Dear Adam, page 12
He stood and offered his hand.
She pressed the hairband into it, meeting his gaze. “Thank you,” she said. The two words seemed insufficient somehow.
“You’re brave for coming in,” he said, his voice soft. “That’s the first step most people never take.”
Chapter 20
Monday Afternoon
Aidan shoved the Solace Tech fire door open hard enough to rattle the glass. It slammed behind him, the echo chasing him down the hallway.
He didn’t wait for the elevator; he just took the stairs two at a time. Then out through the lobby, past the security desk, and into the sting of early afternoon light.
A pedestrian veered in front of him, and Aidan nearly clipped his shoulder.
“Watch it,” the guy muttered.
Aidan didn’t stop. His pulse was still erratic, part adrenaline, part frustration, part something else he didn’t want to name.
Alice had disconnected.
He’d overshared.
Now he was running to the one person who once anchored him.
But lately, she was the one adrift.
He jogged the last block to the station and bought a ticket without enquiring about the price. He pushed through the turnstile as the platform announcement crackled to life. “Train departing for San Jose, track three.”
He boarded without waiting for the rush to clear, found a four-seater table and dropped into it possessively. The carriage wasn’t full, but he glared at anyone who even glanced toward the empty seats around him.
They kept walking.
As the train lurched into motion, he slumped back, fished his phone from his jacket pocket, and unlocked the screen.
No new notifications.
He opened the Kindle app—anything to get out of his head.
The screen lit up, and Never Let Me Go resumed from where he’d left off.
He just needed the words to drown out the ones clawing at the inside of his skull.
Outside the window, the city blurred past in streaks of steel and sunlight.
But he didn’t look up.
The train hissed to a stop at the platform, brakes squealing in protest. He rose stiffly and stepped out into the cool air, his eyes adjusting to the softer light of the suburbs.
He crossed the plaza without slowing and raised a hand for the nearest cab. A battered yellow sedan pulled up, windows half-down, music blaring from the dashboard.
“Ashbourne House?” Aidan asked, already tugging the door handle.
The driver whistled. “Nice place!”
Aidan threw himself into the backseat, and the cab pulled away. A mini boxing glove with “#1 Dad” stitched on it dangled from the rearview mirror.
“You know they’re building another Tesla showroom out here?” the driver said. “Third one this year. Place used to be all strip malls and storage units. Now it’s fancy spas and French bakeries.”
Aidan gave a non-committal grunt and leaned his temple against the window, wishing he’d stop talking.
The driver glanced at Aidan in the rearview. “Not a Tesla sales guy, are you?” He said with a chuckle.
“No, I’m a software engineer.”
The driver shook his head. “Oh… changing the world one program at a time, is it?”
“Something like that,” Aidan muttered.
“Business visit to Ashbourne House, or personal?” He asked.
Aidan didn’t reply.
The driver didn’t take the hint. “Are you here to debug the residents?” He chuckled at his joke.
Aidan closed his eyes briefly and counted back from five.
Outside, the landscape softened to clean streets, white signage, and neat hedgerows.
They were getting close.
The driver slowed the car as they turned through a pair of black iron gates. The words ‘Ashbourne House’ were engraved into a brass plaque on the stone column to the left.
“We’re here, buddy.”
Aidan nodded. “Yeah.”
The grounds were manicured to perfection with hedges clipped to soft, rounded edges, and flowerbeds curated with military precision.
The cab pulled to a stop in front of the grand steps and ivy-wrapped columns. From the outside, the building looked like a converted manor house—three stories of pale stone with carved double doors. It resembled an estate more than a care facility, designed to feel dignified. Almost aspirational… as though decline didn’t live there. Like its purpose could be disguised with fresh paint and discreet fountains.
Aidan passed a bunch of crumpled bills to the driver and reached for the handle.
“Hey,” the driver said. “Good luck with… whatever it is.”
Aidan nodded once. “Thanks.”
He stepped out of the cab and started up the stone steps. Ashbourne House was the kind of place people paid for so they wouldn’t have to feel guilty.
But that didn’t seem to be working so well for him.
At the top, he paused and took a breath, then pushed open the door and stepped inside.
The reception area was warm and understated, all soft upholstery and muted tones, with soft jazz playing from hidden speakers. A woman in her sixties sat behind the reception desk, wearing a navy cardigan and wire-rimmed glasses on a chain.
She looked up as he approached. “Mr. Wolfe?”
He nodded.
“You’re late for your appointment with Dr. Kessler.”
“Train delay,” he said automatically.
She didn’t challenge it. Instead, she pointed toward the corridor on the left. “He’s waiting in the consultation room. You remember the way?”
“Yeah,” Aidan said, already moving, his boots squeaking on the polished floor.
The room was plain but warm. Pale green walls, a desk pushed to one side, and an ornate window overlooking a quiet garden.
Dr. Kessler entered with a tablet in hand and gave Aidan a polite nod. "Mr. Wolfe. Thank you for coming in."
Aidan nodded once. "Appreciate you making the time."
Kessler gestured to a chair.
"I wanted to speak with you in person before we adjust the care plan."
Aidan didn’t sit. He leaned against the wall instead, arms folded, posture tight. "Her care plan.”
Kessler exhaled through his nose. "She’s struggling to remain oriented. Which can be… distressing."
Aidan looked out the window. "Is she in pain?"
"No. Discomfort, occasionally. But we’re managing it."
Aidan nodded.
"But she responds better when you’re here, you know that,” Kessler added.
Aidan clenched his jaw. "I’ve been bus—" he stopped.
He couldn’t even finish the lie.
Kessler swiped at his screen. "She still asks after you. Not every day. But when she does, it’s… lucid."
"And the humming?" Aidan asked quietly.
"Sometimes, yes. Usually in the mornings. When she’s calmer."
Aidan swallowed hard. "She used to hum while gardening," he said absently. "Elton John. It drove me nuts."
Kessler glanced down at his tablet. "I know you requested supervised gardening sessions, which we will implement from next month. But that naturally will come with an additional cost.” He adjusted his tie. “It’ll be an additional $2500 a month."
Aidan blinked. "$2500?"
"I know it’s steep, but we need to hire a gardener, additional supervision… then there’s the insurance. You’ve asked for bespoke provision, Mr. Wolfe."
"Right." He rubbed the back of his neck. "No. It’s fine. I’ll make it work."
The doctor looked at him for a moment, as if he wanted to say more. But then just nodded. "Would you like to see her?"
Aidan hesitated. "How is she today?"
"Quiet. A little distant. But peaceful."
Aidan glanced at his watch. He sighed and pushed off the wall. " I can’t today. I have a… a meeting that I can’t get out of."
Kessler nodded, opened the door, and gestured him through.
The train rocked gently as it pulled away from the station, the windows streaked with late-afternoon light. Aidan sat by himself again in another four-seater, with the same guarded posture. This time, no one even tried to join him.
His phone buzzed in his hand, but he ignored it.
Instead, he reopened the Kindle app and continued to read Never Let Me Go.
By the time he reached the final line, his chest was tight—tense in a way he couldn’t explain.
He stared at the screen a moment longer, then closed the app and let the reflection of his face rise in the black.
Still him.
Still a mess.
He checked the time and swore under his breath.
Shit.
He tapped out a message.
Aidan: Running late. Be there soon.
The reply came fast.
Clarissa: Not bailing on me, are you?
He hesitated, then typed:
Aidan: Air traffic control. Nightmare on final approach.
A pause. Then the reply came.
Clarissa: I’ll try not to drink the bar dry before you land.
He smirked and tucked his phone away.
He needed this date.
Needed the distraction.
Needed the sex.
Something simple.
Something that didn’t ask anything of him.
Something numbing.
The train sped on. He let it take him where he didn’t have to think too hard.
Chapter 21
Monday Evening
The boutique hotel looked like it belonged in a travel blog. It boasted organic soap, soft Edison bulbs, and a hand-written welcome card propped against a glass carafe of filtered water.
But that wasn’t why Ava had chosen it.
She chose it because it was halfway between the station and the clinic, close enough to walk, saving her the return cab fare. Plus, she had a discount code for off-peak stays.
She deserved this. A moment to breathe. To savor the fact that her risk, her pitch, her plan to fix everything, was finally within reach.
She stepped inside the sage-green room and closed the door quietly behind her. It offered just enough space for a double bed tucked between mismatched nightstands. On one wall stood a ladder-style clothing rack with polished wooden hangers. A window looked out over the main street, fading into dusk. Somewhere below, a wind chime jangled softly.
She set her tote on the edge of the bed and unzipped it.
Her laptop came out first, followed by a well-thumbed notebook, and the neatly folded cotton pajamas she always brought on overnight trips, even though that was seldom. A travel toothbrush, her face cream, and a fresh blouse for the next day followed.
With a slow exhale, she pulled the hoodie from the bottom of her bag, crumpled and soft from being stuffed in. She pressed it to her chest for a moment before pulling it on.
She rummaged through the tote. No laptop charging lead. “Shit.” She must’ve left it plugged in next to the kitchen table.
She tossed the laptop onto the rattan armchair, complete with an accent cushion, and sank onto the bed. The mattress dipped beneath her, softer than she expected.
For a long moment, she just sat there, letting the news from her surgeon sink in.
He could fix her face. She was going to get her life back! A thrill thrummed through her veins as she contemplated a real future for a change. One full of hope and possibilities.
The curtains were open, admitting the dull glow of the streetlamps from outside. It cast the room in a kind of hush as deep contentment settled over her.
She stood and crossed to the window, arms folded loosely. Outside, San Jose moved and pulsed—the low hum of traffic, the occasional hiss of tires on damp tarmac, pedestrians drifting past.
A couple strolled past with a dog, their steps unhurried. The woman laughed at something, tipping her head toward the man, who touched her back in that casual, familiar way people did when they belonged to each other.
Ava watched them. She would claim a moment like that soon. Excitement fluttered in the pit of her stomach.
Sitting on the edge of the bed, she let her fingers drift to her hairline. The place where Dr. Chen’s fingers had brushed her forehead to place the band still tingled, as though her face knew that everything was about to change.
It had been so long since anyone had touched her. A long time since someone had looked at her. Fully.
She smiled, the graft to the side of her lip tugging faintly. Soon, someone would touch her. Hug her. Love her.
Time to celebrate.
She reached for the phone by the bed and pressed the room service button. When the operator answered, Ava said, “A chicken salad, please.” She hesitated. “No, wait. I’ll have the gourmet burger, with a side of fries.”
The reply sounded tinny and far away.
“Do you have any cheesecake? For dessert?” She added, her words coming out in a rush.
As she set the receiver back down, she snatched it back before it settled in the cradle. “And a very large glass of red wine,” she added quickly. “Please.”
She hung up gently, then leaned back on the bed, exhaling slowly. Her face ached from a smile she didn’t know she still had in her. She tipped her head back and studied the ceiling, endless possibilities playing out before her.
Outside, it began to rain, a soft patter on the windows to start with, then heavier, persistent. Suddenly, she was back at the night of the accident.
Rain hammered on the restaurant windows that night, blurring the streetlights into streaks of gold. She’d kept glancing toward the door, counting the minutes. Thirty, forty, an hour. Her untouched glass of wine went warm in her hand. Eventually, she paid for two meals and walked out into the downpour alone. Mascara bled down her cheeks as she wondered what she’d done wrong this time.
She slammed the car door, already soaked to the skin, her dress clinging to her breasts. She started the engine, the windscreen wipers slapping against the downpour, barely keeping up with the torrent. She pulled away, gripping the wheel tighter than she meant to, blinking hard at the streaming windshield. The tears came then, hot and useless.
Through the curtain of rain, a figure hunched against the weather appeared on the roadside, weaving unsteadily. She slowed as she passed him, and her breath caught in recognition.
A soft knock interrupted her thoughts, and she swallowed down the memory.
Room service.
A man in a pressed white shirt delivered the tray. His double-take caused the wine to slop, but tonight, Ava didn’t care. She was already counting down the finite number of instances where strangers recoiled at her appearance.
The man mumbled an apology as he set the tray on the table near the window. He held out the vinyl folder and a pen without meeting her gaze.
Ava signed with a flourish and pressed both into his hand, shutting the door behind him. At the small round table, she ate in silence, savoring each delicious mouthful.
Pumbaa would be finishing the last of his dry food about now. She pictured his whiskers twitching, his tail flicking, the small stretch he always did after eating. A familiar stab of guilt nagged at her.
After her meal, she placed the tray and half-eaten cheesecake outside her room, balancing on one leg to prevent the door from closing. Then she changed into her pyjamas and slipped between the cool sheets.
She reached for the glass of wine on the nightstand and took a sip, then sat back and moisturized her face with slow, practiced strokes. A ritual, not a comfort. A necessary habit that only ever reminded her of the scars she didn’t need help remembering. Her fingers navigating the geography that her touch knew by heart.
Raindrops streaked the glass, chasing each other to the sill. In her mind, they blurred into headlights and tears on a rain-slick road, dragging her back to the night that scorched her skin, shattered her future, and rewrote who she was forever.
Chapter 22
Monday Evening
Aidan stepped through the smoked-glass doors into the bar at the top of the Mason Hotel.
The room unfolded in low light and sharp angles. Brass fixtures accented the space, black marble counters whispered opulence, and glass walls revealed the skyline like artwork. A pianist played slow jazz somewhere near the back, music designed to fade into the background.
He scanned the room once. He didn’t need to do it twice.
She was at the bar, her back to him.
But it was unmistakably her.
Her dress clung to her body in all the ways it was designed to. Deep red, tailored as a seductive second skin, with a plunging back that framed the sharp architecture of her spine. Jimmy Choo heels cupped around her ankles, thin red straps snaking up her toned calves.
“Fuck,” Aidan muttered under his breath. Suddenly aware that he was underdressed. Suddenly aware of every beat of his pulse. He hesitated, then took a breath, reset his expression, and crossed the room.
She didn’t turn as he slid onto the stool beside her. Instead, she tilted her glass slightly in his direction, the olive swirling against the side.
He signaled the bartender with two fingers. “Scotch on the rocks,” Aidan said. “And whatever the lady’s having.”
Clarissa answered without looking at him. “Vodka martini.”
He glanced sideways, the air already thick between them, arousal stirring in his groin.
Mesmerized, he watched as she swirled the cocktail stick in her drink, then took the olive between her teeth, crimson lips parting just enough to slide it free. She chewed slowly. Then turned to him with a smile that looked as though it had floored better men. “Evening, Maverick.”
“Sorry I’m late,” Aidan said, his voice husky as the bartender started rattling the cocktail shaker violently behind the counter.
