"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.
I'd met with Jason a couple of times to discuss Maddy's custody and what I wanted, and what Cindy demanded. To no one's surprise, Cindy wanted more money. In return, she'd gladly hand me my daughter back, like she was some borrowed item. Jason managed to convince Cindy to hire a nanny for Maddy, someone who'd in fact take care of our daughter while she was in Miami. Added to my expenses, of course. I didn't care of the cost, needing to know Maddy was safe and cared for. She'd hired a middle-aged Mexican woman we had both vetted. Someone who was kind enough to let me speak with Maddy while they were out.
"She's teaching me Spanish!" Maddy had proudly announced during one of our FaceTime calls. "And she made new clothes for Vanessa!" she added, showing off her doll's new duds.
I 'd been pleased with this progress, but each and every single time, before we signed off, Maddy would ask about Cassidy, telling me she'd missed her.
"I miss her, too," I'd replied, careful not to sound too overwhelmingly sad. The last thing I wanted was to worry my own daughter.
Cassie made the right decision, I told myself again as I entered the dark living room. One day, I'd believe myself.
Leaving for New York was what we'd agreed on. It was for her own future. I promised her everything would be fine between us.
Fine.
What a horribly lacking word.
But as the weeks went by and the times we'd chatted had dwindled down to almost nonexistent, between both our busy schedules, I began to wonder what in the world had I been thinking.
Why did I let her go?
Her family seemed to be delighted with the results. I managed to avoid most of them. Her brother Hunter and his family returned to New York City and Cassie now lived with them. Not knowing exactly where Hunter sat in the pro-Tate or against Tate camp, it had put a strain on my relationship with Cassidy.
In the dim house, I poured myself three fingers of Makers Mark, left my bag on the floor, reports forgotten, and dragged my ass to my bedroom, with the half-full bottle in my hand. Passing by Maddy's empty room stabbed at my heart. This was where she belonged. Her stick figure drawings and Jackson Pollock-like paintings dressed the walls. The large canvas paintings she'd created with Cassidy and me one summer afternoon adorned my bedroom wall, where I could stare at it while I pretended to sleep.
Two more steps and I faced Cassie's bedroom door. How many times had I gone in there, almost expecting her to be asleep in her bed, in her little shorts that teased me to no end and drove all the blood to my groin? Waiting for me to come home from work? Waiting for me to carry her to my bed? Our bed.
I didn't open her door and went straight to my bedroom, thinking I should have fought harder for her, for us, and arguing with myself out loud, "This was what she wanted."
"If I don't go, my family will never believe I've grown up," she'd told me the night she packed her things. I'd watched her in silence, unable to say a thing.
At least she had waited until I returned from Miami. She didn't just disappear without saying good bye, without that last kiss, the last time I tasted her, held her.
Stay danced on the tip of my tongue.
The moment she took her clothes out of the dresser was the moment I knew I lost.
"We'll be fine, you said so yourself," she said more at the clothes she was folding and packing than to me.
I wasn't fine. I hadn't been fine since that night. Tilting the lip of the glass against my mouth, I emptied it and let the liquid burn down to my gut. Wincing, I poured more. I toed my shoes off, not bothering to undress out of the day's work clothes and lay on top of the unmade bed.
Would she be awake in her new bedroom in New York City, thinking of me? Did she feel a gaping hole in her heart, too?
Did she miss me?
Did she still l—
Stop. No, I couldn't go there. I wouldn't go there again. The first and last time I'd asked myself that I found myself nearly insane.
I forced myself to eat because I needed to stay somewhat healthy for work. I forced myself to sleep—with liquid help most nights—because I had to stay sharp for my patients. Losing my job wasn't a choice. Cassidy might've stopped wanting me but I had my daughter to think about.
I'd lost count how many times I'd poured the ochre drink in my glass before I finally fell into a slumber.
***
With hands in fists, I jolted awake and right out of bed. My head throbbed and my mouth tasted like shit.
"What the fuck?" I yelled at the empty space.
Something had woken me up. I shot a glare at my bedside. 11:16 blared in red. Slipping my hand into my pocket expecting to find my phone but knowing it wouldn't be there. The bed was a mess, and I could spot the corner of my phone under a pillow. The liquor bottle lay empty on the floor. Scrubbing a hand through my hair, I reached for my phone with the other, and saw it had died at some point in the night.
What woke me?
"You're alive then!" the voice from the door caused me to whip around, the room spinning as I'd done so.
I steadied my feet, grunting at my intrusive guest. "Yeah, of course I am." Shucking my work shirt off, I passed Jason, and stomped down the hallway. "How did you get in?"
Jason followed me to the kitchen. I could feel his gaze boring a hole on me. "You look like shit."
I scoffed and ground my teeth together. it would do no good to blame him for my state these days. It wasn't his fault.
"Why are you here?" The few times we met were all business. Ignoring the fact he somehow broke into my house, I wasn't sure if this was a social visit.
Jason stared at me, a frown deepening between his brows. He shook his head and ignored my question, walking toward the cupboard like he owned the house.
"How did you get in?" I asked since he ignore the last one.
"Your door was unlocked." Jason opened and closed the cupboard doors, taking items out—coffee jar, filter, sugar, cups, saucers. He opened the jar of coffee grounds and sniffed it before scooping a few spoonfuls into the filter he'd placed in the coffee maker basket. Once he was done, he opened the fridge door, continuing to ignore the fumes coming out of my ears. Hell, if he so wished to make me coffee and breakfast out of guilt, who was I to stop him?
After shrugging out of his suit jacket, and folding it over the kitchen counter, he rolled both of his sleeves up to his elbows and tucked the ends of his tie under his shirt. The whole time he cracked and beat eggs in a bowl, he glared at me.
"Yeah yeah. I look like shit. You said that already." I scratched my beard and tugged the ends of my greasy hair.
"After breakfast I'm sending a cleaner here." He made a big gesture of pointing out the mess that was my life. "I'll ask her to stock your fridge too, but you'll have to provide a list for her." Jason turned around to start cooking on the stove. "Let her know what Maddy likes to eat."
My spine straightened as I raised my head and stared at the back of his. "What..."
"She's coming home."
"What? When?" I had to admit I sounded more angry than thrilled.
"I tried calling earlier. All you have to do is sign some paperwork, book you and her a flight and she could be home this time tomorrow." Listening intently, I watched his back as he cooked what I assumed was an omelet.
"Are you serious?"
He took a couple of plates out, set them in front of us before turning again to shut off the stove and serve the omelet.
Finally, he nodded. "You gotta get your shit together before she gets here. Maybe shave that pathetic bush you're growing on your face."
Despite the jab at how I looked, I wanted to hug the guy. My relationship with Cassie had put a strain on my relationship with her brother, my best friend, expectedly so. Rightly so. But it wouldn't erase what happened between us. It wouldn't stop me from loving Cassidy. Even with this bit of good news, I didn't know where Jason and I stood.
He handed me a fork. Might as well be an olive branch. "We good?" he asked.
I shrugged. "Depends how good this omelet is."
"Ungrateful fucker." He chuckled, and stabbed a piece of egg and cheese with his fork. And just like that I knew we were okay.
If only every thing else was that easy to fix.
Jason and I spent the whole day preparing for Maddy's arrival. The housekeeper he hired came and made a drastic, much needed change to my house—clean and organized. After a visit to my barber for a cut and a shave, I helped her do groceries and shop for other essentials. Jason stayed at the house to book the flights. As he handed me a late lunch, perfectly grilled burgers on potato buns, he explained everything I needed to know about the custody. As expected, Cindy had put a fight but only so she could squeeze more money out of me, or to piss me off. Or both.
By the end, I didn't care what she demanded. My daughter was coming home.
Throughout the day, all I could think to do was call Cassidy and tell her. But I didn't. Couldn't.
After Jason left and I was once again alone in my house, trying to force myself to sleep, I thought of Cassidy. I swiped at the screen on my phone until I was staring at her photograph. Judging by the angle, Maddy had taken the picture with my phone. The sun was behind Cass and it created a glow around her. Her smile was relaxed, almost playful, like she'd known I would one day be looking at it with longing. Her cheeks were pink. Her lips full and red as though she'd just been kissed.
With a sigh, I began crafting a message to her. But before I could send it, one came through.
Cassidy: I just heard the good news. Why didn't you tell me?
I deleted my carefully crafted text and typed a new one.
Tate: I was about to.
Tate: Been busy all day getting the house ready.
Tate: Sorry.
I love you. I miss you. I want you back here with me. With us.
Cassidy: Please give her a big hug for me.
Tate: Of course.
And that was it. That was the extent of our relationship these days. I played with my phone, wanting to say more. Wanting to hear more from her. Nothing else came.
Was this it for us?
I willed myself to sleep, hugging my phone to my chest like a damn lovesick puppy. When it started vibrating, it gave me a shock, pulling me out of a dream of happy times with Cassidy and my daughter. My family complete. Briefly, I didn't know where I was. I answered the phone gruffly, pinching my eyes closed.
"I woke you up," Cassidy stated the obvious, being as it was well after midnight and I had to be up and at the airport in a few hours. "I'm sorry." The sadness in her voice cut deep, taking a hold of my heart.
"No. No, it's fine. I'm up." Silence followed. Heavy on us both, digging its roots into my gut. She sniffled, and I sat up, rubbing sleep off my eyes. "Everything okay?"
"Yeah. No, I..." I wanted to reach in and hold her. "I miss you. I miss you so much," she said in a sob. "I've been sitting here staring at my phone since my last text to you. I've typed and deleted. It's ridiculous." She laughed a little, the kind of laugh that was more sad than happy. "I've wanted to tell you so much. About work and the kids, but I've been busy and you've been busy and you have this thing with your ex-wife. And Maddy..."
"Cass, it's okay. I understand. I've wanted to talk to you too."
"Do you? Really?" Her insecurity in me, in us echoed my earlier thoughts.
"Of course I do." Exhale. "I do. I really do." And I've never meant more in my life. "I love you and I miss you like hell. You have no idea, Cass. I've missed you so much."
More sniffles. "Are we gonna be okay?"
"Yes. It's a little tough right now, but I meant what I said. I'll wait for you here whenever you're ready to come back. I have to get Maddy settled here for a while."
"I'm so happy she'll be home with you. I hated knowing you're all alone there." Calmness enveloped in warmth took the edge off her voice. I heard shuffling on the other line, and I imagined her settling in bed with me.
"I've been sleeping at work," I said truthfully. I didn't know which was worse. "Another doctor at the hospital had to kick me out." I laughed as I slowly leaned my head on my pillow.
"That's not good. What's wrong with your bed?"
"Other than you not being in it?"
"We didn't really do much sleeping on your bed."
I chuckled at her innuendo. My Cassie. "So tell me about work." With a quick loud inhale and exhale, she shared her days with me, moments with "her" kids. She told me about coworkers who welcomed her readily in the fray. Told me about having to deal with high maintenance parents expecting a world of knowledge from their young children. Cass spoke about New York City in her own vibrant way. About the new friends she'd made. I joked about being careful with her male friends, implying thickly that I was jealous. She told me I had nothing to worry about.
I wanted to believe her. I should believe her. But something felt incomplete.
After tossing and turning in bed for half an hour, I gave up and prepared for a full day of flights to and back from Miami. I couldn't have Cassie with me, but I was ready for my daughter.
***
A/N: We're almost at the end of the story! I'm hoping to credit this book then start a new one about Cassie's friend. We're following the older man trope. I think you'll like it. Stay tuned!