2:17.
And with that, I decide it’s time to head down to grab some more coffee. I need to walk off this unbearable ache in my body, anyway. Pushing up from the chair, my arms raise into a stretch that almost takes me out as I sway slightly.
“You didn’t go home, I take it.”
I jump faintly as I turn to see Dr. Hammond standing a few feet away, dressed in normal clothes now rather than scrubs, a bag slung over his shoulder like he’s about to leave.
“Oh,” I mumble, my hand resting on my chest from the scare, “no, I didn’t. I couldn’t leave, I just…”
He nods. “I understand.”
“Is it okay if I stay here? You know, overnight?”
He’s quiet for a moment, lips pursing as he thinks. “I’ll tell you what. Tatum is awake. I just left from checking in on him. I can take you to see him, if you want.”
My body is immediately perking up at that, my arms dropping to my sides as I nod frantically. “Yes, i-if that’s okay. If he’s okay to see me right now.”
“He was asking for you.”
“He was?” I ask in a whisper.
He was asking for you.
“He was,” Dr. Hammond confirms before waving me along. “Come on, I’ll take you to see him.”
My stomach flips at the thought of seeing Tate again, even though I know he’s fine and I just saw him yesterday morning. The surgery went fine, he is fine, and everything isfine.
But this is different, isn’t it?
I rid the reminder of my mom’s message away as I follow Dr. Hammond through the quiet halls until we get to the elevators. He doesn’t say much, probably because he’s tired, and neither do I. All of the nerves in my stomach feel like they’re traveling up and getting stuck in my throat, making it hard to swallow down the feeling. I’m grateful he doesn’t attempt conversation, but then again, maybe the anxiety is written all over my features.
It even seems to take over my nerve endings in my fingertips and toes, which buzz with a feeling I can’t quite place as I follow him out of the elevator and toward the ICU wing. These halls are dimly lit compared to the other ones we walked down, and when we come up to a hospital room with the door ajar, my heartbeat quickens in my chest.
“This is his room,” Dr. Hammond murmurs. “I’ll leave you to it.”
“Thank you,” I say before he heads back down the hallway in the same direction we just came from.
With an unsteady inhale, I shake out my arms a little in hopes of expelling the nerves from my body before I take a tiny step into the doorway, peering inside. Almost immediately, my entire body relaxes as my eyes fall on Tate, laying in the hospital bed with IVs in his arm and donning a hospital gown that looks small on his large body. The glow of the TV up on the wall illuminates his tired features, his glasses sitting on the table next to him, as he watches whatever is playing on the screen.
He doesn’t notice me at first, but that’s okay. I need a second to take him in. My chin quivers a bit as I watch him, and it takes me by surprise. What is going on? He’s fine. Everything is fine.
So…why do I feel like crying?
My feet are rooted to the floor, like I’m sinking in quicksand and can’t move. My body is so still that the beating of my heart feels so harsh against my chest.
But this is different, isn’t it?
My eyes sting at the words on a loop, over and over in my mind. The realization cascades through my body in the form of goosebumps, moving so quickly across my skin that I can’t help but shudder against the wave of them. My nostrils flare as I try to steady my panicked breathing, but it’s no use. I’m too far gone.
I think I love him.
I think Ilovehim.
And allowing that thought into my brain has me wanting to run down the hallway. Run far away someplace, creating so much distance that he’ll never be affected by me again. My muscles tense as the option flashes in my mind, but then he’s turning his head, his dark eyes falling on me, and I can’t run. Not now.
Not when his face softens so much that he looks like a puppy dog.
Not when his body practically melts into the bed at the sight of me.
