I feel it all, the constant reminders of the subtle changes no one else can see.
By the time I get to the clinic later in the afternoon, I’m operating on adrenaline and sheer willpower. Heidi eyes me as I slide behind the counter to grab a file, but says nothing. I think she knows if she asks, I’ll either lie or break.
Both feel dangerous.
I move through the motions like I always do. Efficient and professional. The same words patients use to describe me, but I’ve never felt less like them in my life. I’m pretending, down to my bones, and no one can tell.
Not even Heidi.
Until she corners me in the supply room two days later, catching me in a rare moment of stillness. I’m leaning against the cool wall with my eyes closed, trying to breathe through the wave of nausea that’s overtaken me without warning. Shedoesn’t say anything at first, just watches me for a beat before stepping closer.
“You’re pale,” she says softly. “You feeling okay?”
“Yeah,” I mutter, not meeting her eyes. “Long few days.”
“Okay…” She watches me with narrowed eyes. “You’re avoiding me, though.”
“I’m here, aren’t I?” I tug at my lab coat and try not to sway. The low-grade nausea has been my shadow for days now, quiet but persistent. “Just tired.”
“You always say that.”
“That’s because I’m always tired.”
She gives me a long look, then leans forward to rest her elbows on a shelf. “Reid popped in yesterday.”
That gets my attention, and my head lifts. “What?”
“Asking for his discharge notes.”
I keep my expression neutral, focused on the sleeve of my coat. “Maybe he needed them for the team?”
“He’s already cleared, Carina. I signed off weeks ago, and he has the Storm’s athletic trainer handling his rehab. He doesn’t need my notes.” She tilts her head, studying me. “He asked if you were around, but you were still at the hospital. He looked… worried. And disappointed.”
My mouth is dry.
“I didn’t say anything,” she adds quietly. “Didn’t ask, either. But something’s wrong… and I’m not sure it’s just him.”
I swallow. “I—I’ll check in. It’s just I’ve been—busy.”
Heidi tilts her head. “Right. And that’s why you looked like you were going to throw up in the stairwell an hour ago?”
I don’t answer. Instead, I grip the folder in my hand a little tighter and stare at the floor. The silence stretches, and my lower lip wobbles.
“Hey,” Heidi’s hand darts out, anchoring onto my arm. “Babe. What’s—”
“I made a mistake.”
The words feel too big and too small all at once, but I whisper them out into the supply room, filling the air between us.
“Okay,” Heidi says gently, frowning at the glassiness in my eyes. “What do you need?”
I blink. It’s such a simple question, with no judgment or assumptions. And still, I don’t know how to answer it.
Time, maybe? Distance. A second chance to go back and remember the pill I fucking missed. To rewrite the moment I forgot to count, or rewrite the moment I climbed into bed with Reid Hutchison, over and over again.
But none of that matters now, because I know exactly what I need.
Him.
