Page 7 of The Anniversary Betrayal
“Yeah,” Kingston said, leaning back in his chair. “Trying to get through these notes before morning rounds.”
She stepped inside without waiting for an invitation and set the coffee on his desk. “Figured you could use this.”
“Thanks.” He picked it up, the warmth seeping into his palms. The gesture wasn’t unusual as colleagues often shared coffee but when it came from Rebecca, it felt loaded, like a thread being pulled taut.
She perched on the edge of his desk, arms folded loosely. “You’ve been quiet lately.”
“I’ve been busy.”
“Busy, or avoiding me?”
Kingston’s jaw tightened. “Rebecca…”
Her lips curved into a half-smile. “Relax. I’m not trying to cause trouble. Just—” She paused, her gaze lingering on him. “Sometimes I wonder if we’re pretending too hard that we’re just colleagues.”
Kingston shifted uncomfortably. He remembered their conversation years ago, when she’d first transferred to the hospital. They’d promised themselves they’d be professional. Civil. Nothing more. For the most part, they had been but boundaries blurred over time with their easy banter, the occasional late-night consults, the way her hand brushed his a second longer than necessary when passing charts.
“I’m married,” Kingston said, his voice low.
“I know.” Her eyes didn’t waver. “I’ve known since the moment I walked into this hospital but that doesn’t erase the history between us.”
Kingston swallowed hard, the words he should say slipping further away. “It was a long time ago.”
Rebecca tilted her head, studying him. “So why does it still feel like yesterday?”
Her words pierced something he had buried deep. The memories came unbidden with laughter in the library during med school, their late-night study sessions that turned intotangled sheets, the way she once looked at him like he was her whole world.
He closed his eyes briefly. “Don’t, Rebecca.”
She leaned closer, her voice a whisper. “Don’t what? Pretend this isn’t here? Because it is, Kingston. It always has been.”
The tension in the room thickened, humming between them like static. Kingston stood abruptly, pacing toward the window. He stared out at the city lights, his reflection ghosting in the glass. “I made a choice. Ten years ago, I chose Ashley. I chose this life. I can’t—”
“You can’t or you won’t?”
The question lanced through him. He turned, and Rebecca was standing now, closer than before. The space between them felt fragile, a breath away from breaking.
“Rebecca,” he said, his voice rough. “We can’t.”
She searched his face, her expression softening. “You’re right.” She took a step back, then hesitated. “But tell me you don’t think about it. Tell me you don’t wonder.”
Kingston’s silence betrayed him. He hated himself for it. She closed the gap again, her hand brushing against his arm. The contact was light, but it seared through him. He should pull away. He should step back. Instead, he stayed rooted, the war inside him clawing at both directions.
Rebecca’s eyes lifted to his, searching, waiting and then slowly, cautiously she leaned in. Her lips touched his, soft, fleeting, almost questioning. Kingston froze. His breath hitched. For a moment, he thought he could stop it here, chalk it up to a mistake, push her away but years of suppressed memory, of wondering, of quiet what-ifs crashed over him like a tide. He kissed her back. What began tentativedeepened fast, as though time itself had been holding its breath for this moment. Her hands slid up his chest, gripping the fabric of his shirt. His fingers tangled in her hair, pulling her closer, their bodies fitting together in a rhythm too familiar, too dangerous. The taste of her was both new and achingly old, a reminder of who he had been before Ashley, before kids, before the weight of responsibility anchored him.
“Rebecca—” he gasped between kisses, but his voice carried no conviction.
She silenced him with her mouth, urgency replacing hesitation. Years of longing spilled into the space between them, raw and reckless. He pressed her against the desk, papers scattering to the floor. The kiss grew heated, desperate, a collision of past and present. For a moment, he allowed himself to be consumed by it, to forget the ring on his finger, the woman waiting at home, the children who bore his name but when Rebecca’s fingers fumbled at the buttons of his shirt, reality cracked through. Kingston broke away, chest heaving, his lips swollen, his pulse thundering in his ears.
“We can’t,” he said again, more forcefully this time, though his voice trembled.
Rebecca’s eyes searched his, dark with desire but also glistening with something softer. “I know,” she whispered. “But we already did.”
The words sliced through him. Guilt surged in his chest, suffocating. He stepped back, dragging a hand over his face. “This was a mistake.”
Rebecca’s expression faltered, but she didn’t argue. Instead, she straightened her scrubs, gathering herself. “If that’s what you need to tell yourself.”
She turned, moving toward the door, pausing only once to glance back. “Kingston…you can lie to yourself but you can’t lie to me. I know you still feel it.”
