When I get home from the hospital Thursday night, there’s a vase of a dozen red roses on the kitchen counter. Smiling through my exhaustion, I drop my purse on the floor and reach for the little card.

Soft footsteps approach me from behind, and seconds later strong arms wrap around my waist. “Do you like them?”

I nod, still smiling as I turn and lift my face for a kiss. “Thank you, they’re beautiful.”

Grant grins, dimpling beneath blond scruff. “You’re welcome. How was work?”

“The usual chaos. I’m dead on my feet.” Slipping from his embrace, I head for the fridge. “Have you eaten?”

“Yep. There’s leftovers in there. Want me to heat them up for you?”

“Nah, I got it.” I pull out several Tupperware containers. As I pop lids, I glance over my shoulder and frown. “I thought you weren’t working tonight.”

He gives me a sheepish look. “Rich begged me to cover. It’s his ten-year anniversary with his wife. I’m sorry, honey. Can we do the Valentine’s thing Saturday night?”

I sigh. “I work Saturday night. It’s on the calendar. You know, the one we swore we’d look at every week?”

Grant blinks his big brown eyes in a highly effective puppy-dog impression. Coming into the kitchen, he tugs the end of my dark ponytail. “I know. I’m an idiot. How about I make it up to you Saturday afternoon? I’ll even do that thing you like…” He trails off expectantly, eyebrows wiggling.

I surrender with a laugh. “Fine. Saturday afternoon is officially our Valentine’s date.” I point at him. “I’m putting it on the calendar. Don’t forget.”

He kisses the tip of my finger. “I won’t.” Taking my face in his hands, he presses his lips to mine. “I love you, Eden.”

“Love you, too,” I mumble against his mouth.

He releases me and grabs his keys from the counter. “See you in the morning.”

“Be careful out there.”

He winks. “Cops deal with the bad guys. I just save lives.”

I smirk. “No, you just keep them alive until the doctors save them.”

He laughs, knowing full well that I’m joking. Without paramedics, a good number of people wouldn’t even make it to the hospital alive.

“Whatever, doc.”

The door closes softly behind him.

* * *

Being with Grant is easy. We’re both dedicated to our careers. Neither of us want children or marriage. He’s respectful and kind. Steady and strong. Most days, I can lose myself in the fantasy of this life. I can forget, just like everyone told me to. I can be a committed doctor and girlfriend.

Sometimes, though—especially when my nerves are frayed from a long day—it’s harder to pretend. Harder to resist sensory triggers. Today it was an elderly patient singing “Galway Girl.” Liam loved that damn song. He sang it in the shower, while cooking, while getting dressed for the day. He sang it softly in my ear as we slow danced around the living room.

“When I woke up I was all alone, with a broken heart and a ticket home…”

The lyrics play through my mind as I do dishes and wipe down the kitchen counters. And I can’t help thinking of the day when the song became my life. When I woke up alone, with a broken heart and a plane ticket home.

I pour a little more water in the vase of roses. I don’t actually like roses, but Grant does. They remind him of his mother, who passed away last year after a long battle with breast cancer. For him—for the woman I’m trying to be—I pretend.

I pretend elsewhere, too. Out of necessity. For my peace of mind and his. My orgasms are few and far between, but Grant believes what I’ve told him, that it’s always been difficult for me to climax. He’ll never know the truth, not if I can help it.

Even if it means I smother a part of myself, I’ll never allow another man to become what Liam was to me. My sun. My dom. My master.

Humming the melody of “Galway Girl,” I walk into the bedroom Grant and I have shared for a year. I don’t bother with the lights. My clothes hit the floor piece by piece. I crawl under the covers, sighing at the sensation of cool sheets on my flushed skin. Rain patters against the bedroom windows, a fitting backdrop for my shifting self.

Against the edges of my tired mind, memories stir and rise. My belly tightens. My thighs clench. My breasts grow heavy and tight. I ignore it all. The arousal. The temptation to touch myself, to tug and pinch and hold my breath. Just as I ignore the echoes of Liam’s voice in my ear.

“No matter how far you fly, little dove, you’ll always come home to me.”

I pray for sleep.