I could see the relief washing over her. It started in her shoulders dropping a fraction, then the rest of her body relaxed. Embarrassment and disbelief flashed over her face briefly.
“I’m sorry,” she said.
“You don’t need to be,” I said. “I’m glad they called.”
She didn’t answer that beyond nodding once. I recognized the nod. It was the kind that meant she had filed something away for later and didn’t intend to unpack it right now.
I stayed where I was, close enough so she’d know I wasn’t leaving, far enough that she didn’t feel crowded.
A doctor stepped in without ceremony. He was middle-aged and had a calm demeanor. He gave me a perfunctory glance before taking in her posture and looking at the monitor beside her bed.
“She had a brief loss of consciousness,” he said. “Likely related to pain and dehydration. We did a CT scan to rule out anything serious but don’t have results yet. We’ll keep her overnight for observation.”
Zoey pushed herself up on one elbow. “I’m actually fine going back to my place.”
The doctor shook his head. “Not without supervision. Someone needs to be with you.” The doctor turned toward me. “Will you be staying with her?”
She waved her hand dismissively. “He’s not really my?—”
“She doesn’t have anyone else,” I said.
The words were out before I reconsidered them. Zoey turned her head and looked at me, and there was a warning there that I recognized immediately. There was something else underneath it, too. Surprise, maybe. Wariness. I held her gaze and didn’t move, didn’t explain, didn’t soften it. I wasn’t backing away from what I’d just said.
The doctor nodded, already moving on. “We don’t discharge patients who’ve lost consciousness to ride-share services. You’ll be staying the night unless you have a trusted adult to monitor you.”
Zoey closed her eyes and let her head fall back against the pillow with a groan that sounded more offended than exhausted.She dragged in a slow breath and let it out through her nose, resignation settling in. Policy always won these fights.
“Congratulations, Liam,” she said without opening her eyes. “You’re my trusted adult.”
I smiled despite myself. “I can handle that.”
She cracked one eye open and still managed to give me a sharp, assessing look. The doctor turned his attention fully to me, giving me detailed instructions on what to look out for, how often to check on her while she rested, what warranted calling a nurse, and what absolutely didn’t warrant panic. I listened carefully. Mitigating risk was familiar ground for me.
When he finished, the doctor nodded once and stepped toward the door. “We’ll get the scans read shortly. Expect a call with results later tonight. I’ll have the nurses get you on the schedule with your primary for a follow-up this week. Keep that ankle elevated.”
As he left, the quiet returned.
Zoey opened her eyes and studied me again, as though measuring what I had just volunteered for and whether she intended to accept it.
“You didn’t have to do that,” she said.
“I know,” I answered.
She shifted slightly, then let herself sink back. “So, you’re coming with me?”
“Yes.”
She watched me another second, then looked away, letting out a resigned sigh. “Okay.”
I pulled the chair closer and adjusted it so it wouldn’t squeak when I sat. She noticed. Of course she did. Her shoulders eased a fraction, the tension dropping away.
“You’re taking this very seriously,” she said after a moment.
“The seriousness is warranted.”
She huffed quietly. “Right.”
“Are you okay?” I asked.
