I swallowed.
That one landed.
She left before I could answer.
Smart girl.
I stood there another minute, breathing through the ache.
Then I walked out.
I found charge at the desk and asked, quietly and professionally, to be moved off Dylan Degan’s direct care unless it was medically necessary.
She studied me for one second.
Then nodded.
No questions.
Hospitals ran on stories no one had time to tell.
I went to Bay Six.
A man with a kidney stone was swearing at God, the American healthcare system, and possibly his own kidneys in alphabetical order.
I smiled.
I adjusted his IV.
I got him medication.
I did my job.
Toward dawn, I passed the ICU hallway again.
Not on purpose.
Not entirely.
The blinds to Dylan’s room were open just enough to show Georgia still in the chair beside him. Her head rested on the edge of his bed now, one hand wrapped around his. The ring caught the pale morning light.
Dylan was asleep.
Or sedated.
Or pretending, if he had enough strength to be that much of an idiot.
I stopped for only one second.
No more.
His face was turned slightly toward the door.
Toward the hallway.
Toward me.
My heart made a desperate little reach.
