“Gone. Mostly.”
I shine a light into his eyes, running through the checks I’ve done a thousand times—move this, breathe here, tell me what still stings. He answers easily, which tells me more than the telemetry ever will.
“You’re still on track to go home in a few days,” I tell him. “Provided you keep behaving.”
Dan raises his eyebrows. “Hear that, babe? I’m almost free.”
Elena squeezes his hand tighter, her expression softening. “Free is a strong word. You’re just changing guards.”
I glance down at their intertwined hands. Dan is the same age my father was when he died. Same build. Same quiet, dry wit. When they wheeled him into the ER a month ago, something in me latched onto that resemblance and refused to let go.
You’re trained not to get attached. They tell you tobe a technician, a mechanic of flesh and bone. But sometimes a patient comes in who looks like the man who taught you how to ride a bike, the man who never made it to fifty, and your hands shake for a fraction of a second before the muscle memory takes over. That’s the part they don’t talk about in med school—why some doctors start to look like robots. It’s not because they don’t care. It’s because if they don’t find a way to shut it off, the weight of it will rip them in half.
Elena’s gaze follows me as I write. She nods, then glances pointedly at my left hand.
“I don’t see a ring. Has no one scooped you up yet, Dr. Lawson?”
Dan groans. “Elena, leave the man alone.”
“What? He saved your life. I’m allowed to be curious about whether he has someone to save him from a long day.”
I smile politely. “No ring.”
Dan smirks. “Too busy playing hero?”
“More like married to the hospital,” I reply, tapping the chart. “The hours are terrible, and the food is even worse.”
Dan hums. “Ah, but it’s always good to have someone to argue with, don’t you think? Keeps the blood flowing.”
The thought slips in before I can block it. Madison, standing in my doorway with fire in her eyes and a tongue like a scalpel. The way she looks at me, as if I’m a puzzle she’s already bored of solving, even though her eyes say otherwise.
I clear my throat. “Rest,” I tell Dan. “No heroics.”
In the staff room, I grab the mail I put into my locker earlier. It’s just bills and junk. Then I see the last envelope. It’s addressed to me, in neat handwriting.
Inside is a neatly printed list:
Outdoor cardio alternatives.
Apartment-friendly, low-impact workouts.
Local running trails.
Parks with 24-hour security lighting.
