Will do. Sorry for waking you.
No worries! You didn't wake me! I wasn't sleeping anyway.
Why had I said that? Now she'd know I'd been lying there thinking about... what? Her? The situation? The fact that I'd committed the cardinal sin of night shift workers and left myphone on vibrate instead of silent, just in case she needed something?
Izzy
Night shift problems?
Something like that. Sleep well when you get to!
I set the phone down and stared at the ceiling, a smile tugging at the corners of my mouth despite my exhaustion. She'd thought to check on me. Had asked about my schedule, offered to bring me coffee. When was the last time someone had done that?
More importantly, when was the last time I'd cared enough about someone to break the sacred rules of night shift sleep?
I reached over and, for the first time in three years of working nights, deliberately left my phone on vibrate. Just in case.
Then I closed my eyes and tried to convince myself that the warm feeling in my chest was just the satisfaction of a job well done, and not something far more complicated and wonderful and terrifying.
Sleep came eventually, but it was restless and full of dreams I couldn't quite remember when I woke up. Dreams that left me thinking about dark eyes and careful smiles and the way someone's voice could sound like home even when you'd only heard it a handful of times.
When my alarm went off at 4 p.m., the first thing I did was check my phone.
No new messages. But somehow, that was okay. Because in three hours, I'd be back at Metro General, and maybe — just maybe — I'd get to see her again.
chapter
nine
My dayoff was a study in controlled restlessness. I'd visited Cap that morning — he was stable, settled into a room on the oncology floor, and already complaining about the hospital's attempt at Jell-O. Seeing him gripe was a good sign, but the underlying exhaustion in his eyes, the sallow tint that still clung to his skin, was a constant, dull ache in my chest.
Back at my apartment, I tried to study. The promotion exam to Captain was only a few months away, and my kitchen table was covered in binders thick with departmental policy, incident command structures, and building construction codes. Information I knew, information I could normally recite in my sleep. But today, the words were just black smudges on a white page. My mind kept drifting, replaying the last twenty-four hours: the panic in Margaret's voice, the unforgiving fluorescent light of Cap's bathroom, the steady calm of a nurse's voice cutting through the chaos.
Jimmy.
I had to thank him. Properly. It was a matter of professional courtesy — he'd helped one of our own, and that deserved acknowledgment. The logic felt safe, tactical. It was a box I could check, a mission I could complete.
It has nothing to do with the fact that your hand still feelswarm where his touched it,the voice in my head whispered.Nothing at all.
I snatched my phone off the counter, my resolve hardening. Direct. Professional.
Hey, it's Izzy. Hope the post-shift nap was successful.
The line about the nap was calculated — it showed I'd listened, that I understood the rhythms of his world. His reply came quickly:
Jimmy
It was! Hope you got some rest too. How's Cap doing?
He's stable. Complaining about the hospital food, which I'm taking as a good sign. Listen, I owe you coffee for everything last night.
I paused, thumb hovering over the keypad. My first instinct was to suggest 9 a.m. tomorrow — but he works nights. He's trying to reset his sleep schedule. For the first time, my tactical mind was assessing a personal situation, anticipating someone else's needs.
You're on your days off, right? Don't want to mess up your sleep reset. How about this afternoon? Say, 2 p.m.? Or whenever works before you have to flip back to night-owl mode.
Jimmy
2 p.m. is perfect. There's a place called The Daily Grind on Main Street. Meet you there?
