“Whether it’s you sticking it out with Em or following through with the scholarship program or just … being here. Like this.” He gestures out toward the road then grips the steering wheel tight. Tighter than normal. Enough that it’s got his knuckles going white. “Our paths were never meant to be easy. Painless. Fucking …winnable.” My heart thunders with every word. A forced pulse. A defeated beat. “But that doesn’t mean we just keep …surviving… and that’s it. There’s more, right? Whatever makes all theshitworth it.”
I don’t even bother hiding the tears that fall as I stare at my best friend’s profile.
“What are you saying?”
The breath he pulls is audible, and he throws the bus in park before meeting my gaze with an intensity I rarely see shining in his eyes.
“That you deserve to be happy, fool. Whatever that means.” He shakes his head and thrums his fingers on the wheel before unsnapping his seatbelt. “I love you, and Em. But for the love of all that is holy, pleasebe careful.”
He doesn’t elaborate. Just hops out, slams the door behind him, making his way to the sidewalk without me before I realize it. Grabbing my go-bag, I spill out of my seat after him, wiping my bruised face as I go.
I know I look like even more shit than I did before he went and made me cry again but the caller doesn’t seem to mind much once we get inside.
It doesn’t take long to get the patient loaded into the back.
Shortness of breath. Pain in the chest. Numbness of the arm.
No history of mental health concerns.
Clear cardiac event.
Traffic is nonexistent at this time of night, making the drive back to the hospital just as easy.
Too easy.
It’s got my neck itching, and my hackles raised.
As if I wasn’t already on high fucking alert and drowning in an emotional hangover.
What the fuck am I gonna do with Emmett?
The fact that I don’t know what’s green and what’sgreenis weighing so fucking heavy on my chest.
How do I trust anything he says?
But, fuck, maybe that’s the problem.
I’mthe one desperate to trust him. Help him.Be with him.
Never once did he offer any of it up on his own.
Maybe he never wanted any of it.
Did he ever … want me?
Quiet.
I dig the heels of my palms into my stinging eyes, my stomach like a rock in my gut.
Did I misread it all?
Our patient is wheeled off into the building by the staff, relieving me of my duties, and my best friend rests a hand on my shoulder.
“I don’t know what to do, Hat.”
Together, we drop to the back bumper of the rig, and he offers a prepackaged sandwich.
“Talk to him, genius,” he finally says once I take the meal and rip it open. It smells like it’s on the verge of going bad, which is probably how my best friend managed to get it, or maybe I’m just put off. Disconnected from my senses. Sinking under the current sweeping my feet.
