The Year I Stopped Being His novel Chapter 436

The outpatient lobby of The Haven Medical Center was unusually quiet this weekend. Only a few scattered patients were lining up at the pharmacy, while family members stared blankly at their phones.

Sloane grabbed her reservation ticket from the check-in kiosk and glanced back at Josh following behind her.

He dressed casually today, wearing a dark blue quilted vest over a cream-colored sweater. His dark brown hair fell softly across his forehead, making him look warm and approachable.

He was carrying her medical file and holding a hot latte he insisted on buying right outside the hospital doors, claiming, "You can drink it right after your checkup. It won't taste good if it gets cold."

"Let's go. What floor is Neurology on?" Josh looked up at the directory.

"Third floor."

Sloane took a sip of the latte he handed her, then led him toward the elevators.

They stepped into the elevator together.

Sloane leaned against the handrail, and Josh stood right beside her. The distance between them was noticeably closer than before—not a forced closeness, but a natural, effortless proximity that didn't require any guarded space.

Ever since she nodded her head at the restaurant that night, she hadn't officially announced it to anyone, but Josh was already throwing himself fully into his role as her boyfriend.

The clinic door was open.

Garrison sat behind the desk. A blank medical file sat in front of him, next to a mug of entirely cold black coffee.

He wore his white coat over a dark blue dress shirt. His hair was meticulously styled, and his complexion looked much better than before—probably because the Vitas-1 application was moving along smoothly.

He glanced down at the patient queue flashing on his computer screen. Sloane Sutton, 10:00 AM.

He took a sip of his coffee. The cold liquid was bitter and acidic. He frowned, setting the mug down.

His posture was composed, neither arrogant nor submissive. He wore a pleasant smile, but his deep, round eyes flashed with undeniable provocation.

"Dr. Foster. A pleasure to officially meet you. Thank you for taking such good care of my Sloane lately."

*My Sloane?!*

Just two words. The volume was low, the tone was flat.

Garrison stared at the hand suspended in the air. The fingers were long, clean, and bore faint calluses—likely from years of gripping geological hammers.

He remained silent for two agonizing seconds. Those two seconds stretched out like spun sugar, hanging thick and heavy in the sterile air.

Finally, he reached out and shook Josh's hand. Garrison's fingers were ice-cold. Josh's were warm. The moment they connected, it felt like throwing ice against a burning furnace.