“We patched it up together. Sanded. Painted. The TV hides a lot of it now, and unless youknowthe story, you wouldn’t even notice how, sometimes, when the light is exactly right, you can see the imperfections from where we fixed it up. Those imperfections make me smile, Rose. They don’t make me mad.” Finally, he gestures toward my feet. “If you mark my floors, it’s gonna be okay. Because a year from now, two years, ten, I’ll stand by the fire and look down at what you left behind. I’ll smile, because like the nail in my deck outside, that mark will be proof you and I stood right here in this moment, your sad eyes staring into mine, your hands fussing, because you’re a giant ball of nerves. But even when you’re scared, your soul burns bright enough to mark mine. That cocoa stainwon’t be a flaw. It’ll be a memory for me to hold on to when I’m sitting here all alone and the people I care about are out there,” he gestures toward the front door, “living the lives they busted their asses to earn. If you won’t listen to me about anything else, I beg you to hearthis. Stop expecting perfection in an imperfect world, and stop holding yourself to a standard you think I want, when I never asked for it. My friends are worthy—Chris and Tommy, and even Cliff, though he annoys me sometimes.” He taps the hallway doorframe. “You’re my friend, too, and I intend to be first in line to remind you that you matter. Mop up the cocoa. Don’t mop it up.” He shrugs. “I don’t care. But don’t mop it up too quickly. Future-me wants to stand by the fire someday and look down at what you left behind.” He lowers his hand and strolls into the hall. “I bet Hashimoto didn’t cry over spilled cocoa.”
“Her name was Hatshepsut.” I frown at the sound of his footsteps moving further away. “And she probably destroyed any man who deigned to lecture her.”
“You’ve already bested me, Rose.” He opens the bathroom door and crosses from wood flooring to tile. “Slayed me the first time you opened your eyes in the ER. I’ll be out in five minutes.”
ROUND TWENTY-TWO
OLLIE
I tiptoe into the hall at a little after five the next morning, my shoes in my hands so the rubber soles don’t squeak on the floor and wake Rose. But I slow in front of her closed door.
I can’t stop. Can’t knock. Can’t say goodbye, even though leaving her for the next twelve hours feels like torture. Not only would it be wildly inappropriate to do any of that, but it would scare the shit out of her, too.
I don’t dare disturb her sleep.
But that doesn’t stop my hands from itching. My fingers from tingling. Knowing her rest is more important than my desire to lay eyes on her doesn’t stop me from wishing otherwise.
Butsuch is life… according to something someone famous once said. Releasing a quiet sigh, I continue along the hall in silence, my shoulders and knees high, my head and hands low.
If I’m lucky, things might be slow at the hospital today. Doctor Dawes might’ve experienced a complete change in personality andnotleft me with a mountain of paperwork in addition to my own work. Better yet, he might’ve decided to come back to work on a full-time basis, allowing me the freedom to take a week or two off. Time to spend at home while Rose is at her most vulnerable.
But that’s about as likely as finding gold at the end of a rainbow, so I move to the living room entryway and set my shoes on the floor, then, turning to the kitchen, I feel for the light switch and flip it, drowning the room in light, only to jump three fucking feet into the air. “Jesus! Rose!” I slam my hand to my heart and cling to the wall for a beat, studying thewoman hunched over at the counter with a penlight—mypenlight, the one I use to check a patient’s pupillary light reflex—poised in her left hand, and a pencil in the right. She stares back at me, wide-eyed and pale-cheeked. “What the hell are you doing sitting in the dark?” My fright turns to curiosity. Humor. Embarrassment, because I wasthisclose to pissing my pants. Shaking my head, I cross the room and peek down at the sketchpad laid on the stone counter in front of her. At a pair of eyes. Wireframe glasses. “Drawing in the dark is terrible for your eyesight, just so you know.”
She sets the penlight down and hunches into her cotton pyjamas, folding her legs and defying gravity in the way she’s perched atop the stool without falling. “I was trying not to wake you.”
“Yeah? Pretty sure you woke my ancestors. Fuck.” I circle the counter and head to the coffeepot, filling the tank with water and dropping a filter and beans into the front. Tapping the buttons to get the whole contraption gurgling, I turn and lean against the cabinets.If I pretend I wasn’t scared, maybe we’ll both believe it. “I didn’t know you could draw.”
“Me neither.” She nibbles on her plump bottom lip and searches my eyes. “He keeps coming to me in my sleep, and every time I wake, I forget most of the details. So I thought, this time, if I’m quick enough, I could put them on paper and see what we end up with.”
“Ended up discovering a hidden talent, I’d say.” I study her long raven hair pulled back into a braid, with loose tendrils falling forward and framing her face. Her lips are darker this morning, perhaps from the cold, and a line marks her cheek from the way she slept.
Which means she hasn’t been out here for long.
“Who is he?”
“My friend, I think.” She pulls the long sleeves of her pyjama top down to cover her hands. “I dream about him almost every single night. Usually, they’re nice dreams. He’s sweet.”
“A lover?” Why does my stomach hurt when I ask her that? Why does it make me sick?Oh, I know. Because I lost my objectivity a long fucking time ago.“Your subconscious is trying really hard to help you remember him, and if most of your dreams portray him in a positive light, then it’s entirely possible he’s your boyfriend or something.”
“Not a very good boyfriend, evidently, since I’ve been in Plainview for almost three weeks now and he hasn’t come for me.” She swallows, her cheeks warming to a beautiful, fascinating pink. “I don’t get romantic vibes from him in my dreams.”
“Vibes?”
“You know what I mean.” She snickers. “He’s only ever used that word: friends. Not lovers. Not romance. Not cohabitation. He’s protective,even now that he…” She loses her smile, her expression darkening. “Even when the dreams changed.”
“You mean, even after he flipped and became a crazed murderer, poking holes in my back with a sharp knife?” I turn my nose to the ceiling and inhale the delicious scent of caffeine. It’s mysecond-favorite smell in the world. “I probably should have a chat with him when he does eventually come for you. Dude’s out here casting terrible juju my way when I never did anything to mess with him.”
“You’re making a joke of all this.”
“No, I’m really not.” I bring my gaze down again, meeting hers. “Just taking away some of the sting, I suppose, so you can talk about it without hyperventilating, and I can think about it without internalizing the grudge this possible figment of your imagination has with me. I’m just the dude sharing pudding cups and juice boxes with the nice lady on my ward, and he’s ready to wipe me out for it. Sounds like jealousy to me.” I turn and grab a coffee mug down from the cupboard, then a second, since I know damn well she won’t go back to bed after I leave. “He’s jealous of our jelly cup dates. And since he’s jealous, that implies romance. Loving you is why he’s protective of you. And that—” I glance over my shoulder and meet her eyes with a smirk, “Is why you dream of him. It makes complete sense to me.”
“Guess you got it all figured,” she drawls. “It’s a workday, which means Ollie is gone, and Doctor Douchebag is back with all his wonderful, infallible genius. I missed him.”
Chuckling, I pull the pot from under the spout and fill both mugs. “Mornings are when you shine, huh?” I place the pot back on the warmer and head to the fridge. “At nighttime, you’re soft and shy. Too scared to make a peep, and anxious as hell the closer bedtime comes. Turns out it’s not the dark that bothers you. Not really. ‘Cos you can sit in my kitchen at five in the morning, huddled and freezing in the shadows, and when a man is still trying to recover from the fright of his life, you have nothing to offer but sass andvibes.” I snag the creamer and drop a little into each mug. “I’ll remember that about you.”
“Mmhm.” Her perfect bow lips, thick and full, curl into a beautiful smile. “Do you normally wake a whole hour before your shift starts? It only takes three or four minutes to drive to the hospital.”
“I like to sit and enjoy my coffee. Cook something to eat. Just because I live alone doesn’t mean I live the Red Bull and drive-thru burrito bachelor life. My body is a temple and all that shit.”
