I Quit My Job Twenty-One Times And He Packed Her Shirt Chapter 08

I Quit My Job Twenty-One Times And He Packed Her Shirt Chapter 08

Julian bit his lip, staring up at me with a hollow expression, but said nothing.

I stood up and left the ward, heading down to the dental wing. Julian dragged his IV pole along to wait for me

in the corridor.

Once the dentist handed me my prescription, I stepped out into the hallway and caught Julian muttering to

himself.

“It’s all my fault,” he mumbled, pacing anxiously. “I let her out of my sight for just a few days, and her wisdom

teeth are already flaring up again.”

“I have to look after her much better from now on. I can’t let her go through this kind of pain ever again.”

I walked right past him. He scrambled to keep pace with me, his voice launching into a familiar, nagging

rhythm.

“The food here in Chicago is way too sweet, Rachel. You need to cut back on those desserts. Dental pain is

no joke.”

“Did you order those powdered sugar beignets? I know how much you love that kind of fluffy stuff.”

Sometimes, it hit me just how thoroughly Julian actually knew me. Like right now–he could pinpoint the

exact cause of my pain in a split second.

But that only made it worse. If he understood me so perfectly, how could he have consciously neglected me

for four straight years?

If he had truly put my feelings first even once during those four years, we never would have ended up here.

“Julian, why couldn’t you ever show me that kind of consideration when it actually mattered?” I asked,

stopping dead in my tracks.

I turned around to face him. “Twenty–one transfers. I walked away from twenty–one jobs just to stay by your

side.”

“The night my father was slipping into a coma, begging to see you one last time before his mind went blank,

why didn’t you show up?”

“Why was it that every single time I desperately needed you, you could never find a single second to choose

me?”

The unanswered questions had been choking me for years. Now that the words were finally out in the open,

an incredible wave of relief washed over me.

Perhaps, deep down, I had never really been waiting for his answers anyway.

Julian looked as if he had been struck dumb. His mouth opened and closed, but no sound came out for a long time.

I spoke one last time, my voice completely clear.

“My dad passed away regretting that he never got to properly vet the man I loved.”

“But standing here now, I finally see it. He did vet you, Julian. And you failed the test completely.”

Without waiting for a response, I turned and walked straight out of the hospital doors.

After taking a few doses of the prescription, the throbbing in my jaw finally began to settle down.

When I went downstairs to grab a bottle of water from the lobby convenience store, I ran into the blue–eyed client again. His face lit up with immediate surprise.

“Ms. Johnson! What a pleasant surprise,” he said warmly. I offered a polite smile. “Mr. Mike Miller, what a

surprise.”

His eyes took in my tailored winter coat, a genuine look of appreciation settling over his features. “You look

stunning.”

“There’s a beautiful, quiet resilience in you,” he added softly. “Like a flower that insists on blooming beautifully despite the harshest winter.”

I couldn’t help but laugh at his poetic phrasing, covering my mouth quickly.

A small, satisfied smile played on his lips, as if he had accomplished exactly what he set out to do. He

reached behind his back and produced a fresh bouquet of peonies, extending them toward me. “I heard these

were your favorite.”

“I don’t know the story behind those sad eyes, but I hate to see a beautiful woman looking so heavy–hearted.”

He certainly knew exactly what to say, and I found myself thoroughly charmed by his easy charisma.

The exact second my fingers wrapped around the stems, the bouquet was violently slapped out of my hand.

Julian shoved his way between us, his face distorted with rage as he lunged forward to confront Mike.

“Do you have any idea that she has a boyfriend?” Julian snarled.

“This whole ‘Western gentleman‘ act is a joke. It’s just a pathetic routine to hit on women, isn’t it?”

An IV port was still taped firmly to the back of his hand–he had clearly broken out of his hospital room.

Seeing my life disrupted by his chaos yet again, an intense wave of irritation flared up inside me.

“Julian, can you stop acting like a psychotic child?” I snapped.

I shoved Julian back with all my strength, offered a hurried apology to Mike, and scooped the bruised

peonies off the floor before sprinting toward the exit.

In the quiet of the emergency stairwell, I turned to look at Julian, completely worn out. He was still trembling

with leftover fury.

“Rachel, who the hell is that guy? Why are you defending him?” he demanded, his voice cracking. “Is he the

real reason you took this transfer? Did you come to Chicago for him?”