Yours, by Choice

By three in the morning, Leah Carter had learned two things about her boyfriend: he had another girlfriend, and neither woman was prepared to take him home. He was behind a curtain in Bellhaven General's emergency department, demanding a better surgeon. The other woman had stopped crying long enough to ask for a phone charger. Leah sat beneath a poster explaining the symptoms of a stroke. One of her heels was broken. Her red dress smelled of the wine Adrian had knocked across the table when she'd walked into his apartment. She had taken a cab there with dinner. That detail kept coming back. The stupid, careful decision to get the sauce on the side because he'd once complained that it made the noodles soggy. Across the corridor, the other woman accepted a tissue from a nurse. "We've been together for four years," she said. Leah looked at her. "He told me three months. Apparently he's bad at numbers. Odd career choice." "He said you wouldn't leave him alone." "He can explain that when he stops screaming." An orderly passed between them with an empty wheelchair. Leah moved her bad shoe out of the way. The other woman's face crumpled again. Leah almost felt sorry for her. Then she remembered the woman standing in Adrian's doorway, wearing his shirt, telling Leah to have some dignity. "Ms. Carter?" A nurse approached with a clipboard. "Can you tell me how the injury happened?" Leah rubbed the dried wine on her wrist. "He grabbed my arm when I tried to leave. I told him to let go. He didn't. I pulled away and kneed him." "And then?" "He fell against the table. I called an ambulance." The nurse wrote it down without comment. Leah appreciated that more than sympathy. "Security may need to speak with you." "I'll be here." She couldn't afford another cab yet. The last one had taken the money she'd set aside for her phone bill. Beyond the curtain, Adrian raised his voice. "Do you know who my uncle is?" "At the moment," said a man, "I'm more interested in your scan." Leah's fingers stopped moving against her wrist. Ten years had changed the voice a little. Lower now. Rough at the edges, as if its owner had been woken from a deep sleep and resented the entire city for it. She knew it anyway. The curtain opened. Julian Ward stepped into the corridor with another doctor beside him. For one absurd second, Leah noticed his hair. He used to keep it brutally short. Now it was long enough to fall out of place, and one dark strand had escaped above his forehead. Then he looked at her. The second doctor kept talking. Something about a theater being ready. Julian didn't answer immediately. She drew her bad foot beneath the chair. A dark stain had dried along the hem of her dress; she folded it under with her thumb. "Leah," he said. She stood because remaining seated felt worse. The broken heel tipped under her weight. She caught the arm of the chair. His gaze dropped to her shoe, then returned to her face. "Hi, Julian." "Dr. Ward?" the other doctor prompted. Julian turned. "I'll be there in a minute." He was wearing dark scrubs under an unfastened coat. No wedding ring. She looked back at his face before he could notice where her eyes had gone. "Are you hurt?" he asked. "Not enough to need you." His expression closed by a fraction. She held up her wrist. "Wine. That's all." There were red marks beneath it where Adrian had held her. She lowered her hand before Julian could get a better look. The woman across the corridor rose. "Doctor, I'm Adrian's partner. Can I come with him?" Julian looked between them. "He's awake," he said. "He can tell the nurse who he wants contacted." Leah picked up her bag. "Excellent. Then he can call someone who cares." Julian moved aside to let her pass. "Thanks," she said, pulling her sleeve over her wrist. She made it past him without touching the wall. Around the corner, she stopped and eased the broken shoe off her foot. "Security asked you to wait," he said. "I'm going to the vending machine. Unless buying crackers is evidence tampering." He glanced at the end of the corridor. "The machine on this floor takes your money. There's another by radiology." It was such a practical thing to say that she nearly laughed. Instead she nodded and walked away, her uneven footsteps following her down the corridor. She waited by radiology until someone came out, then caught the door before it closed and went to find the other machine. At seven, security finished taking her statement. Adrian sent six messages asking her to stay and one suggesting they could put the whole thing behind them. She blocked him outside the hospital doors. Morning smelled of rain and the bakery opening across the street. She bought yesterday's pastry at half price and called Ruby. "Tell me you're in jail," Ruby said. "I've got bail money. Not much, but I can sell the fryer." "Keep the fryer. It earns more than either of us." Leah told her about Adrian. Ruby went quiet at the part where he'd grabbed her. "Are you safe?" "I'm eating a croissant in public." "That wasn't the question." Leah looked back at the hospital. "Yes." "Good. I'm coming over after lunch." "Anything else?" Ruby asked. Leah picked a flake of pastry from her coat. "No." "Leah." She brushed the crumbs into the paper bag. "What time are you coming over?" At the studio, she pulled down the blind, took off the ruined shoes, and slept in the folding chair behind her cutting table. When her phone woke her, the light beyond the blind had turned gray. MATT DAWSON flashed on the screen. "Tell me you haven't forgotten tonight." Leah stared at the unfinished sleeve across her lap. The reunion. "Of course not," she said. "Six-thirty. Private room at the Mercer. And don't disappear after one drink." She pushed herself upright. Her neck hurt. "No promises." "Oh—do you have Julian Ward's number? Someone said he's back." Leah looked at the red dress hanging from a hook beside the door. "No." "Worth asking. You two were quite a story." "A very short one." After they hung up, she opened the reunion chat and typed an apology. Then she deleted it. She had paid for the dinner weeks ago. She was hungry. And Julian had never come to these things. At six-forty, she took an empty seat in the Mercer's upstairs room, accepted a glass of wine, and began convincing herself she'd made the right decision. The door opened behind her. Matt's face lit up. "Julian. You actually came."