Hi! Thank you for reading! In this chapter and upcoming ones I've tried adding places in that are in Chicago, these won't be correct at all so if you live there I'm really really sorry if I got things wrong. Some of you may know I'm from England so my places of other countries are absolutely terrible, so I do apologise if anything is wrong or very in accurate.
Tris
I put the key in the ignition of my car, an old Honda that Al and I bought when we were first married. I'm suddenly overcome by an unexpected flood of emotions that take me by surprise. Why am I so invested in Dr Tobias Eaton and his career? Why has his cause become mine? It's not just because of the money I owe him. I wish it were that simple.
It's also because of the integrity he's showing in not wanting to harm his ex-lover's children. That really gets to me, especially after he shared what he endured growing up with a cheating father.
The scorching Chicago sunshine quickly makes it necessary for me to turn on the car and the AC, but I sit there for a long time, staring out the window, trying to make sense of everything that's happened over the last twenty-four hours.
When I arrived for the first day of my new job this time yesterday, I was still blissfully unaware that Dr Tobias Eaton was about to upset my well-ordered existence in every possible way. While driving a Porsche and my two trips to jail would be banner headlines at any other time in my life, the fact that I feel a genuine connection to a man for the first time in five long years is the truly remarkable development.
I've often wondered if it would happen again, if I would meet someone who made me feel something. But until yesterday morning, it hadn't happened, despite the enthusiastic efforts of everyone who loves me to find me someone new to love. While I was reluctant to be fixed up on more blind dates than any girl should be forced to endure in a lifetime, I made a genuine effort to connect with each of them, only to be disappointed time and again.
After having had the real thing, I know the difference between something and nothing. How many times have I said just that to my grandmothers, parents, friends and even customers at the restaurant who've become invested in the quest to find me a new man?
My grandmother told me a year or so ago that all the foolishness and fixups are really about making sure I'm ready when the right one comes along. I hadn't thought about it that way before, and those words come back to me now, proving once again how wise Grandma really is.
She, too, was widowed young, although she was almost twenty years older than me when it happened to her. My grandfather died of a massive heart attack at forty-two. My grandma was forty then, with three young children still at home and a broken heart that never healed.
"I don't want you to end up like me, mi amor," she said when I complained to her that I was getting tired of all the first dates I'd been on. "I refused to even consider another man after my sweet Max died. Now, I'm growing old alone, and I wish I'd taken another chance on love."
"You're never alone, Grandma."
"I'm thankful for you and our family all the time. But I don't have to tell you that the love of a beautiful family and friends isn't the same as the love you felt for Al or that I felt for Max. It's just not the same."
No, it isn't the same. Nothing is ever the same after you lose the person you love the most. For a long time after Al died, I wondered if I would survive the loss. The first year was a haze of grief and numbness and nonstop events honoring him and his ultimate sacrifice.
Through it all, my goal was to keep breathing, to keep putting one foot in front of the other, to cope with grief so deep and pervasive I feared it might suffocate me. But it didn't. To my astonishment, I actually survived losing him and was forced to figure out what I was going to do with the rest of my life. That's when I ended up in an undergrad program that later led to a master's in communications.
Thinking about that time, right after we lost Al so suddenly, can still bring tears to my eyes, even after five years. I've learned that you never really get "used to" being without the one you love. But you do learn to live without him, as preposterous as that seemed at the beginning. My love for Al is as present to me today as it was the day he died. It's as much a part of me as the heart that's beat only for him since I was fourteen.
I grip the steering wheel, caught in the web of grief once again as I acknowledge that yesterday, for the first time ever, I felt something for a man who isn't Al. The emotions are complex—confusion, relief, despair, sadness.
Part of me never wanted to move on from him, even if I always knew it would happen eventually. Of course, it probably shouldn't happen with a colleague, but it's comforting to know I still have the capacity to be attracted to a man.
In widow circles, they talk about the "Chapter 2," which is when a widow finds new love. I've read a lot of stories of how people move on to their next love while honoring the one they lost and admire the courage it takes to risk everything once again. Especially knowing what can happen. I haven't given much consideration to whether I would ever have a Chapter 2, or if I even want that.
I snap out of my thoughts sometime later to find that I'm still gripping the steering wheel as I process a fresh wave of the grief and confusion that were my constant companions for so long after that dreadful first day. Not only was I heartbroken for myself and his family, but I was wrecked for him. At twenty-four, he walked into a convenience store, probably to buy gum or Gatorade, and had the rest of his life stolen from him in a random act of violence.
We found out later that the man who shot him had scuffled with police in the past. It was believed that the shooting had nothing to do with Al and everything to do with the uniform he wore. After two years of court appearances and a trial that reopened the healing wound, the man was convicted of murdering a police officer and sentenced to life in prison with no chance of parole.
That was another surreal moment in this never-ending journey, and while we were thankful to see justice done, it was a fresh reminder that nothing would bring Al back.
My phone rings, and I take the call from Tobias. "Hi."
"Hey. Everything okay?"
"Yes, why?"
"You sound weird."
"I only said hi."
"You sound weird."
It astounds me that one word has tuned him in to the fact that I'm not okay. "I'm, uh . . ."
"Do you need me to come get you?"
"No, I don't need you to come get me."
"Why do you sound weird? Did something happen?"
"I'll tell you when I see you."
"Okay," he says hesitantly. "I called to tell you I talked to the insurance company and bought the rider I needed to volunteer, so I'm good to go if the clinic approves our plan."
"That's great news. I pitched it to my friend, who works there, and I'm waiting to hear back."
"Since Mr Andrews assigned you to me, you can help me look at a couple of condos while we wait to hear from your friend, right?"
I'm not sure that spending any more time with him than absolutely necessary to do the job is a good idea, but my boss told me to work with him. "Sure, we can do that. Where should we meet?"
"Come by my hotel?" He gives me an address I recognize near the hospital. "We can park your car, and I'll drive."
I'm afraid to go anywhere near the car that landed me—twice—in jail, but I don't tell him that. "I'll be there in ten minutes."
"Great, see you then. And Tris?"
"Yes?"
"Thanks for all you're doing to help me out."
"Just working off my debt."
He laughs. "I really appreciate it."
"No problem." The sound of his laughter gives me goose bumps. Everything about this man is a problem to me, but I have a job to do, and as long as I stay focused on that, I can keep this situation under control.
At least I hope so.
Tobias
I wait for Tris in the car outside the main door to my hotel. I'm excited to see her again, which is baffling. Three weeks ago, I had my heart crushed by a conniving, manipulative woman who shamelessly used me to advance her own agenda. I have absolutely no business being attracted to or looking forward to seeing any woman, let alone one I work with, but I don't know this city at all and I want to make sure I end up somewhere that makes sense.
While my medical colleagues dated each other like crazy, I stayed away from those complications, even though it's difficult to meet anyone who isn't somehow related to work due to the hours we keep.
Hospitals are full of interpersonal drama—doctors and nurses getting busy with each other is almost a cliché, frowned upon but actively happening. Although I've never known of people having sex in the on-call rooms or storerooms like they do on TV. That's not to say it doesn't happen, but I haven't been aware of it.
Since med school, dating and sex and all the nonsense that goes with them were an afterthought for me, mostly consisting of one-night hookups that never went beyond first names and basic attraction until I met Lauren. Weeks after the disaster, I can't think of her without seething. I've gone beyond the heartbroken stage and am settling into the furious part of the program now.
I've had ample examples in my life of the many ways people can suck, but until she had her wicked way with me, I had no idea how painful it is to be screwed over by a woman. She fucked with my head, my heart and my body, taking full advantage of me while she had me in her clutches. We hooked up at least three times a week for months, most of the time at my place in the city, which I now realize was strategic on her part. Until that fateful night on Long Island when her husband caught us, which was her plan all along.
Why am I still thinking about her and what she did to me? Why can't I just forget about her and move on? Because I loved her. I hate that, but it's true. I totally fell for her. I didn't plan to let that happen. At first, it was about the sex, which was awesome, and later, it became about so much more than that. I could talk to her, and she really listened. A difficult case at work consumed me for months, a child with a brain tumor that resisted all conventional treatment. When I lost that child after a surgery failed, I was despondent.
Lauren came to my place that night, after I told her I wasn't up for getting together. She held me when I bawled from the frustration and despair I felt after not being able to save that little boy's life. She didn't ask me for anything and gave me everything.
How could she do that, knowing our entire relationship was nothing more than a scam? Did she ever care about me at all, or did she only pretend to care so I'd stick around long enough to get caught? I hate that I still wonder if she ever actually gave a shit about me or if the whole thing was nothing more than a big game to her.
I want to stop thinking about her. I want to stop reliving every minute I spent with her and picking it apart, looking for clues that simply weren't there. Or if they were, I never saw them. All I saw was a witty, beautiful, smart, sexy woman who briefly made me a believer in true love and fairy tales.
Such bullshit, which is exactly why I shouldn't be looking forward to seeing Tris or any woman. I don't have the bandwidth at the moment for anything other than doing what I can to salvage the career that is my life. Nothing else but getting that back on track matters, and I need to remember my ultimate goal here.
Tris arrives a few minutes later, driving a navy-blue Honda. I wave to her and point to the free parking area.
A few minutes later, she makes her way toward me. Today she's wearing a black suit with a floral-print silk blouse. Her hair is long and curly, and I'm riveted.
Didn't you just have a talk with yourself about why you can't be riveted by Tris or anyone else?
I did just have that conversation with myself, for all the good it did me. She's beautiful and vibrant and smart as hell. Her story about losing her young husband so tragically moved me last night. I thought about it long after we parted company, wondering what it was like for her to become a widow at twenty-four.
It's horrible to even imagine, way worse than what Lauren did to me. That's nothing compared to what Tris has endured.
She gets into the passenger seat, bringing an alluring scent with her that has the attention of every part of me, despite my determination to steer clear of anything to do with romantic entanglements.
Don't forget, my inner voice reminds me, she's only helping you because she owes you money and her boss told her to.
It's a good reminder that this, whatever this is with her, needs to remain strictly professional.
She puts her seat belt on. "Where to?"
"I'm meeting a Realtor in North Avenue Beach."
Out of the corner of my eye, I catch her frowning.
"What?"
"I didn't take you for a cliché."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"North Avenue Beach? Really?" Every word drips with disdain.
"I asked around. People said that's where the action is."
"If you're twenty-five and looking to party, sure. Do you have any idea what the commute from North Avenue to work would be like on an average workday?"
"Uh, not really."
She shrugged. "If you want to spend an hour bumper to bumper each way, it's your life to waste."
"I usually go to work crazy early and come home super late. I rarely hit rush hour."
"I'm telling you. You don't want to live there."
"And you know me well enough to say that?"
"I do."
I laugh, delighted by her even if I don't want to be. "Where do you think I should live?"
"You should check out Lincoln Park. It's a great part of town, closer to the hospital and not a total zoo like North Beach is."
"I'll ask my Realtor to look there, too, but I can't cancel on her now."
"Then let's go to North Beach, but don't tell me I didn't warn you."
"Duly noted."
It takes two seconds after our arrival for me to realize she's one thousand percent right about North Beach—and the traffic. Even on a Tuesday, it's hopping. I can't imagine what the weekends must be like. The bars are doing land-office business, and the beach area is bustling with people, cars, bikes and joggers. Zoo is definitely a good word to describe it.
In a past life, I would've loved to live here, but not now. When I'm not working, I need a place where I can decompress and relax. That can't happen here.
The condo is located in a high-rise with an incredible ocean view and great amenities. But on the ninth floor, I can hear the street noise, even with the doors and windows closed.
Debbie, the Realtor, is peppy, enthusiastic and probably already calculating her commission on the nine-hundred-thousand-dollar condo that's all glass and hard edges and modern features. I hate to disappoint her. "I'm not feeling this place."
"Oh, thank God," Tris says, breath leaving her in a whoosh of relief.
"You hate it."
"I hate it."
Debbie is clearly offended but keeps that to herself.
"What've you got in Lincoln Park?" I ask her.
"Oh, well, I'd have to look and see what's available."
"I think that'd be better for me. It's closer to work."
"Give me a minute to check the listings."
After Debbie steps into the kitchen to work on her phone, Tris shoots me a smug smile that I find ridiculously adorable—and funny. I love that she's not afraid to tell me how she really feels. That's a refreshing change from women I've known in the past who would say what they thought I'd want to hear rather than sharing their true opinion. I dated one woman in college who never seemed to have an original thought the entire time we were together. She was all about pleasing me, and while that has its advantages, it got boring after a while.
I have a feeling I'd never be bored with Tris, not that I'm planning to date her. I'm just saying . . . She's unique. And so, so pretty in a natural, unaffected way that really appeals to me. She doesn't need layers of makeup to enhance what she was born with.
Why am I thinking about how pretty Tris is, or whether she needs makeup? I'm supposed to be focused on finding a place to live—if I end up with a job here—and restoring my reputation. Once again, I need the reminder that this is not the time to be dazzled by Tris.
"I've got quite a few in your price range, one with excellent views of the Rivers and Lakes," Debbie says from the kitchen, where she's scrolling on an iPad.
Tris gives me a thumbs-up.
So I won't be at the beach. That's fine. I'd hardly ever have time to take advantage of the proximity anyway. "Sounds good."
"Let me check in with some of the listing agents and see what I can do."