“She okay?”
“Everything went perfectly. She’s just waking up.”
I thank her, tension easing from my shoulders. I send another text to Chris.
WYATT: She’s out. All good.
His response is immediate.
CHRIS: Thank god. Tell her I’m sorry I had to go.
WYATT: Will do.
Fifteen minutes. Then I can see her. Make sure she’s really okay. Take her home. Get her settled.
And tonight, Chris and I will finally have the conversation we’ve been avoiding since Denver. Since before Denver, maybe.
I sit back down to wait, this time in the chair Chris vacated. It’s still warm.
The fifteen minutes pass slowly. Finally, the nurse appears again. “Mr. Booth? You can come back now.”
I follow her through the double doors, down a hallway that smells like antiseptic and floor wax. Nina’s in a recovery bay, propped up on pillows, looking drowsy but alert.
“Hey, troublemaker,” I say, sitting in the chair beside her bed.
She smiles, loopy. “Hey yourself. Where’s Chris?”
“Had to handle the arraignment. He’s sorry he couldn’t stay.”
She nods, unsurprised. “You two figure your shit out while I was under?”
“Working on it.”
She reaches for my hand, movements slow and uncoordinated. “Good. Because I meant what I said. You’re each other’s too.”
“He’s not going anywhere. Neither am I.”
“You better not.” Her words are slurring now, sleep pulling her under. “Love you both too much to watch you fuck this up.”
“We won’t.”
“Need you both. Need you to need each other too.”
“We do,” I tell her. “We’re just learning how to show it.”
But she’s already asleep, fingers still wrapped around mine.
My phone buzzes. I check it carefully, keeping my other hand in Nina’s.
It’s Chris. I answer quietly. “Hey.”
“She out?”
“Yeah. Everything went fine. She’s sleeping it off.”
He exhales, and I can hear the relief in it even through the phone. “Good. That’s good.”
“How’d the arraignment go?”
