Love You More(54)

“It should,” Greer says.

Lesli shoots her a look.

“She said she wanted honesty!” Greer says. “And my honest opinion is that Mick should have custody. Sole custody. He already lives there, and he’s willing and able to do it. Problem solved.”

“Yes, he could do it,” I say. “And he’d be wonderful. But Phoebe lost her mother—my closest childhood friend—not her father.”

“Billie, c’mon. You’d still be in the picture. You could go there for five-day blocks,” Greer says. “I just think you need to think long and hard before you uproot two lives—especially since you’re not even married yet.”

I turn to Lesli. “What do you think?”

“I think it’s an impossibly hard choice,” she says. “I also think you need to trust your compass. You’ll find the right answer. Whatever you choose, we’ll build around it.”

“Yes,” Greer says. “Of course we will.”

“Thank you,” I say, thinking of how much I’d miss them—the quiet moments in the staff kitchen, our Saturday walks, our martini toasts.

My gaze drifts out the window to the Empire State Building, glowing in the dark.



* * *



— I get home just after ten. As I step into my apartment, the blue glare of a laptop spills across the living room. I look over and see Dean on the sofa in sweatpants and a T-shirt.

“You’re still up?” I say, knowing it’s past his bedtime.

“I wanted to see you.”

I slip off my shoes and cross the room, sitting next to him and tucking in close.

“How was dinner?” he asks.

“It was nice. We managed to get Lesli tipsy—so mission accomplished.”

He smiles. “And Greer?”

“She’s good. Just rotating through Raya matches like it’s her fellowship.”

“That girl will never settle down,” he says with a laugh.

We sit in silence for a moment.

“So how was your day?” I ask.

“Let’s see…two GSWs before lunch. But the headliner was a rebar skewering.”

“Ugh. What happened?”

“A construction guy dropped two stories—steel rod went through his clavicle. We had to hacksaw it in three spots just to clear the CT gantry.”

“Shit.” I wince. “Did he make it?”

“Yeah. He’s in the ICU with a chest tube and a mile of vascular repairs. But so far, so good.”

“Nice work,” I say.

He looks at me, serious. “Did you discuss the custody stuff with your friends?”

“Yeah.”

“And?”

“Lesli was supportive. Greer was wary.”

“Wary how?”

“She doesn’t think we should move there. She thinks Mick should do it since he’s already there.”

“That’s crossed my mind, too,” he says. “On paper, it makes sense.”

“Oh?” I ask. “Did you change your mind?”

“Not at all. I’m in for whatever you decide.” He gestures toward his laptop. “I was just doing some research—”

“Research on what?”

“Hospitals. Froedtert looks solid.”

“Yeah. It’s a Level I trauma center with strong academic ties.”

“It doesn’t have the history or gravitas of Bellevue, but if you judge by Vizient or CMS, Froedtert probably comes out ahead. Smaller catchment, but the outcomes speak.”

“Wow,” I say, staring into his eyes. “You really are serious.”

“When have you ever known me to be anything else?”

“True.” I smile.

“It wouldn’t be a walk in the park. Credentialing could take a few months and I’d lose seniority. Nights could ramp up.” He pauses. “But we’re getting married, Billie. Where you go, I go.”

“Thank you, Dean,” I say.

Underneath the gratitude, a small fear thrums: What if he resents me later?

“Let’s just keep thinking it over for a couple weeks,” I say. “Until the spelling bee.”

“Okay, baby,” he says, kissing the top of my head. “About that.”

I meet his gaze.

“I called Bobby,” he says. “I told him I can’t make the wedding.”

“Dean,” I say. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“It’s the right thing,” he says, his voice low but resolute. “I shouldn’t have let you go to Erin’s funeral alone. I’ll always regret that. It’s time I met this little girl.”

I stare into his eyes, overwhelmed. “You’re going to love her.”

“I know I will.”

“And she’s going to love you,” I say.





Chapter 31


The days click by one chart at a time, and the nights compress into quiet hours—shared meals, low lights, bedtime rituals. Meanwhile, Mick and I trade a stream of texts about logistics, legalities, and day-to-day details of Phoebe’s life. Most evenings, the two of them FaceTime me at bedtime so I can tell her good night.