After he scrambles out of the room, I drop the mushy bag of clothes. Woozy, I sway and backpedal toward the bed. My calves graze the side rail before my knees give out and I, not so gracefully, plop on the bed.
“Whoa. You okay there?” Noah rushes to my side, placing a hand on my back.
I blink. Then wiggle away from his touch. “Fine.”
“Have you eaten anything?” he asks.
I shake my head. Nope, but that breakfast cart sure looked promising. Unfortunately, I don’t have time to pretend like this hospital stay is a five-star resort. I need to get to my car. Check in with Mitch. Pray my missed shift won’t get me fired before I’m ready to say goodbye to Pinebrook, to Yosemite.
“Here we go.” Sam whirls into the room, a pair of pink scrubs folded in his palm. He serves them to me like he’s waiting on me, and I wrinkle my nose at the color. Definitely not a go-to for me, but who am I to be picky when my hiking clothes are molding over as we speak.
I mumble a “thank you” and heave myself up to change in the bathroom. Before I walk in, I look over my shoulder to where Noah hovers beside the bed. He smiles at me and part of me wonders if it’s genuine. Or if his obligatory pickup and drop-off comes with themake-her-feel-safespecial.
It takes me longer to change than normal. My body is exhausted and stiff, but I work the scrubs on. I pull my hair out of the neckline, allowing it to flow down and rest past my shoulders. It’s frizzy and tangled, but at this point I’m indifferent to how I look most of the time—at least I thought I was. I linger, considering myself in the mirror for another second before shaking myself free.
The scrubs are way too big on me, but I roll the pants and let the shirt hang free to midthigh before shuffling back into the room.
Nurse Sam holds out a packet of paperwork I recognize as the discharge papers and launches into a rehearsed presentation on care instructions, warning signs for concussion complications, and a reminder my appointment to have my stiches removed is in two weeks.
I nod, pretending to listen, all the while eyeing the door and willing the man to hurry.
When he’s finished, I’m left in the room with Noah. Alone.
“Ready?” he asks.
“Yep.” I move toward my backpack, but he holds up a hand for me to stop.
“I’ll get it. You just focus on walking without getting dizzy.”
“I’m not dizzy, and I can carry my?—”
He ignores me and moves to grab the bag. “Not a fan of people helping you?”
“Just not a fan of people expecting help in return,” I snap.
He studies me, those tawny eyes narrowing and gutting my insides.
Noah doesn’t strike me as the person to let something go. He has a Mr. Fix-It mentality. Most military or law enforcement seem to share this trait. It’s annoying as hell, and the last thing I need right now is Ranger Rob taking an interest in my life.
“Can we go?” I ask.
He steps aside, gesturing me through the door.
Once in the hall, I turn toward the elevator and march straight for it. Noah shoulders past me as soon as I step inside. He jabs the button for the parking garage, the elevator jolts to life, and we descend in silence.
When the door opens, flashing lights greet us, and as I step out, I realize he’s parked right at the elevator doors.
I scoff. Typical. Another prick law enforcement move—to park in a convenient spot outside the assigned spaces. The arrogance.
“What? No parking spots?” I say, glancing at the empty parking garage.
Noah smiles, moving my backpack from one shoulder to the other. “Dr. Young mentioned you’d be ready to go in the morning. Didn’t want you to have to wait. I know how eager you are to get home.”
I want to chuckle. To laugh off his answer or roll my eyes at what I’d hoped would be a sarcastic remark, but he looks … serious. Genuine.
Hell. There’s no laughing at that.
The truck is already on, and when I open the passenger door, I understand why.
