The truth was there was no right way to break up with someone. My girlfriend Cammie once told me that in a relationship one always loves the other a little more. And the truth for me was, though I never wanted to be in the wrong position again, I knew the reward of being the one hopelessly in love.
There was no comparison and my heart refused to settle.
I should’ve done this a lot sooner. I hated the way I knew I was making Josh feel more than the idea of the break up. I knew better. I had done this to him. I had strung him along, and I needed to face whatever hurt I caused him. I knew this pain and it surpassed everything else I’d ever felt.
He stopped his pacing to face me. “I didn’t just want to get married. It wasn’t something I had to have. I wanted to marry you. There’s a big fucking difference.” He stood before me, lifting my chin to tilt my head so I was forced to meet his watery eyes. “Don’t do this. Please, baby, I love you,” he pleaded.
“I don’t love you the same way,” I said softly but firmly. “And I think you know that. I think you’ve known it,” I said seeing the truth in his eyes.
“So what if I did? I don’t care,” he said, placing a kiss on my jaw, his arms surrounding me.
“You will, and it’s not fair to me, either.” I stepped out of his grasp then pulled my hair through a tie. “Josh, I’m sorry. I should have done this sooner. I had no right to—”
“Just go,” he said, walking toward his bathroom.
“This is how you say goodbye to me?” I implored with watery eyes, my voice cracking.
He turned in the doorway, his towel still wrapped around him as I admired his chiseled chest. It was impossible not to. “What do you want to hear, Dallas? Oh, I know what you want. ‘We can be friends.’ No, I don’t want to be your fucking friend. I don’t want to talk a few months down the road as if I never loved you, was never inside you. I’m not that guy.”
At least we agreed on that, because I wasn’t that girl, either.
“I understand,” I said with a nod. I looked up at him, seeing the twist in his features that tore a piece of me in half. “I do love you—”
“Don’t you fucking dare,” he hissed before walking into the bathroom and slamming the door.
I understood that, too…all too well. I left with everything I’d ever brought to his place.
My heart plummeted as I walked out of his apartment for the last time. The death of our friendship would have me grieving for a lifetime. I’d just lost him.
Josh.
Dallas
One Month Later
“Dr. Whitaker, what do you see?” Dr. Nichols asked as I studied the recent scan results. “Looks like a cardiac sarcoma stemming from the right aortic valve at least a half inch in diameter.”
“Very good,” he answered.
“I read they were a rarity. What course of treatment would you suggest?” I asked.
“I’ll take this particular case, Dr. Whitaker. We can discuss all of the options and make them together once I get a current health assessment. I am impressed. Most would have diagnosed differently. It is, in fact, a rarity.”
“Thank you,” I said, half-heartedly. I had to remind myself just because I had elected to be a doctor of specialty, I was no specialist yet. He had every right to take this case into his skilled hands. It would all come with time and practice. On the other hand, I had been able to diagnose and treat several cases with the help and governing of several others in the oncology wing. Dr. Nichols gave me a smile before retreating down the hall, and I froze when I saw Dean waiting for me. He was insanely beautiful as he spoke to Beatrice. I had begged the hospital and her both to keep her on my service. She had reluctantly agreed after twenty years on her floor. I hadn’t seen Dean since Rose’s party over a month ago and assumed he was trying to give me some space. As I approached, I smiled at him and he returned it.
“Dallas, do you have a minute?”
“Of course,” I said, giving Beatrice a wink. I led Dean into my office, connecting my tablet to the charger then taking a seat behind my desk.
He shut the door behind him and stood there with his hands behind his back. He was not dressed for work and looked more than appetizing in freshly starched jeans and a button down shirt that matched his eyes. His hair was freshly cut, and I noticed his skin had grown considerably darker.
“I called to apologize to you more than once,” he said dryly, his voice filled with gravel.
“I’ve been busy helping Rose plan her wedding, and with trying to fit in here. I did get your messages.” I shifted uncomfortably under his stare. He was less than pleased with my excuse.
“I’ve just come from my mother’s.”
“Oh, how is she? I wanted to call and ask you—” I cut myself off, knowing he had caught on to the fact that I’d been purposefully avoiding him.