Total pages in book: 95
Estimated words: 91504 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 458(@200wpm)___ 366(@250wpm)___ 305(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91504 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 458(@200wpm)___ 366(@250wpm)___ 305(@300wpm)
My mouth gapes open. “Irina…”
She swamps me in a big hug. “I thought that was you.”
Ivan nods with a sad smile. “Hey, Mer.”
After the greetings, they both look to Gabriel. I have no choice but to introduce him—to the best friend of the man who killed his wife. My world just shrank so small I feel like I’m suffocating.
“This is Gabriel.” I don’t explain who he is or say his last name. The less said the better. “Gabriel, this is Irina and Ivan.”
Ivan Lenkov is even more famous than Connor was. Anyone who’s watched a New York hockey game would recognize him. But Gabriel doesn’t flinch. He stands and offers a hand, and the men shake. “Nice to meet you.”
“I’ve been meaning to call you,” Irina says. “Have some lunch. But the third kid put me over the edge. I don’t get out too often lately. I didn’t even go to half the hockey games this season.”
My eyes flash to Gabriel with the mention of hockey. Once again, he seems unfazed. I feel like my head might explode trying to figure this man out. Luckily, another couple walks in—the people Irina and Ivan are meeting for dinner—so I take advantage and say my goodbyes. Irina promises to call. She probably will, but I’ll let it go to voicemail and never return her call. Whatever.
Then it’s just me and Gabriel again. My heart races, my head is pounding, and… I realize I can’t do this. I can’t play this game anymore. Can’t be the cat or the mouse. I just want to go home. I think about running, but I’ve been running for far too long. So I stand and look over at the man next to me.
“This is over, Gabriel.”
His face scrunches up. “You’re leaving?”
I nod, and then simply walk out the door. This time without looking back.
CHAPTER 35 Now
I used to enjoy the end of the day. Organizing my files, letting my patients pass back through my mind as I remember how I helped them or try to think of what more I could say or do to get them through whatever they’re dealing with.
Today, as I sip supposedly calming chamomile tea, my gaze slips toward the window, checking the sidewalk out in front of my practice.
“Any messages?” I call to Sarah. My voice is strong, confident. I’m anything but.
I’ve had a dozen messages this week. Eight of them were from Gabriel.
And he didn’t stop there. He’s emailed, too, filling my inbox with:
Meredith, let’s talk—
And
Meredith, don’t shut me out. Let’s be adults here.
Adults. Adults implies we’re mature. That we can have a normal, sane conversation. But that’s not possible. He’s lying to me. Probably to himself, too. Because he knows who I am. He knows who you were.
I inhale a rattling breath and wrap my cardigan around me more tightly to ward off the chill. It’s not cold in the office—it’s cold inside me. Cold dread, trying to understand what his long game is. It’s all I’ve thought of these past days.
I thought I was obsessed with him. Now I think he’s the one obsessed with me. And that distinction leaves me breathless.
“Sarah?” I call again, because she hasn’t answered.
“Sorry, Meredith. I was just taking a message.” She hurries in, holding two yellow sheets with notes scrawled across them. “One is Mr. Wright. He said he was returning your call and to put him right through, but you were with a patient.” She raises her brows, waiting for me to confirm or deny, or give details. I nod tightly, taking the paper.
“Thank you.”
“And this one is from Ms. Nash.” She hands over the other note, lingering.
I thank her again and add, “You can head home, Sarah. I appreciate it.” Dismissing her. Shutting her out.
She gives me a tight smile and nods, turns to leave. And for a moment, I hope she’ll stop. I hope she’ll turn around and demand to know what’s going on with Gabriel. Probably she thinks we’re having some sort of weird affair. Though I don’t know in what world a man calls a woman’s office and leaves messages with her assistant on nonstop repeat.
I blow out a breath. If it were something a patient was going through, I’d call it stalking.
But can I call it stalking? I mean… who stalked first?
I listen to the sound of Sarah preparing to leave—a drawer opening, closing. Her purse, I know, is now over her shoulder. There’s the zip of her jacket, followed by the shuffle of footsteps.
I almost stop her. Almost say, “Can I talk to you?” and tell her everything, because I need someone else’s take on it. Am I losing my mind? I might be. I just might be. I take a trembling breath and step forward, toward the door that separates the rooms. I know that at least she won’t tell anyone. She’s my employee.