Resisting Cassidy (A Forbidden Romance)

Tate

"You're still here?"

It took a moment to realize someone had spoken. Had I just shut my eyes? When did she get here?

"Yeah..." I shot a strained smile at my colleague. "Got some paperwork to look over." I raised the stack of reports I grabbed from my office. In hopes of reading over it with a cup of disgustingly crappy coffee from the staff kitchen, I'd sat down with it on my lap and had promptly fallen asleep.

Gillian, a top notch oncologist, crossed her arms and raised a brow at me. "You should go home, Tate." She was every bit the tough mother hen everyone had described. And she had no qualms giving anyone shit, regardless of age.

"I'm fine. Just need coffee." Walking over to the countertop, I poured a cup of the coffee I brewed when I came in to the kitchen. To prove a point, I sipped from the chipped cup and made a humming sound, forcing my tired eyes to widen.

She shook her head and pushed off the doorway. "Don't make me drag you outta here," she warned in a tone that discouraged arguments.

"It's still early. I have time." I drank from the cup again, grimacing at the bitter burnt taste.

"When was the last time you slept?"

"Five minutes ago." Cue forced smile.

"In your own bed?"

My eyes wandered away from her, unable to face the truth myself, and kept my hands busy by dumping a few teaspoons of sugar into my cup.

"I thought so." Gillian clicked her tongue. "You have to go home, Tate. Don't make me tell on you. Don't turn me into that person."

I ground my teeth together and scrubbed a hand over my face, over the scruff on my jaw I had continued to ignore . "Yeah. Yeah. Maybe you're right."

"I know I am. Now get!" She tapped my upper arm with an open hand before directing me to the door.

After pouring the coffee down the drain—where it belonged— I waved her good night. I grabbed my jacket off the hook in my office and stuffed the reports in my backpack, telling myself I'd read them at home. Maybe they'd put me to sleep while in bed. I checked my phone for any messages and my chest constricted after not finding any.

I miss her. I miss them.

I waved goodbye to the staff still left working at one in the morning at the hospital. My last surgery had taken six hours, and tomorrow was supposed to be my day off. One of many I didn't care to take. Not rushing, I took longer to drive out of the parking lot and onto the road home.

Home. God, the word felt so empty.

I'd spent two days in the hospital after the fight, not that I healed that quickly—I didn't possess any superpowers, but I was going out of my mind. Staying still, sitting, lying down when there was more out there. I had people to see and talk to, deal with, ask for forgiveness. My daughter who I'd refused to see while I was in a bad state was on top of that list. My ex-wife who had sent messages after messages about nothing in particular except to scathingly accuse me of everything wrong with the world. Cassie and her parents. Jason. On top of that, I had a job to do.

And I'd been laying on a bed that someone else worse off than me could use. When I decided to go home, no one had tried to stop me. The Dean of Medicine, my boss, had given me a couple more days to return to work, "sort my shit out" as she'd plainly stated and let my swollen face heal. Despite everything, and thankfully so, there wasn't much damage to my hands.

Looking back now, I wished I'd stayed in the hospital longer. Maybe I could've prolonged the wait. Staved off the emptiness.

It had been weeks since I flew back with Maddy to Miami, leaving her with her mother. Although I'd managed to talk to her every single day, every chance I got, it wasn't enough. She belonged at home with me, here. Not with Cindy. But I had to bide my time.