across Cedar Springs with nothing but a daisy crown and a bad idea.

The gala buzzed on the other side of the curtain—laughter, clinking glasses, the faint hum of the quartet. But back here, it was quiet. Too quiet. The kind of quiet where thoughts multiply like dust bunnies and regrets come to party.

My heels wobbled on the uneven floorboards, and I clutched the edge of a folding chair like it might save me from the weight of what I’d just done.

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