Right.
Tell that to my pulse.
Because how the hell am I supposed to stay calm when the woman who ruined me for all others is standing here after six years vanishing without a word?
“Emma,” I say, and it’s a demand this time. “What the hell?”
“Been a long time, Liam,” she says.
As if I don’t know that. As if everything didn’t change when she disappeared.
“How long have you been here?” I ask.
Her face crinkles. “I mean, I usually work in the ER, but I switched shifts with a friend so I could make sure you were okay. I’ve been here all night?”
“No,” I say. “In the city. In Chicago.”
“Oh, um, like four or five years?”
The whole time. The entire fucking time. She’s been here the whole time.
“Did you not...did you not know I was here, too?” I ask.
“Why would I know you were here?” she asks. I don’t detect a lie in the question, just general confusion.
“My...I mean, my face and name are on a giant banner outside the hockey arena? It’s, like, two stories tall.”
She huffs a quiet laugh. “I haven’t watched hockey since…”
She trails off, catches herself. Her movements turn brisk as she takes the big plastic tumbler from the bedside table and fills it at the sink. She doesn’t have to finish the sentence. I already know.
She hasn’t watched hockey since she left Minnesota.
Six years ago.
With my heart.
When she sets the tumbler back down, her voice takes on that careful, professional calm nurses use when they don’t want to feel anything.
“Your vitals look good. Your nose was broken, but it’s been reset. You have two black eyes, which will probably affect your vision for a few days, but that should clear up. There’s a laceration on your forehead that we stitched up. The worst of it’s under control. You just need to take it easy for a while—no heroics, no hockey.”
She fusses with the monitor cords even though they’re fine, pretending to be busy. “You’ll have a few follow-ups, but the doctor will go over all that when he sees you.”
“Emma,” I say, her name heavy in my mouth. It’s crazy how one word can mean so many different things.
This time, it’s a plea.
“We need to talk.”
She glances at her smartwatch, avoiding my eyes. “I’ll come back, Liam. You need rest.” She hesitates just long enough for me to feel it. “And I need to get home. I’m tired.”
And then she’s gone.
Just like that.
I stare at the empty doorway, my mind trying to catch up as the memories flood in.
Emma Reyes and I go way back. Middle school, first. Friends who grew up together, who knew every secret, every stupid inside joke.
