Chapter Text
Robby hated conferences. Not disliked. Not mildly dreaded. Hated. Everyone knew that.
There were few things in emergency medicine that Michael Robinavitch truly hated after nearly three decades in the field. Insurance companies, maybe. Hospital administrators who had never stepped foot inside a trauma bay trying to lecture physicians about efficiency metrics, certainly. Motorcycle accidents in the rain. Burnt coffee after a fourteen-hour shift. So on and so forth.
Conferences sat comfortably near the top of the list. Too many doctors in one building always felt vaguely threatening, more so than a typical hospital experience. Too many forced smiles from exhausted people pretending they weren’t burnt out. Too many speakers using words like resilience and self-care while rooms full of emergency physicians quietly dissociated behind stale danishes and watered-down coffee.
Hospitals at least made sense. ERs made sense. Chaos had structure there. Conferences just shoved emotionally constipated medical professionals into expensive hotels with alcohol and lanyards and expected networking and that dreaded self-care to occur naturally.
Robby stood in the PTMC parking lot at five-thirty in the morning, staring at the coach bus like it had personally wronged him. The sky above Pittsburgh still clung stubbornly to darkness, washed in pale blue-gray before sunrise. Floodlights cast long shadows across the nearly empty lot while the cool morning air settled against his skin. He briefly considered getting back into his truck and driving home.
“Thinking about fleeing?” Jack asked beside him.
Robby accepted the coffee shoved into his hand without looking away from the bus. “Strongly.”
“And leave me all on my lonesome?”
“You’ll have plenty of company.” He took a long sip. “I’ve worked enough consecutive trauma shifts to earn the right to avoid professional development.”
“Oh, and I haven’t?” Jack barked out a laugh loud enough to echo through the lot. Slowly, more Pitt crew began to join them by the bus. Santos walked backward while arguing with Javadi about snacks. Mohan and Mel followed behind them carrying their overnight bags. Ellis emerged with a tote bag while McKay trailed behind her with a backpack slung over one shoulder.
Robby narrowed his eyes slightly at Ellis’s luggage. “That’s it?”
Ellis blinked at him. “It’s only three days.”
“Thank you!” McKay looked vindicated immediately. “That’s what I told Santos.”
“I don’t trust conference hotel shampoo!” Santos announced loudly.
“Looks like you packed enough products to open a salon.” Javadi yawned.
“And I stand by it.”
Robby rubbed a hand over his face, already exhausted. Jack hummed beside him. “You know Shen and Al-Hashimi used scheduling conflicts to get out of this.”
“They’re smarter than we are.” Robby groaned softly into his coffee.
The conference itself would’ve been bad enough on its own. Three days in Virginia Beach with physicians from across the East Coast attending lectures and networking events and social hours that nobody actually wanted to participate in.
But no, PTMC had also agreed to some commemorative panel recognizing the one-year anniversary of Pittfest. Meaning Robby somehow ended up scheduled the next day to accept a departmental honor recognizing “exceptional leadership and emergency response coordination during mass casualty management.”
There would apparently also be a plaque. A shiny new plaque to hang in the ED. Because nothing helped process collective trauma like polished wood and engraved brass.
“At least it’s not a statue.” Jack mused.
“They almost made a banner with my face on it.”
Jack physically recoiled. “Jesus Christ.”
“Exactly.” Robby still remembered Dana’s horrified expression when administration floated the idea months ago. Thankfully it was quickly shut down. Gloria didn’t love the idea of him being the poster child for the department, let alone the whole hospital. The feeling was mutual.
“Folks, we’re boarding in five.” The bus driver called. The group slowly migrated toward the luggage compartment.
That’s when Dennis appeared. Robby felt the usual subtle loosening in his chest. That warmth low beneath his ribs that had become alarmingly familiar over the last few months. He carried a small duffel bag, his curls still damp from a recent shower. Sleep lingered visibly in his face beneath the parking lot lights, softening his features as he blinked against the early morning air.
Santos yelled something at him about bus bathrooms being “biohazards designed by Satan.” Dennis laughed quietly. Robby’s chest tightened painfully at the sound.
Dennis spotted him next and his smile changed immediately. Smaller, softer somehow. “Morning, Robby.”
He’d finally dropped the doctor title after Robby’s insistence. Hearing his name from his mouth without the professional buffer still did strange things to his nervous system. “Morning, kid.”
Dennis adjusted the strap of his duffel bag higher onto his shoulder. “Please tell me Abbot isn’t planning to talk the entire seven-hour ride.”
“How’d you know?” Jack informed him. “I’ve even prepared material.”
Dennis sighed dramatically. “We’re doomed.” Robby watched him laugh at his own joke and felt more warmth bloom low in his chest before he could stop it.
The cruise had made it worse somehow. Jack insisted Robby needed an actual vacation after the Fourth of July shift that nearly turned into a suicidal mission on the back of a motorcycle. So Robby reluctantly booked a week-long cruise instead of vanishing into Canada.
Dennis had watched his house while he was gone, like they had originally agreed on. He fed the plants, brought in packages, and texted him updates like Robby was deployed overseas instead of voluntarily sitting on a cruise ship drinking overpriced whiskey.
Your basil plant looks dramatic but alive. The rest are stating to perk up.
Your neighbor’s dog escaped again. Might steal him next time.
Someone tried skateboarding down your street and ate shit spectacularly.
Dana almost strangled a patient who tried to touch Perlah. It was great. Not the touching part, but man, she can be terrifying.
When Robby returned from his cruise, he still stayed away from work for a while. And somewhere during those months off and even the few after his sabbatical officially ended, Whitaker quietly became Dennis in his head. That probably should’ve alarmed him more than it did.
Robby heard Dennis laugh echo again as Santos accused Javadi of “committing acts of war before sunrise” for not offering her a piece of gum, and Robby found himself watching too long again. Watching the way Dennis leaned sleepily against the side of the bus. Watching the little smile that tugged at the corners of his mouth. Watching his curls shift in the wind.
Pretty.
The thought arrived instantly and without permission. Robby filed it away for therapy.
Jack made a noise beside him. Robby narrowed his eyes. “What?”
“You’ve got the face.”
“What face?”
“The one where you stop listening to conversations because you're too busy staring at Whitaker.”
Robby nearly inhaled coffee wrong. “I do not have a face.”
“You absolutely do.”
“I’m his attending.”
Jack snorted into his own coffee. “You sure are.”
Robby ignored him, which had become increasingly difficult over the past few months because Jack unfortunately noticed everything. Robby shoved past him toward the bus as soon as the doors hissed open. Robby claimed a window seat a few aisles down, mostly out of self-preservation. Unfortunately, Jack dropped into the seat beside him within seconds.
“You’re stuck with me, no use running.”
“I’ll throw myself onto the highway.”
“Tell that to your therapist.”
The rest of the team filtered naturally through the bus, choosing seats wherever they pleased. Santos and Javadi took over an entire row near the middle, not far from the attendings, with Dennis sat in front of them. Mel and Mohan settled several rows ahead together while McKay sat across from Ellis near the back.
The bus finally rolled onto the highway just after six in the morning.
Jack lasted maybe twenty minutes before becoming unbearable. He had riled up the others enough with his declaration that “These conferences were basically orgies when we were residents.”
Robby closed his eyes briefly. “Why are you like this?”
“I’m educating the youth.” Jack leaned back lazily in his seat. “A bunch of physicians trapped in hotels? Alcohol? Emotional repression? It’s science. You know this.”
It was unfortunately true. Robby remembered conferences in his thirties vividly enough. Too much alcohol. Too many exhausted doctors. Too many poor decisions made in close quarters.
Which was exactly why he kept glancing toward Dennis every few minutes despite his best efforts. He had one knee drawn loosely toward his chest while flipping through the conference itinerary. Every so often, Santos leaned over the seat behind him to show him something on her phone. He laughed quietly each time.
“You know he’s not gonna disappear, right?”
Robby looked sharply at Jack.
“You keep checking on him.”
“I’m supervising.”
“You’re staring.”
“I am not.”
Jack made a skeptical noise. Robby ignored him. He jammed his headphones into his ears and luckily Jack took the hint to leave him alone for the rest of the ride. For seven hours, Robby fought the itch to look behind them again.
☆ ☆ ☆
Virginia Beach greeted them with humidity thick enough to suffocate.
“Oh this is evil.” Santos gasped the second they stepped off the bus.
“It feels wet.” Ellis added.
“It is wet.” Javadi laughed. “We’re literally right near the ocean.”
Robby stretched stiffly beside the luggage compartment while hotel staff unloaded their bags. Seven hours trapped in a bus seat felt like it had permanently damaged his spine. The hotel towered over the beachfront in polished glass and expensive landscaping. Conference banners covered nearly every visible surface.
EMERGENCY MEDICINE EAST COAST LEADERSHIP SUMMIT.
He already wanted to leave. Inside, the lobby buzzed with physicians of all specialties dragging luggage across marble floors while conference staff distributed badges and schedules.
Dennis folded the conference packet and glanced up at Robby. “Still hate conferences?”
“Yes.”
“Even this one?”
“Especially this one.”
Dennis smiled faintly. “Because of the panel?”
Robby sighed heavily. Just thinking about it made something uncomfortable twist beneath his ribs. The Pittfest disaster itself already felt surreal sometimes. Like a fever dream the entire hospital had collectively survived. One year later and people still recognized him occasionally outside the hospital from the coverage of the event. Robby still didn’t know what to do with things like that.
“You should be proud.” Dennis said quietly. Robby looked at him. Dennis held his gaze steadily despite the softness in his expression. “Seriously.”
“You were there too.” He swallowed.
Dennis shrugged one shoulder. “Not like you.”
“Alright.” Ellis announced after collecting keycards from the front desk, saving Robby from needing to respond. “Room assignments.”
“Please tell me I’m not stuck with Santos.” Javadi muttered.
“You wish.” Santos hissed.
Ellis pointed methodically. “Trinity and Victoria.”
“Oh joy.” Javadi sighed.
“Mel and Samira.” Both women nodded easily.
“Cassie and me.” She continued. “Attendings get their own rooms, so Robby and Abbot each have singles.”
“Luxury.” Jack gasped sarcastically.
“And Dennis gets his own room too, since administration separates residents by gender.”
Santos threw both hands into the air. “He literally already lives with me! He’s seen my boobs accidentally like six times.”
“Trin!” He gasped.
“We shit in the same toilet!”
Mohan started laughing quietly into her coffee. Dennis rubbed a hand over his face. “Thank you for yelling this in the middle of the lobby.”
She rolled her eyes. “I’m just saying the logic falls apart when you remember you’re openly gay and already my roommate.”
Jack looked delighted. “Wait, they really gave Whitaker a solo room?”
“Apparently I’m scandalous.” Dennis muttered while accepting the keycard. Robby watched him laugh through visible embarrassment and felt warmth settle beneath his ribs again. And judging by the look Santos gave him across the lobby, she caught him staring. Robby slipped automatically into his neutral attending expression. She narrowed her eyes anyway.
The keynote speech started at two, which gave Robby just enough time to get his room key, take the elevator up with Jack, quickly change his clothes, unpack absolutely nothing else, stare at the ocean through his hotel window for ten minutes, and reconsider every decision that led him there.
His room was nicer than expected. Too nice, probably. Large bed. Clean desk. A small balcony facing the water. Conference hotels always made him feel vaguely guilty, like money had been spent in the wrong direction. Back at The Pitt, he had a squeaky rolling chair and a slow-running computer, and here he had an ocean-view balcony.
He stood near the sliding glass doors with his arms crossed, watching waves break against the shore in long white lines. Below, clusters of tourists moved along the boardwalk. Umbrellas dotted the sand in bright little bursts of color. It looked peaceful. Robby didn't do peaceful very well.
A knock hit his door. He closed his eyes briefly. “Go away, Jack.”
The door opened anyway, both men having received the other’s spare room key. “I could’ve been housekeeping.” The man said, stepping in with no shame whatsoever.
“You knock like an asshole.” Robby turned from the window. Jack had already changed into a button-down, sleeves rolled, conference badge hanging crookedly from his neck. He held two tiny hotel coffees and looked far too entertained for a man about to sit through a keynote on medical leadership.
Robby accepted the coffee because he was not above being bought. Jack looked around the room. “Nice.”
“It’s a hotel room.”
“You have an ocean view.”
“So do you.”
“Yeah, but mine’s wasted on me. You brood better near windows.”
Robby took a sip and immediately regretted it. “This is terrible.”
“It’s free conference coffee.”
“Touché.”
Jack leaned his shoulder against the wall beside the balcony door, looking out at the water. For once, he didn’t speak immediately. Robby appreciated the mercy while it lasted.
“You nervous about tomorrow?”
“No.” The panel sat in the back of his mind like a headache. Not sharp enough to incapacitate him, but constant. Robby knew the hospital meant well. He knew the conference meant well. He knew the plaque was an honor. That didn’t make it easier to imagine walking on stage while people clapped for what had been one of the worst days of all their lives.
His team should have been up there. Dana should have been up there. Abbot. Santos, Whitaker, Javadi, King, Mohan, McKay, all of the nurses and surgeons who stepped up that day. Even Langdon. Everyone who had carried some piece of the day with them, whether administration included their names or not.
But Robby was their chief. So Robby would go up there, smile, accept the plaque, say something short and meaningful, and pretend his skin didn’t feel too tight.
“They should’ve picked me, I’m much more charming than you.” Jack commented, still watching the water.
Robby shook his head, but the knot in his chest loosened slightly. Jack had a way of doing that. Usually by being incredibly persistent until Robby forgot what he had been upset about in the first place. But he had his moments. Robby was grateful for him, even when he pretended not to be.
Another knock came before Jack could say anything worse. Both men looked at the door. This knock was quieter, more hesitant. Robby’s body recognized it before his mind did. He crossed the room in big strides and opened the door.
Dennis stood in the hallway holding his conference packet against his chest, badge looped neatly around his neck. He had changed from travel clothes into dark jeans and a navy button-down that made his eyes look unfairly bright even under hotel lighting. Robby forgot whatever he had planned to say.
Dennis smiled a little, uncertain. “You guys heading down?”
Jack, traitorous bastard that he was, looked between them and slowly lifted his coffee to hide his grin.
“Yeah.” Robby said, recovering half a beat too late. “Just about.”
Dennis glanced past him into the room. “Nice view.”
“You can have it.” Robby muttered, stepping aside. “I’m not planning to enjoy any part of this.”
“That’s the spirit!” Jack cheered sarcastically.
Dennis laughed, and Robby hated how quickly he wanted to hear it again. “You look nice.” Dennis said suddenly. It came out casual, then his eyes widened slightly, like his own mouth had betrayed him. He cleared his throat quickly. “I mean, you know. For the conference. Professional. Not that you don’t usually look—” He stopped, closing his eyes briefly. “I’m gonna stop talking.”
Robby’s mouth twitched despite the sudden heat crawling up his neck. “Probably wise.”
Dennis opened one eye. “Rude.”
Jack made a low noise. “This is painful.”
Robby turned his head slowly. “Out.”
“I was already leaving.” Jack slipped past Dennis into the hallway, clapping him on the shoulder as he went. “Good luck with him, Whitaker.”
Dennis looked after him. “With the keynote?”
Jack’s smile was wicked. “Sure.”
Robby stepped into the hall before Dennis could ask any follow-up questions.
The elevator ride down was crowded with physicians in conference badges and business casual clothes. Someone from orthopedics complained loudly about the AC in the ballroom. Two residents in matching polos discussed whether the happy hour social would have good food.
Dennis stood close enough beside Robby that their sleeves brushed every time the elevator shifted. He kept his eyes on the changing floor numbers.
“This should be fun.” Jack murmured from Robby’s other side.
“Don’t start.” Robby said.
Dennis smiled down at his packet. Robby saw it from the corner of his eye and immediately lost the thread of his annoyance. The elevator opened into the main conference level with a soft chime. Noise flooded in at once. Voices, footsteps, rolling bags, laughter, the distant feedback whine of a microphone being tested somewhere beyond the ballroom doors. Robby’s shoulders tightened automatically.
“You okay?” Dennis asked quietly.
Robby glanced at him. “Yeah.”
Dennis didn’t look convinced, but he nodded anyway. Dennis had gotten better at not pushing. Or maybe he’d gotten better at knowing when Robby would answer honestly and when he wouldn’t.
☆ ☆ ☆
The keynote was exactly as terrible as expected. Three PowerPoint decks, one video montage with swelling music that made Robby want to leave his body, the whole ordeal over an hour long but felt like several.
The main ballroom was packed wall to wall with emergency physicians, nurses, trauma coordinators, students, residents, attendings, fellows, hospital administrators, and vendors. Round tables filled the room beneath chandeliers that looked too expensive for a group of people mostly surviving on protein bars, break room coffee, and spite.
Robby sat near the back with Jack because both of them had agreed wordlessly that sitting too close to the stage counted as self-harm. The Pittlings had scattered naturally closer to the middle. Mel and Mohan sat together, occasionally whispering. McKay and Ellis had found seats near the middle exits with immediate escape access. Santos and Javadi were together, heads bent over a shared program along with Dennis, who sat beside them angled slightly toward the stage.
Dennis listened, of course. Actually listened. While Robby pretended to read the agenda and Jack slowly died beside him, Dennis sat forward with his pen in hand, occasionally making notes in the margins. He nodded when a speaker made a point about rural trauma response. He frowned slightly during a section on hospital preparedness. He whispered something to Javadi that made her cover her mouth to hide a laugh, then immediately looked guilty about it and refocused on the speaker.
Robby watched the whole thing. Even when he forced his attention back to the speaker, his eyes drifted there without permission. The slope of Dennis’s shoulders. Curls brushing the back of his neck. The way he held his pen between long fingers and tapped it lightly against the page when he was thinking.
The speaker was saying something about adaptive leadership when Jack leaned toward him. “You have not absorbed a single word.”
“I have.”
“What did he just say?”
“Leadership.”
“Groundbreaking.” Jack snorted. Robby crossed his arms. The keynote speaker clicked to another slide with a stock photo of a lighthouse. Robby stared at it blankly. Beside him, Jack shifted, then lowered his voice. “You know he’s fine.”
Robby didn’t answer.
“Whitaker.” Jack clarified, unnecessarily. “He’s fine.”
“I know.” He sighed. “I’m allowed to know where my residents are.”
“Your resident. Singular. The others could’ve been abducted forty-five minutes ago and you wouldn’t have a clue.”
Robby cut him a look.
Jack lifted his hands innocently. “I’m just saying.”
“You say too much.”
“Part of my charm.”
“Debatable.”
Jack leaned back, still smiling faintly, but his eyes moved briefly toward Dennis before returning to Robby. “He doesn’t need you hovering over him every second.”
“I’m not hovering.” Robby rubbed at the bridge of his nose. “I know what happens at these things.” There were many reasons why Robby couldn’t relax watching Dennis smile at strangers in a room full of exhausted physicians with open bars waiting upstairs.
Jack knew it too. They had been young once. Lonely once. Reckless in different ways. Conferences could become strange little bubbles where people acted like normal consequences were temporarily suspended. It didn’t mean everyone was predatory. It didn’t mean Dennis couldn’t handle himself. But Robby had seen enough.
Dennis was kind. And soft around the edges in the best way. Kind people got mistaken for being available. Soft people got mistaken for being easy. Jack sighed quietly. “He’s not naïve.”
“I know.”
“Do you?”
Robby looked away. The speaker moved to another slide. Something about interdepartmental communication. Robby heard none of it. Dennis shifted in his chair, leaning closer to Santos as she showed him something in the program. His mouth curved into a smile before he shook his head and whispered something back. Santos shoved his shoulder lightly.
“Mohan looks nice in that outfit.”
Robby blinked. Jack’s gaze had drifted to where Mohan sat with Mel, profile softened by the ballroom lights. She was listening to the speaker with quiet focus, one hand around her coffee cup. Robby returned his gaze to Jack, who still had his eyes on her. “Oh, this is rich.”
“Yeah, yeah.”
“You’ve been on my ass all morning and look at you now.”
Jack pointed at him. “Different situation.”
“Is it?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
Jack opened his mouth and then closed it with a shrug.
Robby smiled wider. “Thought so.”
Jack leaned back with a scowl. “I hate conferences.”
“For once, we agree.”
By the time the keynote ended, Robby felt like his skeleton had been upholstered into the ballroom chair. The room erupted in the usual post-session chaos. Chairs scraped, people stretched. Conversations swelled instantly as hundreds of physicians surged toward coffee, bathrooms, exits, and each other.
The Pitt crew regrouped near the back doors by instinct. Santos looked energized in a way Robby found suspicious. Javadi looked ready for food. Mel was quiet but smiling, if not looking slightly overwhelmed. Mohan checked the next agenda item with McKay. Ellis had somehow acquired a branded pen and was clicking it absentmindedly. Dennis approached last, tucking his conference packet under his arm.
“Well.” Jack said, clapping his hands once. “That was horrible.”
“It wasn’t horrible.” Dennis said. Robby looked at him. Dennis hesitated. “It was just… long.”
“Social hour is next.” Mohan said, saving him. “Or vendor tables, depending on what people want.”
“Happy hour later, right?” Javadi asked.
“After the breakout sessions.” McKay said, checking the schedule. “There’s also a resident networking mixer before the general cocktail reception.”
Dennis made a face.
Robby noticed immediately. “What?”
Dennis glanced at him. “Nothing.”
“That wasn’t a nothing face.”
Santos snorted. “He hates networking.”
Dennis pointed at her. “You hate networking too.”
“I hate forced networking. I love gossiping with snacks nearby.”
“That’s not networking.”
“It is when you’re charming.”
“Amen, sister.” Jack agreed.
Dennis rolled his eyes, but smiled. Robby watched the smile before catching himself. He was going to need to start billing his own intrusive thoughts.
The group split gradually. Mohan and Mel headed toward the breakout rooms. McKay and Ellis moved toward the vendor tables, apparently enticed by free pens and badge ribbons. Santos dragged Javadi toward coffee and pastries.
Dennis lingered. He stood beside them while conference-goers flowed around him, thumbing lightly at the edge of his program. His eyes moved over the room with that careful focus he got when he was taking in too much at once. Robby knew the look. He’d seen it in the ED after bad cases.
“You heading to the resident mixer?” Jack asked him.
Dennis blinked. “Eventually, I guess.”
“You sound thrilled.”
“Networking makes me feel like I’m trying to sell knives door-to-door.”
Jack laughed. Robby’s mouth twitched. Dennis looked pleased by the reaction, which made everything worse. “You’ll be fine.” Robby said, keeping his voice even. “Just be yourself.”
A tiny smile flickered across Dennis’s face. “That’s usually what gets me in trouble.”
“Then be trouble.”
Speaking of trouble, Santos appeared out of nowhere and threw an arm around Dennis’s shoulders. “There you are, Huckleberry. Come on. Javadi found the snacks.” She dragged him away, but not before looking back at Robby with narrowed, knowing eyes.
He stared blankly. She smiled. Jack waited until they disappeared into the crowd before speaking. “She knows something.”
Robby pinched the bridge of his nose. “She suspects something.”
“Same thing with Santos.”
The afternoon blurred into the kind of conference limbo Robby hated most. Too much standing, too many short conversations, too many people recognizing him. Not everyone, thankfully. Most attendees didn’t know him beyond the panel listing or the small bio printed in the agenda. But enough people did.
Someone from Baltimore shook his hand and thanked him for his “service during Pittfest,” which made his skin crawl. A trauma director from Richmond told him she had used PTMC’s response timeline in a teaching session. Someone else asked if he was looking forward to speaking tomorrow. He said yes. He was becoming alarmingly good at lying in business casual.
By four-thirty, he had escaped to the edge of the vendor hall with Jack and yet another cup of coffee that tasted like cardboard dissolved in battery acid.
Across the room, Dennis stood near a booth advertising simulation training equipment, engaged in conversation with a woman in a blazer and a man wearing a conference media badge. Robby watched his hands move while he spoke. Dennis talked with his whole body when he got comfortable. Small gestures. Open palms. Animated eyebrows. A smile that grew sideways when he got excited about something. The woman with the blazer looked delighted. The media guy looked intrigued. Robby narrowed his eyes.
Jack sighed beside him. “You’re doing it again.”
“Doing what?”
“Hovering from thirty feet away.”
“That is not physically possible.”
“You might as well be standing directly over his shoulder.”
Robby drank terrible coffee instead of answering. A minute later, Dennis laughed at something the woman said. The media guy immediately lifted his camera slightly and gestured to one of the nearby conference banners. Dennis blinked, surprised. The woman spoke again, smiling wider. Dennis pointed to himself like he couldn’t possibly be the person they meant.
Robby straightened. Jack followed his gaze. “What’s happening?”
“I don’t know.”
Santos appeared beside Dennis like she had been summoned by the gossip. Javadi arrived half a second later. Both of them immediately lit up. Dennis shook his head, laughing nervously. The media guy said something else. Santos clapped her hands once.
“Something is definitely going on. Santos looks too happy.”
Robby was already moving before he decided to. Jack followed, because apparently watching Robby emotionally compromise himself had become his primary entertainment for the trip.
By the time they reached the edge of the booth, Santos had both hands on Dennis’s shoulders and was turning him toward the conference banner like she was presenting a prize pig at a fair. “Absolutely!” She said. “He’d love to.”
“I did not say that…” Dennis protested.
The woman with the blazer beamed. “We’re just taking a few promotional shots for future conference materials. Young physicians engaging with the summit, that kind of thing. It’ll be very quick.”
Dennis looked horrified. “I don’t think I’m really—”
“He is extremely photogenic.” Javadi interrupted.
“Please stop helping.”
Santos caught sight of Robby and her expression sharpened instantly. “Doctor Robby, tell Dennis he should model for some photos.”
Robby looked at Dennis. His cheeks were pink with embarrassment, eyes wide and pleading in a way that should not have been so effective. “Well.” Robby said carefully. “You can say no.”
Dennis’s shoulders relaxed slightly. The photographer looked momentarily disappointed. Santos looked betrayed. Dennis surveyed all of their reactions and scratched at the back of his neck. “I guess a few couldn’t hurt…”
Javadi grinned. “So that’s a yes?”
Dennis sighed, but there was no real irritation in it. “Fine. Very quick.”
The photographer lit up. “Fantastic. Just over here.”
Robby stepped back as Dennis was guided toward the conference banner. He told himself to leave. He did not leave. Jack leaned beside him. “This is priceless.”
“Shut up.”
The photographer positioned Dennis near the banner first, then asked him to hold his conference packet. Dennis looked deeply awkward for the first few shots until Santos yelled at him from behind the photographer. “Pretend Doctor Robby is asking you to do this!”
Dennis’s face went scarlet. Robby nearly dropped his coffee. Jack choked on nothing.
“Trinity!” Dennis hissed.
“What? It worked.”
Dennis laughed, embarrassed and helpless, and the photographer caught it mid-motion. Robby saw the exact moment through the camera preview. Santos’s gaze flicked from the camera preview to Robby’s face and narrowed with sudden, dangerous focus. Robby summoned every scrap of his attending mask. Her slow smile said she did not believe him for one second.
When the photographer finished, Dennis came back rubbing the back of his neck again. “That was humiliating.”
Javadi was already reaching for Santos’s phone. “Show me the ones you got.”
“I did not consent to this group viewing.”
“You consented when you became a model, Huckleberry.”
Dennis made a strangled noise. Robby wished very much to be anywhere else.
Santos held up her phone. “Okay, this one is insane.”
Javadi leaned in and gasped. “Dennis.”
“What?”
“You look like you’re about to headline a medical drama!”
“Delete it, please.”
“No.”
“Trinity.”
“No.”
Jack peered over Santos’s shoulder. “Oh wow. Nice work.”
Robby should have resisted. He did not. And there Dennis was in the photo, laughing mid-turn beneath the conference lights, badge slightly crooked, sleeves rolled to his forearms. It should have been silly. It should have been ordinary. The butterflies in Robby’s stomach rattled him.
Dennis glanced at him. Robby looked back down at the phone too late. Their eyes met, just for a second. Dennis’s expression shifted, curious but self-conscious. Santos watched them both closely.
Robby handed the phone back. “Good photo.” He said evenly.
Dennis’s eyes dimmed, just a fraction, before a small smile returned. “Thanks.”
Robby hated himself immediately. Jack’s eyes burned into the side of his face. Santos’s did too.
God help him.
By early evening, the conference had moved into full social mode. The happy hour flowed directly into the general networking cocktail reception, because apparently physicians could not be trusted to interact without drink tickets and tiny plates of food involved.
The terrace overlooked the beach. String lights hung above the crowd. Ocean air rolled in warm and damp, carrying salt and distant music from the boardwalk. Beneath them, waves broke rhythmically against the shore, a steady hush under the layered noise of conversation. It would have been beautiful if Robby hadn’t been surrounded by hundreds of doctors. He stood near the edge of the terrace with Jack, a glass of bourbon in hand, watching the Pittlings move through the crowd.
Mohan and McKay were speaking with a group from a children’s hospital. Ellis and Santos had found appetizers and were comparing them with the seriousness of a peer-reviewed study. Javadi was laughing with two residents from Philly while Mel hovered nearby, pretending not to eavesdrop.
Dennis stood near the center of the terrace. Not because he sought attention, but because attention found him. He had a way of making people feel like he was fully listening. Like whatever they said mattered. He smiled easily, asked questions, tilted his head when people spoke. It made strangers lean closer. Made them stay longer than they intended.
Robby understood. Dennis was a sweetheart. And he also happened to be very pretty. Robby took a longer sip of bourbon than necessary. He was going to need to explain that thought to his therapist, Marta, next week. He was piss poor at explaining all of it to her.
What does Dennis bring up for you? Robby could already hear her asking.
And he would stare at her like an idiot and say something useless like, “I don’t know, he’s a good doctor.” Which was true, but not remotely the real answer.
Jack nudged him with his elbow. “Stop staring at him like that.”
Robby ignored him. A woman in a black dress touched Dennis’s forearm as she laughed at something he said. Not necessarily inappropriate. Not necessarily anything. Robby’s jaw tightened anyway. Another man stood too close at Dennis’s other side, young, maybe early thirties, hair styled like he had spent more time on it than Robby spent getting dressed for funerals. He gestured with his drink while Dennis nodded politely.
“You know.” Jack said quietly. “He’s allowed to mingle.”
“I know.”
“Then let him.”
Robby exhaled slowly through his nose. “I am.”
Jack laughed under his breath. “You’re hopeless.”
Across the terrace, Dennis excused himself from the group and made his way toward Mel, who stood near one of the cocktail tables looking uncomfortable while a heavily intoxicated man spoke at her. Robby noticed the shift in Dennis immediately. The smile softened first. Then faded. His shoulders squared slightly. Robby straightened.
Jack followed his gaze. “What?”
Mel held her drink close to her chest. Her smile was tight. The man speaking to her leaned too close, one hand braced on the cocktail table beside her. Robby couldn’t tell if he was a physician or another hotel guest. He didn’t see a lanyard. Dennis approached with that careful, pleasant expression he used with difficult patients. Robby had seen that look only a handful of times. Dennis was upset, it just hadn’t reached his voice yet.
“Robby, wait.” Jack started.
“Just watching.” The words came out more controlled than he felt.
He watched Dennis step beside Mel, not in front of her yet, but close enough to shift the focus onto himself. Mel glanced at him quickly, relief flickering across her face. Dennis smiled at the man, tight but still polite. The man did not smile back.
Robby set his glass down on the nearest ledge.
Jack noticed. “Robby.”
“I’m waiting.”
“You are not waiting.”
Robby stayed where he was. Then the man’s voice rose. Not loud enough for the entire terrace, but loud enough for Robby. “Was just making conversation!”
Dennis’s voice remained even. “She said she wanted to leave the conversation.”
Mel looked mortified now. Robby started moving. Jack cursed quietly and followed. The crowd slowed them. People shifted lazily, laughing, unaware, or choosing not to notice. Robby pushed around a cluster of surgeons with barely enough politeness to keep from knocking shoulders.
By the time he got close enough to hear clearly, Dennis had stepped fully between Mel and the man. “Back off.”
The drunk man laughed harshly. “You her boyfriend or something?”
“No.” Dennis’s jaw flexed. “Doesn’t mean she wants to entertain you.”
Robby saw it happen. The ugly flash across the man’s face as embarrassment curdled into aggression.
“Dennis—” Robby called. Too late.
The punch landed hard against Dennis’s face with a sick crack of knuckles against cheekbone. Mel screamed. A drink shattered somewhere against the terrace floor. Dennis stumbled sideways into the cocktail table but did not fall.
Robby’s whole body went hot. He shoved through the last few people between them as security and several doctors converged. Jack grabbed the man’s arm along with another bystander, pulling him back before he could lunge again.
Dennis had one hand pressed to his face with a napkin he had snagged from the table. Robby reached him just as another doctor crouched in front of him.
“Let me take a look.” The man said. Robby stopped short. The doctor looked up. Recognition passed between them at the same time. “Michael?”
Of all fucking people. Doctor Arnold Mercer, anesthesiologist. Twelve years ago, a Chicago conference. Bad whiskey. Worse decisions. A hotel room Robby had mostly forgotten until that exact moment.
“I’ve got him.” Robby said.
Mercer raised both brows. “I’m just checking his pupils—”
“I said I’ve got him.”
The words came out sharper than intended. Mercer glanced between Robby and Dennis, something too knowing flickering in his face. Dennis lowered the bloodied napkin slightly. His lip was already swelling, his nose thankfully appearing normal. His eyes were bright with shock and pain, but focused.
“I’d rather Robby.” He said quietly. The heat in Robby’s chest shifted.
Mercer leaned back. “Alright. Good to see you, Mike.”
Robby ignored him as he crouched in front of Dennis, blocking the rest of the terrace from view as much as he could. “Look at me.”
Dennis did.
Robby stared deep into his eyes. “Dizzy?”
“No.”
“Nauseous?”
“No.”
“Headache?”
“No.”
“Vision changes?”
“No.” He shook his head. “I’m fine. Just embarrassed.”
Robby gently took Dennis’s wrist and moved his hand away from his mouth. “Let me see.”
Dennis obeyed, but his eyes flicked briefly toward Mel. “She okay?”
Robby glanced over his shoulder. Mohan had an arm around Mel now, guiding her away from the crowd while Jack spoke to security.
“She’s okay.” Robby said. Dennis swallowed. Blood stained the corner of his mouth. “I shouldn’t have left you unattended.”
“I’m not a child, Robby.”
“I know.” Robby’s voice softened before he could stop it. “You’re not who I’m worried about.”
Robby slid one hand beneath his elbow and helped him up. Dennis wobbled once, barely, but it was enough for Robby’s hand to move instinctively to the small of his back. “We’re going to the first-aid room.”
“I said I’m fine.”
“Then you can be fine in the first-aid room.”
Dennis huffed, but didn’t argue. As they moved away from the terrace, Robby caught Santos’s eye. She looked furious. And then, when she saw Robby’s hand hovering at Dennis’s back, something else passed through her face. Robby looked away first.
☆ ☆ ☆
The hotel’s first-aid room was tucked near the conference registration area, small and overly bright with white cabinets, a narrow exam table, and a laminated emergency protocol taped crookedly to the wall. It smelled like antiseptic and reminded Robby of home. Of the ED.
Dennis sat in one of the plastic chairs while Robby sanitized his hands. The silence between them felt too loud after the chaos outside. Through the closed door, muffled conference noise continued. Voices. Footsteps. Someone laughing far away as if nothing had happened.
Robby rubbed his hands together harder than necessary. He rummaged through the cabinet quickly, gathering gauze, saline, antiseptic wipes, and gloves. He snapped the gloves on out of habit. “Alright. Hold still.”
“I haven’t moved.”
“Then keep doing that.”
A small smile tugged at Dennis’s swollen lip and immediately turned into a wince.
Robby softened despite himself. “Yeah, don’t do that.”
“Don’t smile?”
“Not with a busted lip.” Robby pulled up a seat to sit in front of him. “C’mere.”
Dennis tipped his chin up. Robby gently touched two fingers beneath his jaw, angling his face toward the light. He focused on the injury. Swelling along the upper lip. Superficial split. Bruising starting beneath his nose, no obvious deformities. Pupils equal, tracking normal.
He brushed his thumb lightly below the bruise before he could stop himself, lightly swiping over Dennis’s lip. Dennis went still. Robby withdrew half an inch, then forced himself to continue with professional purpose. “Open.”
Dennis obeyed. Robby checked inside his mouth carefully. “Small cut. Probably bit yourself when he hit you.”
“Feels like it. Ouch.”
“You’ve got all your teeth?”
Dennis ran his tongue carefully along them. “Think so.”
“Good.” Robby reached for saline and gauze. Dennis watched him. Robby felt the weight of it in his hands. “You know better than to step in alone.”
Dennis’s expression closed slightly. “Mel was cornered.”
“I saw.”
“So what was I supposed to do?”
“Get someone.”
“I was someone.”
Robby paused. Dennis’s voice wasn’t angry exactly. Just firm, bruised pride beneath bruised skin. Robby exhaled through his nose and gently dabbed at the blood near Dennis’s lip. Dennis flinched. “Sorry.”
“S’okay.”
“No, it’s not.” Robby kept his touch as light as he could. “I’m proud of you.” He swallowed. “For standing up for her like that.”
The words settled between them. “You are?”
“Yeah.” Robby allowed himself a small smile. “Pleasantly surprised and also kinda scared that you can take a punch like that.”
A laugh escaped Dennis before he winced again. “Ow.”
“I told you not to smile.”
“You made me.”
Robby looked away, reaching for an antiseptic wipe. The cleanup took longer than it needed to, he knew that. A busted lip was not a complex repair. Dennis didn’t need stitches. His nose didn’t need resetting. The bruise needed ice, maybe ibuprofen, topped off with rest. Simple.
Robby could have been done in five minutes. Instead he worked slowly, carefully, gently dabbing away dried blood from the corner of Dennis’s mouth. His fingers steadied Dennis’s chin. His thumb rested near his jaw. Every touch lingered half a second too long.
Robby told himself he was observing. Assessing. Watching for any signs of dizziness or shock. Not savoring the excuse to touch Dennis’s face. Not memorizing the warmth of him. Not thinking about how careful he wanted to be with him in ways that had nothing to do with medicine. He applied a final bit of balm to his lip.
“So.” Dennis said softly, voice rough around the swelling. “Guess it’s good I got punched after the photoshoot, huh?”
Robby huffed before he could stop himself. “I’m sure they hate seeing a pretty face get damaged.”
“You think I’m pretty?”
Fuck.
Robby’s brain came apart completely for half a second. “No, I mean—” He withdrew his hand too quickly, busying himself with the dirtied supplies on the counter. “Sure. That’s probably why they chose you, right?”
It was the wrong answer before the sentence finished leaving his mouth. Dennis’s expression flickered. The small drop in his eyes. The way his mouth pressed together before remembering that it hurt. The way he looked down at his hands instead of at Robby.
“Oh.” Dennis said quietly. “I guess so.”
Robby felt something twist hard in his chest. “Dennis—”
“I know what you meant.” Dennis slid out of his chair, not quite looking at him. “Thanks for checking me out.” The wording landed. Dennis’s eyes widened slightly. “I mean—checking the injury. Not—” He stopped, cheeks flushing despite everything. “Never mind.”
Robby wanted to say something. Instead, he stood there like an idiot. “Get ice on it tonight if you can.”
Dennis nodded. “I will.”
“And no alcohol.”
“I had half a drink, Robby.”
“No more then.”
“Okay.”
“If you get dizzy, nauseous, confused, headache gets worse—”
“I know. I’m a doctor too, believe it or not.” Dennis finally looked up, and there was a guard there now that hadn’t been there before. Dennis held his gaze for a moment before looking away. “I think I’m gonna head up.”
“To your room?”
“Yeah.”
Robby nearly offered to walk him. He bit it back. “Text Santos when you get there.”
“You mean so she doesn’t break my door down?”
“Exactly.”
“I will.” He stepped toward the door, then paused with one hand on the handle. Robby’s heart stumbled stupidly. Dennis glanced back. For one suspended second, Robby thought about all of the things that he might say. Instead Dennis gave him a small, tired smile. “Goodnight, Robby.”
Then he left. The door clicked softly shut behind him. Robby sat in the bright little medical room surrounded by gauze wrappers and antiseptic smell, feeling like something had just slipped through his hands.
He wasn’t sure how long he stayed there before Jack stepped into the room, letting the door shut behind him. His expression was caught somewhere between concern and unbearable curiosity.
“You okay?” He asked.
Robby laughed once, humorless. “Great.”
“Michael.”
“I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing, man.” Robby looked down at his hands. “I keep filing it all away. So that I can bring it to therapy like some neat little problem Marta can help me label and shelve.”
Jack said nothing.
Robby laughed under his breath. “I can’t even explain it to her. I wish I had answers for you too, but I don’t. I don’t even have them for myself.”
He rubbed both hands over his face. His body felt heavy, the adrenaline finally draining out of him. The anger from the terrace had nowhere to go. The fear either. Dennis’s face kept replaying in his head.
I’d rather Robby.
You think I’m pretty?
The way Robby fumbled the answer badly enough to watch light leave his eyes. “I can’t want this.”
Jack’s brows drew together. “Why not?”
Robby shot him a look.
Jack lifted a hand. “I know, I know. Attending. Resident. Age gap. HR nightmare.”
“It’s not funny.”
“I’m not joking.”
Robby looked away. Jack sighed. “But you do want it.” The silence answered for him. Jack nodded once, like something had been confirmed.“Does he know?”
“No.”
“Well he sure as hell wants you.”
The words hung there. Robby couldn’t touch them, because if he did, he’d have to think about Dennis’s face under his hands. The warmth of his skin. The question in his voice. The disappointment when Robby chose the safer road and made it ugly anyway.
“I think I just hurt his feelings.” Robby said quietly.
“He’ll be alright.”
“That doesn’t make me feel better.”
“Good.” Jack said. “Means you’re not dead inside.”
Robby huffed despite himself.
Jack clapped his shoulder once, then left his hand there for a second longer. “Go to bed.”
“I should go check on the others.”
“The others are fine. Santos is probably plotting murder. Samira is taking care of King. Ellis has already emailed Gloria to soften the news. McKay is making sure everyone drinks water. Javadi is doing whatever Javadi does. They’re fine.”
“Samira?” Robby smirked. “First name basis?”
“Go to bed.” He repeated. They made their way back out into the hallway together.
The conference center had mostly settled from the incident. A few people glanced at them as they passed, but no one stopped him. Good. Robby didn’t have room left for polite concern from strangers. Near the elevators, Santos stood with Javadi, both looking down at a phone. Robby’s first instinct was alarm.
Santos looked up before he could ask. “He texted. He’s in his room.”
The relief was immediate and humiliating. He nodded. “Good.”
“He says he’s icing it.”
“Good.” He repeated.
She narrowed her eyes. Robby kept his face neutral. She stepped closer. Javadi wisely drifted a few feet away, pretending not to listen while absolutely listening.
“You okay?” Santos asked.
“I’m not the one who got punched.”
“No.” She said. “But you’re the one who looked like you were about to rip that guy’s arm off and beat him with it, allegedly. Wish I witnessed it.”
“He hit one of my residents.”
Then Santos’s expression softened just slightly. Enough to disarm him. “He’s tougher than he looks.”
“I know.”
“And softer than he wants people to think.”
Robby’s throat tightened. “I know that too.”
Santos studied him for another second. Whatever she saw there, she didn’t say it out loud. A small mercy extended to him. “Goodnight, Doctor Robby.”
Robby nodded. “Goodnight, Doctor Santos.”
She turned away with Javadi, both heading toward the elevators on the other side. Jack waited until they were out of earshot. “She’s definitely onto you.”
☆ ☆ ☆
His hotel room was dark when he returned except for the thin line of moonlight slipping through the curtains. The ocean outside moved as a black shape beneath a darker sky. Waves whispered somewhere below, steady and indifferent, Robby opened the window so that the sound of it reached further into the room.
He didn’t bother turning on the overhead light. He kicked off his shoes and sat heavily on the edge of the bed with the weight of the day finally catching up to him all at once.
His phone sat silent in his hand. No message from Dennis, not that he expected one. He had told Dennis to text Santos. Dennis had. That should have been enough.
Robby opened his messages anyway. He scrolled to a text great with Dennis that was from just before Robby had returned from his cruise.
Dennis: How does it feel to be coming back so soon?
Robby: I’m sick of buffet eggs. And I miss land. Not coming back to work for a bit, so don’t miss me too much.
Dennis: Too late, I do miss you. We all do.
Robby: My plants will miss you.
Dennis had sent back a laughing emoji.
Robby had told himself, at first, that it was just gratitude. Dennis had taken care of his house. Kept his plants alive. Checked the mail. Sent him updates that were funny enough to make him smile at his phone on a ship in the middle of the ocean. It was normal to feel touched by that. Normal to miss the familiarity of someone who had quietly threaded himself into the edges of Robby’s life while he wasn’t looking.
But then Robby had come home. He’d come back to Pittsburgh with sunburn on the back of his neck, a duffel full of laundry, and the deeply unsettling realization that being away from The Pitt hadn’t fixed him. It had quieted some things and given him room to breathe. But home had been too quiet at first.
Just when he had nearly re-planned a new motorcycle trip, Dennis had started stopping by to check in. The first time, he brought groceries because he had used all of Robby’s and insisted on restocking, teasingly adding that he included more essentials that Robby needed for proper nutrition. He stood in Robby’s kitchen unloading eggs, fruit, bread, coffee, and a fancy herbal tea like he had every right to be there while he lectured Robby about eating more vegetables.
Robby had leaned against the counter with his arms crossed. “You this bossy with patients now?”
Dennis didn’t even look up. “Only the adults who refuse to take care of their health.”
“I’m not your patient.”
“No.” Dennis said, sliding a bunch of carrots into the fridge. “You’re worse.”
Robby should have been irritated, but he mostly remembered feeling warm. Warm enough that when Dennis left an hour later, the house felt colder than it had before.
Dennis would tell him about shifts in careful doses, leaving out anything too bloody unless Robby asked for specifics. He never made The Pitt sound like it had fallen apart without him. Never made Robby feel guilty for being gone. Never came over to drag him back. He was just there.
There were evenings Dennis sat at his kitchen table reviewing patient notes while Robby made coffee neither of them needed. Mornings when he would drop off coffee after “making too much.” Afternoons when he dropped by to water the basil himself, even though Robby was home now, muttering that he didn’t trust Robby not to kill it.
Eventually Robby started buying the tea Dennis liked even though he himself didn’t drink tea and had no intention of becoming someone who did.
Marta asked him once if he felt lonely being back home during the extended leave. Robby said no automatically. Then he thought about the nights of Dennis sitting cross-legged on his couch, arguing with the television while Robby’s plants sat alive in the window and his fridge was stocked with leftovers.
“There’s a resident.” He admitted, almost immediately regretting it. “He checks in.”
She smiled faintly. “Tell me about him.”
Robby had not told her much. Not then. Maybe he should, now that things with Dennis were only getting harder to bury.
He stared at the messages for too long. Then he set the phone facedown on the bed like it had burned him. I do miss you.
He wondered if Dennis liked being alone tonight. After a hit like that, after the crowd, after the embarrassment, after Robby’s idiotic deflection, maybe he did. He stood and walked to the bathroom mostly to stop thinking. The mirror greeted him with a face that looked older than it had that morning. Tired eyes, grey in his beard, tension around his mouth.
You think I’m pretty?
Robby gripped the sink. “Yes.” He said quietly to the empty bathroom. There. Coward.
He could say it to porcelain. Yes, Dennis was pretty. Pretty in the obvious ways, sure. The blue eyes. The curls. The soft lips currently split because some drunk asshole couldn’t handle being told no. But it was more than that.
Dennis was pretty when he concentrated. Pretty when he got flustered. Pretty when he laughed and tried not to. Pretty when he was kind to patients who didn’t deserve patience. Pretty when he got stubborn. Pretty wasn’t even the right word, it didn’t feel sufficient enough. But it was just the only word Robby’s exhausted brain could survive for the time being.
He splashed water on his face. By the time he stepped back into the room, his phone had lit up. His heart kicked stupidly. Not Dennis, just Jack.
Don’t spiral too hard. You have plaque trauma tomorrow.
Robby stared at the message with a frown, then typed back. Go to hell.
Jack responded immediately. Already here. It’s called Virginia Beach Leadership Summit.
Robby laughed despite himself. Another message followed.
Seriously. Sleep.
Robby set the phone down again. He changed mechanically. Brushed his teeth. Set an alarm he didn’t trust. When he finally lay down, the mattress felt too soft. Hotel beds always did. He stared at the ceiling.
Sleep did not come quickly. Instead, his mind moved through the day in fragments. Dennis laughing in the parking lot. Dennis falling asleep on the bus, cheek turned toward the window. Dennis standing embarrassed in the lobby while Santos announced their living arrangements to half the conference. Dennis looking at him after the photos. Dennis stepping in front of Mel. Dennis bleeding.
Dennis asking if Robby thought he was pretty. Pretty blue eyes. Crestfallen. Guarded.
Robby turned onto his side and pressed the heel of his hand against his sternum. There was no getting around it. No filing it away neatly for therapy. His feelings for Dennis had grown after the sabbatical the way plants grew in cracks of concrete. Quietly. Stubbornly. In places he hadn’t thought to guard.
Tomorrow he had to stand on a panel and accept a plaque for surviving something he still didn’t know how to talk about. Tonight, he had to live with the fact that he had made Dennis look away from him. That he had made Dennis doubt himself.
Robby closed his eyes. The ocean kept moving outside. And eventually, somewhere between shame and exhaustion, he fell asleep thinking about pretty blue eyes.
Not for the first time, not even close. And certainly not the last.