Dealing with his own kind of grief.
The man who’d come to mean so much to him had become his own loss.
Evan’s heart on the line, the same as mine.
I couldn’t count the number of times I’d found him silently crying. Angry and confused by the fact Kale had saved him and then turned around and left us.
HE PROMISED HE WOULDN’T HURT YOU. THAT HE CARED ABOUT US. HE’S NOT SUPPOSED TO HURT YOU. THAT’S THE RULE, he’d signed, driving another stake right into my demolished heart.
Our kinship so profound because he was a prisoner to the same confusion as I was.
This intense, overpowering gratefulness for a man who’d walked away in the end.
But somehow, I understood he couldn’t stay and have to face the same ghosts every day. That it wasn’t anything Evan or I had or hadn’t done. It just hurt him too much to stay.
And I could only be thankful for what he’d given while he was there.
His time purposed.
Purposed for us.
“Someday,” I whispered beneath my breath. “Someday.”
Two hours later, I was sitting at one of the round banquet tables up close to the stage.
Balloon bouquets were set up all over the enormous space, twinkle lights were strung up across the ceilings, and extravagant floral arrangements were set in the middle of the linen-covered tables.
Our plates had just been removed after we’d finished the gourmet dinner.
Evan was to my right and Jenna was to my left. Dr. Krane and his wife sat to the other side of Evan, and a few people I’d never met before took up the rest of the round table.
The gala had been setup in a conference room, the collapsible walls opened to accommodate the three hundred guests who’d been invited.
The fundraiser was for Gingham Lakes Children’s Center, and while some of the guests were staff and families who’d been helped by some of the center’s programs, the lions share were Gingham Lakes’s affluent, there to open their pocketbooks to support GLCC Charities.
Minus the Gentry’s, of course.
“Thank you for all your support,” the chairman of the board for NICU Services said as he completed his speech. Those nerves surged and spun, my stomach growing tight.
I was up next.
I’d memorized the program.
William Wright would speak, then Martha Jiminez, one of the event organizers would introduce me. I clapped for William Wright while anxious wings fluttered and scattered through my entire body. My eyes dropped closed for a moment so I could mentally prepare myself for Martha to step out to take his place.
The clapping died off and a ripple of confusion rolled across the room, a quiet anticipation taking hold to each person in attendance.
Though for me, that anticipation thundered and boomed.
A spark to the air.
I pried my eyes open and gasped when I saw who stood at the podium.
That crazy attraction that climbed to the air. It came alive between us where he stood up there dressed in a fitted black tux.
Potent.
Powerful.
Persuasive.
Kale.
The man was a perfect chaos.
My mouth went dry.
His hair was styled in that immaculate way, every part of him put together.
Commanding and bold.
But I saw beneath that gorgeous exterior. Everything about him tonight was abraded and raw.
So intense I could feel the emotion coming off him like a shockwave.
Under the table, Jenna pinched my leg, her eyes wide when I looked at her. “What is he doing here?” she whispered under her breath.
I gave her a short shake of my head.
I had no idea.
Hadn’t expected this.
God, I didn’t even know if I could handle it.
He cleared his throat. “I know your programs say Martha Jiminez should be standing up here right now to make this next introduction . . .”
He let a small smirk climb to his full lips. “There’s a chance I might have bribed her to let me stand up here tonight, but don’t blame her, I’ve been known to be a little convincing when I need to be.”
A small wave of laughter rolled through the room.
Because there stood that cocky, arrogant boy.
A second later, a quiet somberness filled his expression. “But the truth is, I would have paid anything to get to stand up here and make this introduction, because this charity is so incredibly important to me. As a pediatric physician here at Gingham Lakes Children’s Center, I have the honor of treating patients with many different illnesses and chronic diseases. There is no better feeling than getting to take part in their care. To maybe have the chance to make their lives a little better.”
Those blue eyes locked on me.
Penetrating.
Infiltrating and invading.
A shiver rocked through me, and Evan stirred in his seat, his own surprise coming off him in waves.
“And sometimes, it’s the patient who makes our lives better. The patient who touches us in ways we never could have expected. The patient who teaches us what true hope looks like.”