“How soon can I leave?” I ask.
The doctor chuckles. “Ah! There it is—everyone’s favorite question. The answer is always the same. As soon as possible. We just have a couple more quick tests, and then you should be good to go.”
I sigh, tugging at the blanket. I just want to get out of here. Away from the harsh lights and unfamiliar scents. Fletcher brushes a hand over my wrist, giving me a warm smile.
He should be at work, not dealing with this.
“I’ll let you be. Please page someone if you need anything, okay?”
As soon as we’re alone again, Fletcher squeezes my hand. “Are you okay?”
The truth slips out before I can stop it. “Not even a little.”
He leans in, kissing my head. “Well, you handled that better than I would’ve.”
I turn away. “I don’t feel like I handled anything. You were the one asking questions.”
“Hey, you didn’t panic or throw your pillow at her, so I’d call that a win.”
A hollow laugh cracks out of me. I run a hand over my face, palm dragging across my beard. I need to shave again. I hate facial hair. “It’s just frustrating. The waiting. I feel like I’m one step away from having my whole life rearranged.”
Fletcher says nothing for a moment. “At least you’re not doing it alone.”
I pull my hand away. “You don’t need to do this, Fletch. I’d never ask you to.”
Pain flashes across his features before he quickly hides it. “I know you would never ask, but I’m here anyway.” His tone isgentle and full of a deeper meaning I’m not sure I have the energy to process. “And I’m not talking about just me, either. Declan shut the bar down last night after you left. Over half the crew came to check on you, and some of the customers.”
I stare at him, dumbstruck. “What?”
“Surprised me too. But yeah. They were here less than thirty minutes after I was. Which means Declan must’ve kicked everyone out as soon as you left.”
I drop my head back. Declan shut the bar down for me? That seems unreal.
“I keep telling you. They really care, hon.”
Shame washes over me. I should’ve been honest with Declan from the beginning. I just didn’t know what to say or how to explain without fully understanding this disease myself.
Fletcher reaches into the paper bag, pulling out two foil-wrapped burritos. They’re bigger than my hand and hot to the touch. “Have you ever had the breakfast burritos from Chahala’s?”
“No.”
“Oh, you’re in for a treat then. They’re my favorite. I got you the extra spicy.”
I smile weakly. Food isn’t appealing to me right now, but I also know I need it.
He pulls the chair closer, but I kick my legs to the side and gesture for him to sit with me. I can’t explain it; I need him near.
Fletcher sits sideways, hip near my thigh, facing me.
We eat in silence for a moment. The burrito really is good—egg, rice, hashbrowns, and peppers. The kick of heat is exactly how I like it, burning the back of my throat.
When I notice the time on the clock, my eyes widen. “Don’t you need to be at work soon?”
He shakes his head. “I’m taking a couple of days off.”
“Fletcher, no. You don’t need to.”
His cheeks turn a little red behind his beard. “It’s fine. I wouldn’t be much use if I went in, anyway.”
