The back of her throat tightened. “Fine. Be safe, Doc.”
“Yeah . . . you, too.” Then he hung up.
What the hell just happened?
“Did he tell you where he’s going?” Mary asked from across the table.
The pizza between them was getting cold. The go-to food for a breaking heart would normally work wonders. Tonight, the thought of eating mushrooms and pepperoni wasn’t sitting well with her. “No. Just that he was going.”
“Maybe he’ll call you later with details.”
“He won’t. I’ve heard this before, Mary. He was cold.”
“Hmm . . .” Mary hummed over the bite of pizza. “How does that make you feel?”
“Like shit. Like I’m being dumped.” Dakota picked up her whiskey and downed the glass. Even that tasted like crap. “Don’t turn that psych shit on me. I need my friend, not the therapist.”
Mary dropped the pizza on her plate. “I know. I’m sorry. With me, you get both. I don’t know how to turn it off.”
“You’re supposed to tell me I’m overthinking this, or call him a dumbass. His loss. Anything.” Damn the moisture gathering in her eyes.
“You’re not overthinking this and you have the right to feel hurt.” Mary placed a hand over hers and squeezed. “If Walt is dumping you, then he is a dumbass. A dickless asshat who can’t even tell you. And if I see him again I’ll tell him that.”
“Yeah.” She hated tears. Hated them. But her friend was finally getting it. “Dickless asshat.” Dakota tried to laugh but failed.
“He might have a reason—”
Dakota snapped her hand away. “No psych shit. Stick with dumbass, counselor.”
“Fine . . . but—”
“Mary! I’m warning you. I’m wallowing and need you to wallow with me.” Dakota moved to Mary’s fridge, opened the freezer. She grabbed the ice cream that Mary never did without before pulling a spoon from the utensil drawer.
“Wow, you really are wallowing. There’s lots of refined sugar in that, Dakota.”
“Yeah, well . . . tonight I don’t care. A proper sulk needs ice cream.” She ripped off the top of the carton and dug straight into the mix. It hit her tongue and the smooth texture melted in her mouth. “God, this is good.”
Mary was staring at her.
Dakota shoveled in another spoonful. “I need to stock up on this.”
Mary’s hand stopped Dakota’s from devouring another bite. “Dakota, you’re scaring me.”
“It’s this or whiskey.”
Mary let her hand go.
“I thought so.”
San Antonio was hot, humid, and just this side of a smoldering death. But Donald Klein had arranged this meeting at the central headquarters. A place where the weather, albeit sucky in the summer, seldom had issues the rest of the year.
Walt was 1,200-plus miles away from California . . . from Dakota.
He thought of texting her, calling her, daily. He didn’t.
He listened to Donald’s proposal, met with different members of Borderless Doctors, and went through a lengthy interview process.
Juggling an ER job full-time while taking on this charge wouldn’t be possible. Yeah, he could moonlight, but anything other than a temporary fill-in for his current job wouldn’t work.
When Walt had first started with Borderless Doctors, he knew he wanted more. He loved the ER, loved the autonomy of walking away from his patients at the end of a shift, learning from them, and moving on.
What Donald was suggesting sounded perfect.
He could live anywhere so long as an airport was nearby. And with the Fairchilds on board with emergency flight plans, Walt could take his pick of locations.
So why am I hedging?
Because being a nomad, someone without any roots, shook him. Running off to the next disaster always had an end. Taking this job without a home base would feel a lot like being on a constant rotating coaster . . . chaos.
“Can I be honest with you?” Donald asked over the dinner they were both enjoying on Walt’s last night in Texas.
“I would hope you know to be honest by now.”
“I thought you’d already be signing the contract.”
Walt placed his fork down. “I’m seriously considering it.”
“What’s keeping you back?”
“Nothing,” he lied. “I want to consider everything. Now, tomorrow . . . ten years from now.”
Donald ran a hand over his bald head. “Really, Walt? Do you have a crystal ball? Who the hell knows where any of us will be in ten years?”
Walt released a short sigh. “You’re married, right?”
“Yeah.”
“How does what we do interfere with your family life?”
Instead of answering, Donald sat back and regarded Walt. “There’s a woman?”
“Maybe.”
Donald laughed, picked up his knife and fork before continuing to eat the prime rib on his plate. “We both know what it means to be away during a disaster. We focus on what has to happen, what we need to do during the time we’re knee-deep in crap so deep we can’t see. Finding a woman to share your life who understands that, and doesn’t hold it against you, is key.” Donald plunked a chunk of beef between his lips and started to chew. After a few seconds he continued. “You and I were born of the same cloth, Walt. We don’t do normal. As much as you tell yourself you hate graveyard shift, you show up night after night and suck it up. If you didn’t have to go in, there would be nights you’d be staring at the walls.”
Walt shook his head. “Three a.m. sucks if you don’t have a drink or a woman under you.”
“You’re not that shallow.”
His memory moved to Dakota . . . three a.m. with her was worth everything.
Damn it! Why couldn’t he shake her?
Walt dug into his food. “How long before Borderless Doctors wants an answer?”
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter fifteen sucked. Dakota had written three different twists in her story and none of them manifested into an easy chapter sixteen. She tried running to clear her head, but that wasn’t working. Running sucked. Who willingly put on shorts, a sports bra, and jogged around the block?
She hadn’t heard from Walt in three days.
On her phone was a missed call from him, but she refused to pick up the phone. She was stronger than that, damn it!
Dakota tapped a well-manicured nail against the desk and stared at her phone.