“Yes,” I say, and the word comes out shaky.
“Danae.” His tone shifts instantly. “What’s wrong?”
I blink hard and try not to let the fear sound too loud. “It’s stupid. Just been a long shift. I went to my car and to head home. I’m gonna be a little late getting to Papa. I have two flat tires.”
There’s a beat of silence. Not because he doesn’t believe me. Because he’s already thinking.
“Two?” he repeats, low.
“Yes.”
“Where are you right now?”
“Hospital parking lot.”
“Are you alone?”
I look around again. “Yes.”
“You stay right there.” His voice is calm in a way that makes my chest loosen a fraction. “Listen to me. You go back inside the hospital. Sit where there are people. I’ll have someone to you within thirty minutes.”
My mouth opens. “Miles, you’re— you’re in North Carolina.”
“I know where the hell I am,” he says, and there’s something fierce under it. “I got people. You go inside and wait. Let your man be a man and trust I will get this handled.”
The way he says it—like it’s not a suggestion, like it’s the only safe answer—makes me want to cry. No one has ever protected me so fiercely.
Okay. This is ridiculous. I’m a grown woman. I handle life and death every night. But right now, in an empty parking lot with two flat tires, my hands cold around my phone, I don’t feel grown. I feel small. I feel fragile.
“I’m going inside,” I reply quietly. Part of me wants to stop all of this and tell him I’ll take care of myself. The other part of me, the woman wanting a protector and a partner is grateful for the man on the other end of the phone that sees my problem and takes over.
“Good.” I can hear him exhale, like he’s been holding his breath since I said two. “Tell me when you’re inside.”
“I will.”
I start walking back toward the entrance, keys clenched between my fingers like a weapon, phone pressed tight to my ear. I’m almost to the sidewalk when the door opens behind me.
“Danae.”
My spine goes rigid. I don’t need to turn to know that voice. Dr. Reeves. I make myself pivot slowly, like if I move too fast something worse will happen. He steps out into my space, white coat thrown over his arm like he’s just finishing up, like this is normal, like he belongs out here with me.
His smile is thin. Practiced. “Long night?” he asks.
“Yeah,” I say, keeping my voice neutral. My thumb stays on my phone screen. Miles is still on the line, quiet now.
Dr. Reeves’s gaze slides past me toward the lot. “Heading home?” he asks, as if he doesn’t already know the answer.
I don’t say anything. I decide to keep walking toward the doors again, forcing my legs to move.
“Danae,” he says again, faster. “Wait.”
I stop because my body betrays me. Because the part of me that was trained to be polite, to not escalate, to not make someone angry, still lives in my bones. I turn back.
He’s closer now. Not close-close, but closer than I want. “I saw you out there,” he says. “You looked distressed.”
My mouth is dry. Honesty is the best policy right? “My tires are flat.”
His eyebrows lift, like he’s surprised. Like he’s concerned.
