Chapter 1
Ren
Seattle’s skyline blinks through the rain-streaked window like a heart monitor refusing to flatline. The city hums with sleepless noise—sirens, horns, the steady patter of rain against glass—and every sound feels like pressure behind my ribs.
The door clicks softly behind Gwen, muting the chaos. She doesn’t speak. She just stands there, her damp hair clinging to her jaw, wearing one of my shirts and nothing else. The fabric barely reaches her thighs.
“Hi,” she says quietly, her voice half a question, half a warning.
“Hey.”
She crosses the room slowly, eyes searching mine. I can smell her shampoo—sharp and floral, lingering in the air like a memory. Her lips part, like she’s about to ask why I called so late again. But she doesn’t get the words out.
I reach for her wrist. Instinct takes over before reason can. I pull her into me, and the kiss hits hard—all heat and pent-up ache. It’s familiar, too familiar.
Her hands slide up my chest, pushing off my coat as she breathes against my neck. “You only call when you’re empty,” she murmurs.
“Then don’t answer,” I whisper, though my hands don’t stop moving.
She lets out a low, humorless laugh and pulls me down by my collar. “You think I don’t try?”
The sheets are cool when we fall onto them, the city’s light cutting silver lines across her bare shoulders. My hands find her waist, her hips, the soft skin that always makes me forget why I shouldn’t be here.
We move together, slow at first, like we’re learning each other all over again. Her breath trembles against my neck, syncing with the rain tapping the window. The world beyond these four walls fades, leaving only us—the sound of fabric, the slide of skin, the quickened rhythm of hearts that don’t know how to slow down.
Her fingers trace down my back, leaving warmth in their wake. I shiver, not from cold, but from the weight of being seen, even for a second. She pulls me closer, her hand finding the back of my neck, guiding me without words. The space between us disappears, replaced by heat and the uneven stutter of breath.
It isn’t just desire—it’s desperation. A need to drown out the noise, to forget the sterile hallways, the impossible expectations, the voices that tell me I’m never enough. In the dim light, her skin glows bronze beneath the shifting rainlight, her heartbeat a steady pulse beneath my hand.
We find a rhythm—imperfect, human, real. The bed creaks beneath us, the air grows thick with warmth and something that feels dangerously close to surrender. For a few fleeting moments, the static in my head fades, and I let myself fall into the illusion that this is connection and not an escape.
Her nails dig lightly into my shoulder; my breath catches against her name. It’s not love—it’s survival—but for now, it’s the only thing keeping me from unraveling.
When we finally still, the rain is the only thing that moves.
The silence that follows is too heavy to hold. She lies beside me, hair tangled across the pillow, chest rising and falling fast. Her eyes search mine like she’s waiting for a promise I’ll never make.
I brush a strand from her cheek. “I’m sorry,” I whisper. “I shouldn’t have called.”
Her brows knit together. “What does that mean?”
“It means this,” I say quietly, gesturing between us, “isn’t helping either of us.”
Her expression cracks into disbelief. “You’re serious? You pull me out of bed at midnight, make me feel like I matter, and now you’re done?”
I sit up, rubbing a hand over my face. “Gwen—”
“Save it,” she snaps, gathering her clothes. “You’re pathetic, Ren. You think being miserable makes you deep? It just makes you lonely.”
Her voice shakes, but her aim is true.
Before I can answer, my phone buzzes on the nightstand.
ON-CALL ALERT: REPORT TO HOSPITAL IMMEDIATELY.
Of course.
I stand, buttoning my shirt with steady hands that don’t feel like mine. Gwen watches me, jaw tight.
“Go save someone else,” she spits, tugging her jeans on. “God knows you can’t save yourself.”
The words slice clean through me.
At the door, I pause. “Take care, Gwen.”
“Go to hell, Ren.”
The door slams, and her words echo long after she’s gone.
Outside, the rain needles the pavement, streetlights turning everything ghostly silver. I shove my hands in my pockets and start walking toward the car.
Another shift. Another emergency. Another night to keep proving I’m still standing.
If I keep moving, maybe no one will notice I’ve already broken.
