It’s one thing to be kind. It’s another to play house with a woman who—if I’m being honest—is already wedging herself under my skin. A woman destined to leave. It’s like I’m begging to have my heart broken again. Filling up the house with light and movement, knowing full well how hard it will be to get used to the silence once she’s gone.
I shake my head like I can physically reorder the thoughts in my brain.
This isn’t about romance. Or longing. This is about proximity. Recovery. Logistics. A clean, temporary solution.
That’s it.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Nash
The trauma bay smells like bleach, blood, and burn-out. I’m charting behind the nurse’s station when the day’s fourth patient with vague chest pain rolls in. It’s not even noon, and I’ve already ruled out one heart attack, one pulmonary embolism, and one anxiety spiral in a college kid who thought his internet research trumped my medical degree. After I talked him down, he thanked me profusely for staying with him. Said I was the first person who looked at him like he mattered, listened to what he was saying, and helped him see what was really happening without belittling him.
I should feel good about that but instead I feel angry over the state of things. He’s barely twenty and so stressed he came to the ER because he thought he wasdying. Something in this world is broken. Something is missing. Something iswrong.
I glance at the board. It’s stacked. All the rooms full. Hallway beds filling.
“Mornin’!” Talia says, breezing up beside me. “You look like someone who opened the fridge five times and still can’t remember what he’s looking for.”
“Thanks,” I mutter with a grimace.
“Rough day?”
There’s no way to politely express the frustration of trying to help people in a system designed to take advantage of them. Not in public. I offer a grunt and a shrug instead.
She gives me a look. “Want me to bring you coffee or call a therapist?”
“Neither will help. But thanks for playing.”
“I offer caffeine and therapy… you choose despair.” Talia leans against the counter, braids swinging, watching me with narrowed eyes. “You’re not usually this grumpy until at least three. What gives?”
I’m about to answer, just lay it all on the table, when my phone buzzes.
Lucy
If the offer still stands, I’d love to take you up on the spare room
For me and my stuff
I stare at the screen for three full seconds before it fully processes.
And for the first time all morning, something in my chest lifts. Like a jammed door cracking open.
Talia tilts her head. “Damn. You’re actually smiling.”
“I’m not.”
“Oh, you are.” She taps my temple. “Right here. It’s in the eyes.”
And, suddenly, I find myself explaining and I don’t understand why. Maybe it’s because I almost told her about my frustration about work in the parking lot the other day. Maybe because Talia seems to get me in a way others don’t. Or maybe it’s because Lucy’s presence in my life is too big to keep to myself.
“Remember that cute twenty-something you thought might help my bedside manner?”
Her eyes glint with mischievous glee. “You didn’t…”
“You’re right. I didn’t.” At least not yet, and if I’m smart, I’ll keep it that way. “But I did offer to help rehab her ankle, seeing as she has no insurance and can’t go through the normal channels.”
“Because that’s not crossing any kind of ethics barriers at all.”
