By the time my shift ended, the sun was coming up. I changed out of my scrubs, walked to the subway, and rode home without seeing anything.
I knew what I'd heard. I knew what it meant.
I just didn't know what to do about it.
Brian was already on the balcony when I got home. Two cups of coffee on the small table between our chairs. Watson was weaving between his ankles, purring loud enough to hear through the glass door.
I stepped outside, took the coffee, and sank into my chair.
"You okay?"
I looked up. Brian was watching me with those warm brown eyes, seeing right through me like he always did.
"Fine. Just tired."
"That's not your tired face." He leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "That's your something's-wrong face."
I didn't answer. I just held my coffee and watched Watson stretch in the patch of early sunlight, looking like a tiny, furry villain who was secretly the gentlest soul I knew.
"Can I ask you something?" I said finally. "Hypothetically?"
Brian's eyebrows rose, but he nodded. "Sure."
"Say you... heard something. Something you weren't supposed to hear. Something that could hurt someone powerful if it got out." I chose my words carefully, keeping my eyes on Watson. "But staying quiet means someone else, someone who was already hurt, never gets justice."
Brian was quiet for a moment, turning his coffee cup in his hands.
"What kind of something?"
"A confession. Maybe." I still couldn't look at him. "The person didn't know they were confessing. Didn't know anyone was listening."
"And staying quiet protects you?"
"Yes."
"But speaking up means doing the right thing."
"Yes."
He looked out at the city, the morning light catching the lines of his face. I watched him think. Watched the way he turned the question over, gave it the weight it deserved.
"Then you do the right thing," he said.
"Even if it costs you?"
"Especially then." He met my eyes. "Otherwise, what's the point? What kind of person are you if you only do the right thing when it's easy?"
I didn't have an answer for that. Or I did, but I wasn't ready to say it out loud.
"Whatever this is about, Ava." His voice softened. "You'll figure it out. You always do.”
I wasn't so sure. But hearing him say it helped.
After Brian left for his shift, I sat alone in my apartment with Watson in my lap. His sharp yellow eyes watched me like he knew something was wrong.
I thought about Derek Edwards. Seventeen years old. Walking home from work. Gone in an instant because someone was drunk or high or just not paying attention.
The family in the ER. The mother's grip on my arm. The sister was shaking so hard her teeth chattered.
