Page 36 of Where We Belong

Tonight is the first time I’ve realized I altered my entire life for them. Who does that? Someone very, very stupid and blinded by love.

When I get home, I search “how to stop loving someone” and fall down an internet rabbit hole. Many of the sites I visit have one thing in common. They recommend closure.

Since I don’t have much to do I… do something stupid. I text Benedict so I can get some kind of closure or… I need that guy who’ll come running because I had a crappy date. The guy who’ll hold my hair if I have the flu and am puking up my guts. Honestly, I’m not sure why I did it, but instead of asking for closure outright, I started the message the way I used to, before things went bad between us.

Big mistake.

Huge mistake.

Now he’s outside my door wanting to talk.

I can’t ignore him. He knows I’m here and is paying my niece, Kenzie, so she can babysit Bernie—on a school night.

New plan:I’ll hear Benedict out, then request my heart back in some symbolic way. Should I just confess I was in love with him?

No, I can’t make myself that vulnerable.

Another knock sounds at the door, his voice muffled. “Cory…”

I sigh, smoothing my expression before swinging the door open. “Here goes nothing,” I whisper.

“Hi, thank you for opening the door,” Benedict says, relief flashing across his face as he steps inside. His eyes drink me in like a man finding an oasis in the desert.

I fold my arms over my chest. “I don’t know why you had to rush over.”

“You sounded upset earlier. Among other things, I wanted to check on you,” he explains.

I huff impatiently. “It wasn’t anything serious. We aren’t even really friends, Benedict.”

That’s just like Benedict—he’ll drop everything and rush to the side of whoever needs him the moment something goes wrong. Even after all this time, he’s never been able to bear the thought of anyone being alone. That’s probably why he was one of the best surgeons and now a great family doctor.

I think back to all the times over the years when he’s shown up, no questions asked, just because he assumed I needed him. Like the time I shattered my arm skiing in Steamboat with my cousins. He flew in that very night to help me while I was there and to bring me home. Or when my first big relationship imploded in my second year of college, and he was at my door with ice cream and watched rom-coms with me to cheer me up.

But that’s how Ben is with anyone. If one of his friends is at their lowest, Benedict appears to lift them back up. He’ll drop everything because he’s that kind of guy. If it’s me, he never judges or says empty platitudes—just lets me rage and cry until I’m spent. He’s always there with warm bear hugs, gentle advice, and reassurances that I’ll get through whatever happened to me.

There were times I believed he was attuned to my pain—that he’d drop everything just for me. That made me fall madly in love with him, and of course, I wished he’d fall for me the same way. This is why I can’t move on.

Benedict fucking Farrow acts like we share some bone-deep connection. But that’s just my fantasy. The truth is, helping people comes as naturally as breathing to him. He’ll always be the first to anyone’s rescue, not just mine. That’s what makes him a great doctor.

Poor Cordelia Spearman, she’s starving so much for love and attention that thought she could be important to a man like Benedict.

“I’m fine, you can go,” I say sharply, irritated he’s making me question my resolve. It’s not his fault I misunderstand his intentions every single time he comes to my rescue.

“Though, I’m glad to learn that this asshole didn’t break your heart,” Benedict says, “I’m here for more than just him.”

I frown. “Well, I can’t watch Bernie anymore if that’s what you want.”

He nods slowly. “I understand, but may I ask why you stopped suddenly?”

I sigh, hugging myself. “We were getting too close. She was confused about who I am to her. It’s best if I keep my distance.”

“I handled that poorly,” Benedict says quietly. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine. You always put her first. That’s one thing I admire about you,” I admit reluctantly.

“Not always,” he argues. “You and Bernie are equals in my life, just in different ways.”

I scoff bitterly. “What does that even mean?”

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