“Tires? More than one?” he inquires.
“Yes.”
“That’s awful.” He shakes his head, slow. “Do you have someone coming?”
“I’ve got it handled,” I reply the truth.
His eyes narrow slightly. “It’s crazy early in the morning.”
“I know.”
He steps nearer, and the light catches his face in a way that makes his expression look sharper, harder. The friendliness doesn’t reach his eyes. “I can take you,” he says. “It’s no trouble.”
My pulse kicks. “No.”
He blinks. “No?”
“I’m fine,” I repeat, and I hate how my voice wobbles on the last word.
He tilts his head, like he’s trying to understand me. Like I’m the unreasonable one. “Danae,” he says, softer, and that softness makes my skin crawl. “Your grandfather needs you. You can’t just sit here waiting around.”
My throat tightens. He knows. Of course he knows. Everyone knows about my grandfather. Nurses talk. Doctors talk. Hospitals are small towns all their own with better lighting.
“I’m going inside,” I say, turning back toward the doors.
He moves with me, matching my pace.
“I can fix it,” he offers. “I can change a tire.”
“I said no.”
He laughs a little, like I’m being cute. Like I’m being dramatic. “Why are you so stubborn?” he asks frustration laced in his tone.
Because my gut is screaming. Because something about this feels wrong. Because it is wrong. “Miles,” I whisper into the phone, not looking down, not making it obvious. “You still there?”
His voice hits my ear like a lifeline. “Yeah. I hear him. I have someone on the way to you.”
My heart stutters. He’s been listening the whole time. I swallow hard, and without thinking I slide the phone down into my scrub pocket. Not hanging up. Just hiding it.
My hands are shaking, but my voice comes out steadier when I face Dr. Reeves again.
“I appreciate the offer,” I state, lying through my teeth, “but I’m not getting in your car.”
His smile fades. Just a fraction. A flicker. “Danae,” he says, and now there’s an edge, like he’s tired of playing nice. “You’re alone. Tired. It’s a ride not a marriage proposal. I’m offering you help.”
“I don’t want your help. I said no. Accept my appreciation for the offer and go about your day.”
“Why?” he presses, stepping into my space enough that I can smell his cologne under the hospital scent. Too clean. Too sharp.
I take a step back. “Because I said no.”
He exhales, frustrated, and for a second his face hardens. Then he smooths it out again like he remembers himself. “Okay,” he shares, raising his hands slightly, surrendering. “Okay. I’m just trying to be kind.”
I don’t answer. He isn’t being anything but a man hoping to have power or something over me. He watches me for a long moment, eyes tracking my face like he’s reading me, like he’s trying to decide what move comes next. Then he nods once, stiff. “Fine,” he says. “Go back inside.”
I don’t wait to see if he follows. I turn and walk toward the doors, every instinct screaming to get into light, into people, into safety.
The hospital doors whoosh open and cold air wraps around me. Inside, the brightness makes my eyes ache. My footsteps echo on the tile. A security guard glances up, sees my face, and his posture shifts like he knows something’s off.
