Chapter 11 - When the Other Man Finally Arrived
André’s car had been struck by a driver who ran a red light.
By the time Camille reached Jackson Memorial, he was in surgery.
His injuries were serious.
Not fatal, doctors believed.
Broken femur.
Fractured ribs.
Internal bleeding they believed they had controlled.
A head injury that required observation.
Camille stood in the emergency department wearing the professional badge of a physical therapist who worked in healthcare and understood every word being said.
But all she heard was:
André.
Surgery.
Wait.
Again.
Her mother held one hand.
Elise held the other.
For six hours, Camille returned to an old role so completely that it frightened her.
The woman waiting for André Laurent.
At 4:32 a.m., the surgeon finally appeared.
“He’s stable.”
Camille cried into her mother’s shoulder.
The following morning, André woke.
Camille was there.
His first words were confused.
His second were:
“You look terrible.”
Camille laughed and cried simultaneously.
“You almost died and you’re insulting me.”
“Consistency.”
He drifted back to sleep.
Camille stayed.
By afternoon, she had forgotten the message she never sent Ethan.
Three thousand miles away, Ethan knew nothing.
He had spent twelve days respecting the boundary he created.
That did not mean he liked it.
He checked his phone constantly.
He searched flights he did not book.
He wrote messages he deleted.
Priya noticed.
“You’re miserable.”
“I’m working.”
“You’re aggressively working.”
“That’s my normal setting.”
“No.”
She pulled a chair beside his desk.
“This is sadder.”
Ethan leaned back.
“What do you want?”
“To tell you I was wrong.”
“About?”
“You having a Florida face.”
He waited.
“You have a Florida problem.”
Ethan almost smiled.
Priya continued.
“You want advice?”
“No.”
“I’m giving it.”
“Of course.”
“If somebody matters, there is a difference between giving space and disappearing.”
Ethan looked at her.
“I told her to call when she knew what she wanted.”
“And if something happened before she figured it out?”
The question stayed with him.
That night, Ethan finally sent one message.
I hope you’re okay. No need to answer.
Camille received it while sitting beside André’s hospital bed.
She stared.
Her heart cracked.
She walked into the hallway.
Then called.
Ethan answered immediately.
“Camille?”
She burst into tears.
Every plan disappeared.
Every carefully constructed sentence.
“Hey.”
Ethan sat upright.
“What happened?”
“André was in an accident.”
His chest tightened.
“Is he okay?”
“Yes.”
She explained.
Ethan listened.
No jealousy.
No hesitation.
“Are you at the hospital?”
“Yes.”
“Have you slept?”
“Not really.”
“Have you eaten?”
“Ethan.”
“That means no.”
Despite herself, Camille laughed.
“He’s going to recover.”
“Good.”
“I was so scared.”
“I know.”
A long silence.
Then Camille said, “I was going to call you.”
“Before?”
“Yes.”
Ethan waited.
“I made my choice.”
His heartbeat changed.
But he refused to ask.
Not now.
Camille continued.
“Then Mom called.”
“You don’t have to talk about it tonight.”
“I want to.”
“You’re exhausted.”
“I don’t care.”
“Camille.”
She closed her eyes.
“Please don’t make everything sensible.”
That stopped him.
“Okay.”
She leaned against the hospital wall.
“I don’t want to get back together with André.”
Ethan said nothing.
“I knew before the accident.”
Still nothing.
“The accident didn’t change that.”
“Okay.”
“But it changed something.”
Ethan braced.
“I love him.”
His hand tightened around the phone.
Camille immediately continued.
“Not like that.”
“Camille, you don’t have to explain.”
“Yes, I do.”
Her voice strengthened.
“He is family to me. Maybe he always will be.”
Ethan closed his eyes.
“If you and I become something real, André will still exist in my life in some form.”
There it was.
A truth more difficult than romantic fantasy.
Camille asked, “Can you handle that?”
Ethan wanted to say yes immediately.
Instead he did the thing that had become harder and more important.
He told the truth.
“I don’t know.”
Camille was silent.
“I want to.”
Ethan continued.
“But I’m probably going to be jealous sometimes.”
“Okay.”
“I’m going to wonder whether you compare us.”
“I probably will.”
That answer hurt.
Camille continued.
“But comparison doesn’t mean competition.”
Ethan absorbed that.
“No.”
“André has thirteen years of history with me.”
“I know.”
“You have three days and several weeks of emotionally inconvenient phone calls.”
Ethan laughed.
“Strong foundation.”
“The best.”
She smiled through tears.
Then Ethan said, “I want to try.”
Camille closed her eyes.
“So do I.”
He looked at the clock.
“Then sleep.”
“You are ruining the moment.”
“I’m serious.”
“I know.”
“I’ll call tomorrow.”
Camille smiled.
“Okay.”
Before hanging up, Ethan said, “Camille?”
“Yes?”
“I’m glad he’s alive.”
Her eyes filled.
“I know.”
The next afternoon, André woke more fully.
Camille helped him drink water.
His memory was intact.
His personality unfortunately remained intact too.
“You called Seattle.”
Camille nearly dropped the cup.
“How do you know?”
“Elise talks loudly.”
Camille looked toward the door.
“Traitor.”
André smiled weakly.
“So?”
“So what?”
“Are you going?”
“Going where?”
“Seattle.”
Camille stared.
“I hadn’t thought—”
“Yes, you did.”
“André.”
He shifted painfully.
“You spent thirteen years waiting for me to get on the right plane.”
His eyes met hers.
“Don’t become me now.”
Camille felt tears rise.
André smiled.
May you like
“Go.”
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