“Morning, Grace.”
My knees wobbled slightly at the sound of my name from his mouth, and my eyes traveled to his lips.
Soon, a smile crested my face as he thrust a cup of coffee in my direction.
“Two pumps of vanilla creamer and a packet of stevia.”
I took the cup from his hand, not surprised by the electric current that ran through me at the touch of our fingers. I’d gotten used to that feeling by now.
“How’d you know?” I let my gaze linger on him over the lid of the coffee cup as I took my first sip. It was good but not as good as the taste of his kiss.
“You always come check on him before starting your shift.”
I nodded and let out a small laugh. He was right. Checking on the young boy had become a routine of mine.
“How’s he doing?”
Jacob turned at the same time my eyes went to the bed.
“He’s resting now. The skin graft is healing well. We’ll have to perform another on his legs early next week.”
“He’ll be ready for it,” I said just above a whisper as I moved closer, my gaze lifting to the monitors displaying his vitals. “He’s a tough cookie.” I peered down at the nine-year-old little boy and smiled. However, it faded as I looked over the bandages covering his body.
“His father was discharged yesterday.”
“I know. He should be in soon, though.” I had the feeling Johnny’s father wouldn’t stay away from the hospital for too long given that his son was still here.
“He has to prepare for his wife’s funeral.”
Sighing, I stepped back from the bed.
“Pain is a part of life. He’ll get used to it sooner or later.”
Jacob’s heavy words caught me by surprise. My gaze was drawn to him, and I saw that stormy look in his eyes as he stared down at the young patient.
“Let’s go.”
I nodded and followed Jacob out of the room, exiting just as quietly as I entered. We passed the boy’s aunt and uncle who informed us they were going to sit with Johnny for a few hours while his father couldn’t be there.
“Good thing he has a loving family.” I sighed as I watched the aunt and uncle enter the room. “Not everyone has that.”
Jacob snorted.
I turned to him; something dark passed through his eyes and he glanced away for a second.
“Speaking of family, how’s your sister?”
Swallowing, I shrugged. “The same,” I admitted. “I have a neighbor checking on her so she’s not alone all day.”
He nodded, and suddenly I felt the need to defend my sister.
“She’s not on drugs.”
“I didn’t think she was. You don’t seem like the type who would care for someone who was on drugs.”
I shook my head. “I’m not. Addiction is an illness and all of that. I understand. Nevertheless, I couldn’t give safe harbor to someone who was intentionally harming themselves in that way.” I hesitated, biting my bottom lip. “She’s sick.”
“Mental illness?”
