Page 55 of The Promises We Broke
"Is it?" Xander's voice was gentle but persistent. "Because you've been standing at this window every morning for two weeks, watching him work with Laura like you're afraid to miss a single moment of his recovery."
Heat flooded my cheeks. I'd been telling myself I was just ensuring continuity of care, maintaining professional oversightduring the transition period. All lies. I was here because I missed being part of his healing journey. Missed the quiet conversations during therapy, the way he said my name like something precious, the moments when his guard would drop and I'd see glimpses of the boy I'd once known.
"I miss working with him," I admitted quietly. "Is that pathetic? Missing the professional relationship I had to end for ethical reasons?"
"It's honest." Through the window, Gage looked up suddenly, his eyes finding mine across the glass. The surprise and hope that crossed his features made my heart clench. He lifted his hand in a small wave, and without thinking, I waved back.
Laura noticed immediately, following his gaze to the window, and her face broke into a knowing smile.
"I need to go," I said abruptly, turning away from the window.
"Billie..."
"I have patients to see," I said over my shoulder, already heading for the door.
But I couldn't escape the image of his smile, or the way he'd looked at me through that window like I was exactly what he'd been hoping to see.
Three days later, Blake cornered me at my house with a bottle of wine and a look that brooked no argument.
"Emergency girls' night," she announced, pushing past me into my living space. "Non-negotiable."
"I don't need..."
"You've been moping around town like a kicked puppy for three weeks," she interrupted, setting the wine on my kitchen counter and fixing me with a stare. "Emma saw you standing outside the rehabilitation center yesterday morning, just staring at the building. Your aunt mentioned you've been taking the long way to avoid driving past Booker's ranch. And Delaney said youactually turned around and left the grocery store when you saw Gage in the produce section."
Heat flooded my cheeks. "I forgot my shopping list."
"Bullshit." Blake pulled two wine glasses from my cabinet like she owned the place. "You're running from him, and everyone in town can see it."
I accepted the glass of wine she offered, mostly because I needed something to do with my hands. "I'm not running. I'm maintaining appropriate boundaries while he recovers."
"By hiding?" Blake settled onto my couch, tucking her legs under her. "Come on, Billie. This is me. I know what it looks like when someone's terrified of their own feelings."
I joined her on the couch, curling up in the corner with my wine. The truth was, I had been avoiding him. Ever since our conversation at the house, since we'd agreed to try being friends, I'd been second-guessing every interaction, every professional decision, every moment of concern that went beyond appropriate boundaries.
"It's complicated," I said finally.
"How complicated can friendship be?"
"That's just it." I took a larger sip of wine than was probably wise. "I don't think I know how to be just friends with Gage Farrington. We were never just friends, even as kids. There was always something more underneath, even when we were too young to understand what it was."
Blake's expression softened. "And now?"
"Now I'm terrified that trying to be friends with him is just going to lead us both somewhere we're not ready to go." I stared into my wine glass, watching the liquid swirl. "I can't be objective about his recovery, Blake. When he's in pain, I want to fix it. When he makes progress, I'm prouder than I should be. When he smiles, really smiles, not just that careful expression he wears around everyone else, I feel like I could fly."
"That sounds like..."
"That sounds like I care too much about a man who broke my heart once and could do it again," I interrupted. "A man who's still figuring out his own life, still healing from his own trauma. A man who might decide Willowbrook isn't home after all."
Blake was quiet for a moment, studying my face. "He bought a house, Billie. He's not leaving."
"But what if he does?" I countered. "What if I let myself hope, let myself care, let myself believe that we could build something real together, and then he disappears again? I barely survived it the first time."
"You were seventeen then. You're not the same person you were eleven years ago."
"Neither is he." I finished my wine and set the glass aside. "That's what scares me most. What if the boy I fell in love with is gone? What if the man he's become is someone I don't even know?"
"Or what if he's someone even better than the boy you remember?"
