“But wehaveto,” she says gently. “We have to be each other’s crutch, even when it’s painful.”
I nod, breath shaky. “Talking about it… it actually helped.”
Lore slides her other hand around my back and pulls me toward her chest.
I don’t fight it. I don’t say anything. I just let myself lean into her, resting my head in the curve of her neck.
A breath shudders out of me before I can stop it. Not a full-on sob, just one hard, rough exhale that shakes my whole chest. Embarrassing as hell. I try to swallow the rest down, but another hits, quieter this time.
Lore doesn’t react. Doesn’t stiffen or make it weird. She just keeps her arms around me, anchoring me like she’s done a thousand times before.
And that’s it. That’s all I let myself give.
But it’s enough.
Chapter Thirteen
Lorelie
“Wake up!” Milo yells, launching himself between us like a missile.
Patrick intercepts him mid-jump, scooping him up before he can land on me.
“Careful, buddy,” he says, pulling Milo closer. “We can’t jump on Mommy, remember?”
Milo nods, remorseful. “Sorry, Mommy.”
I smooth my hand over his hair. “It’s okay, baby.”
“We’re LATE!” Milo shrieks dramatically.
I laugh… until I check my phone.
And sit straight up in a panic. “Oh my God, it’s eight.”
I scramble out of bed so fast I nearly eat carpet. “I had a shift at eight!”
“Can you call in?” Patrick asks as he gets out of bed too.
I shake my head violently and sprint into the bathroom. Outside I hear Milo chanting, “Havey’s honking! Havey’s honking!”
“Shit,” Patrick mutters. Milo’s late too.
Thank God there’s no school today, Harvey was only supposed to drop him at Patrick’s parents’ place.
I rush through the house half-dressed, half-awake, completely frazzled. Patrick meets me in the kitchen, shoving a paper bag and a travel mug into my hands like a pit crew member.
I kiss him on the lips and bolt for the door, tossing an “Love you!” over my shoulder before slamming it shut.
The drive to the hospital is a blur. I somehow make it in half the time it normally takes. I’d already changed into scrubs at home, so all I have to do when I hit the ER is grab my white coat, sign in, and find whoever’s holding down the fort.
Dr. Tate, one of the seasoned attendings, stands at the main station. He gives me a dry look, then waves a hand.
“It’s alright,” he says. “We’ve all been there.”
I stare at his retreating back, relieved and grateful.
At least someone understands.
