Chasing Hearts (Robert Chase x Reader)

Chapter 17
When walls crumble

One buzz. Then two. The phone trembled on your bedside table as Chase's name lit up the screen again. You stared at it, your chest tight, the weight of the unanswered calls pressing into your ribs like a dull ache.

You had ignored every call, every text, but they kept coming. Chase's persistence felt like a lifeline you didn't want to reach for, not yet. Each buzz dragged you back to the photo, to the questions you still didn't have answers to. How could he be so unaware? Did he even think to explain himself, or did he assume you'd brush it off?

Your thumb hovered over the screen, the temptation to answer almost overwhelming. Talk to him, a quiet voice in your head urged. But the ache inside you outweighed the longing.

With a deep breath, you silenced the phone and buried it under a stack of papers. You needed something else—anything else—to occupy your mind.

—

The bar was loud, the kind of place where the bass thrummed in your chest and the energy of the crowd buzzed like static in the air. Foreman had chosen it—some trendy spot with neon lights that spilled across the polished floors like liquid color. It wasn't your usual scene, but after the week you'd all had, it felt like a necessary escape.

"You're coming," he'd insisted earlier, ignoring your protests. "You need this as much as the rest of us."

Now, with a drink in hand and the hum of conversation swirling around you, you were almost inclined to agree despite coming to work as early as 4am today.

"Good luck to me," you thought.

Cameron had disappeared onto the dance floor, spinning and laughing as if she'd shed the weight of the hospital entirely. Her hair caught the glow of the lights, and she moved with an easy grace that made it impossible not to smile.

At the bar, Wilson was deep in conversation with a stranger—a blonde who was either intrigued by his charm or simply too polite to walk away. Every now and then, you caught snippets of their exchange: something about the best vintage wines, followed by Wilson's practiced chuckle.

Even House, notoriously averse to social gatherings, had settled into a corner booth with a glass of whiskey. He was watching the room with that familiar smirk, his eyes flicking from one person to the next as if cataloging material for future quips.

Foreman appeared at your side, pressing a fresh drink into your hand. "Loosen up," he said, his grin infectious. "You look like you're still trying to diagnose something."

You huffed a small laugh, sipping the drink. It was stronger than you expected, the burn a welcome distraction. "I'm fine," you replied, but even to your ears, it sounded unconvincing.

"Sure, you are," Foreman teased, tilting his head toward the dance floor. "Come on. One song won't kill you."

Before you could protest, he was pulling you toward the crowd. The music swallowed you whole, the beat sinking into your skin. You let him lead you into the center, where Cameron waved you over enthusiastically.

"Finally!" she shouted over the music, grabbing your hand and spinning you in a circle. "I was starting to think you'd never join us."

Her energy was infectious, and despite yourself, you felt a laugh bubbling up. For a moment, the hospital, the stress, and even Chase's unanswered calls faded into the background.

The night unfolded in fragments of laughter and light.

Cameron commandeered the karaoke machine, belting out a pitchy rendition of Dancing Queen while Foreman dramatically pretended to shield his ears. "Is that singing, or are you summoning dogs?" he called out, earning a playful shove from her.