Not Quite Forever
Page 40

“Yeah. Sorry. I’ve either been working or sleeping.” His voice was flat and the background was filled with noise.
Was it too demanding of her to suggest a text, a quick call? Was admitting she worried about him too big a step? Channeling her latest heroine, Dakota found her backbone. “You know, Ace, a text between shifts so I know you’re alive isn’t a time-intensive activity.”
He paused. “I know. My bad.”
My bad? What are we, sixteen?
“I’m at work. Picked up a shift,” he told her. “I’m going out of town for a few days. Didn’t want you to worry.”
There was a definite chill in his voice as he rattled off his incomplete sentences. “Is everything OK? Any natural disasters I haven’t noticed happening in the world?”
“Nothing like that—”
Dr. Eddy? Dakota heard his name called over the phone.
“I’ve got to go. I’ll let you know when I get back.” Not I’ll call you, not we’ll get together . . . just a let you know.
The back of her throat tightened. “Fine. Be safe, Doc.”
“Yeah . . . you, too.” Then he hung up.
What the hell just happened?
“Did he tell you where he’s going?” Mary asked from across the table.
The pizza between them was getting cold. The go-to food for a breaking heart would normally work wonders. Tonight, the thought of eating mushrooms and pepperoni wasn’t sitting well with her. “No. Just that he was going.”
“Maybe he’ll call you later with details.”
“He won’t. I’ve heard this before, Mary. He was cold.”
“Hmm . . .” Mary hummed over the bite of pizza. “How does that make you feel?”
“Like shit. Like I’m being dumped.” Dakota picked up her whiskey and downed the glass. Even that tasted like crap. “Don’t turn that psych shit on me. I need my friend, not the therapist.”
Mary dropped the pizza on her plate. “I know. I’m sorry. With me, you get both. I don’t know how to turn it off.”
“You’re supposed to tell me I’m overthinking this, or call him a dumbass. His loss. Anything.” Damn the moisture gathering in her eyes.
“You’re not overthinking this and you have the right to feel hurt.” Mary placed a hand over hers and squeezed. “If Walt is dumping you, then he is a dumbass. A dickless asshat who can’t even tell you. And if I see him again I’ll tell him that.”
“Yeah.” She hated tears. Hated them. But her friend was finally getting it. “Dickless asshat.” Dakota tried to laugh but failed.
“He might have a reason—”
Dakota snapped her hand away. “No psych shit. Stick with dumbass, counselor.”
“Fine . . . but—”
“Mary! I’m warning you. I’m wallowing and need you to wallow with me.” Dakota moved to Mary’s fridge, opened the freezer. She grabbed the ice cream that Mary never did without before pulling a spoon from the utensil drawer.
“Wow, you really are wallowing. There’s lots of refined sugar in that, Dakota.”
“Yeah, well . . . tonight I don’t care. A proper sulk needs ice cream.” She ripped off the top of the carton and dug straight into the mix. It hit her tongue and the smooth texture melted in her mouth. “God, this is good.”
Mary was staring at her.
Dakota shoveled in another spoonful. “I need to stock up on this.”
Mary’s hand stopped Dakota’s from devouring another bite. “Dakota, you’re scaring me.”
“It’s this or whiskey.”
Mary let her hand go.
“I thought so.”
San Antonio was hot, humid, and just this side of a smoldering death. But Donald Klein had arranged this meeting at the central headquarters. A place where the weather, albeit sucky in the summer, seldom had issues the rest of the year.
Walt was 1,200-plus miles away from California . . . from Dakota.
He thought of texting her, calling her, daily. He didn’t.
He listened to Donald’s proposal, met with different members of Borderless Doctors, and went through a lengthy interview process.
Juggling an ER job full-time while taking on this charge wouldn’t be possible. Yeah, he could moonlight, but anything other than a temporary fill-in for his current job wouldn’t work.
When Walt had first started with Borderless Doctors, he knew he wanted more. He loved the ER, loved the autonomy of walking away from his patients at the end of a shift, learning from them, and moving on.
What Donald was suggesting sounded perfect.
He could live anywhere so long as an airport was nearby. And with the Fairchilds on board with emergency flight plans, Walt could take his pick of locations.
So why am I hedging?
Because being a nomad, someone without any roots, shook him. Running off to the next disaster always had an end. Taking this job without a home base would feel a lot like being on a constant rotating coaster . . . chaos.
“Can I be honest with you?” Donald asked over the dinner they were both enjoying on Walt’s last night in Texas.
“I would hope you know to be honest by now.”
“I thought you’d already be signing the contract.”
Walt placed his fork down. “I’m seriously considering it.”
“What’s keeping you back?”
“Nothing,” he lied. “I want to consider everything. Now, tomorrow . . . ten years from now.”