I hesitated. “Something like that. I’m Jesse. He’s… We work in the same department.”
“Neil. Roommate, obviously.” He gave me a brief once-over across Finn’s head, lolled onto my shoulder, then jerked his chin toward a short hallway. “His room’s that way. But I can take it from here.”
“No, it’s fine. I’ve got him.” Too fast, too obvious.
Neil’s mouth tilted, slightly lopsided with amusement. “If you say so.”
We shuffled along, one foot in front of the other. It seemed as if Finn, now that his bed was close, was sagging into me more by the second, drained of the adrenaline that had kept him running on empty.
His room was small and bare—a twin bed with rumpled sheets, cheap furniture. Looked like he hadn’t gotten around yet to putting up any pictures, nothing beyond a family photo on the desk, next to a half-drained glass of water. A rolled-up yoga mat sat in one corner. It looked hardly more personal than that hotel room from our first night.
Together, Neil and I eased Finn down to sit on the mattress. He seemed to sway a little, chin tipping toward his chest, eyes drooping. I took a step back because I had to.
“You gonna be around tonight and tomorrow?” I asked Neil.
“Yeah. I can handle meds, temp, fluids.” His lips curved up. “Don’t worry—I’m a qualified nurse.”
“Oh. Good.” No reason for me to linger, then. I still did—touched my palm against Finn’s forehead, then checked his pulse with a thumb against the side of his throat. Perfectly unnecessary. He blinked up at me through glassy eyes.
“Stay?” he asked, voice small and rough.
Fuck. Like falling through a mirror and landing in quicksand. A week ago, he’d been the one to leave, and now… God. He was out of it. He wouldn’t have asked otherwise.
I swallowed around glass. “Wish I could.”
His breath hitched, but he didn’t reply.
“Sleep,” I said after a beat of silence, traffic humming in my head and heart. “Hydrate. If you feel worse, just…call me. Yeah?”
His nod was faint. “Thank you, J.”
The familiarity hurt, like the scrape of a palm over rough concrete. I drew a breath and smiled. “Anytime, Finn.”
When I turned away—made myself, draping self-discipline around my shoulders like a too-tight jacket—Neil was hovering, eyes sharp but not unkind. “I’ll look after him.”
I nodded, then glanced back at Finn who was fumbling with his scrubs, trying to pull the top over his head. Everything in me screamed about wanting to stay. But I couldn’t. Last week, Finn had made his choice and left. I needed to respect that, especially when he’d done what was right for both of us. Rationally, I knew that.
It just didn’t feel like it.
With one last look at Finn, I finally left. Retraced my steps to the door, put on my coat and shoes, let the door click shut behind me. In the hallway, I stopped and exhaled, lungs shriveled to the point where breathing seemed a chore.
I couldn’t save Finn from a virus.
I sure as hell couldn’t save myself from this.
Sunday stretched sunny and empty, with Shane out of town for a family birthday and my laundry staring at me from the bathroom floor. I stared back, knowing that I needed to do something about it yet utterly reluctant to do so.
When did my life get so…limited?
Mostly because it was better than checking in on Finn. Which I shouldn’t. Right?
Limited?
All I do is eat, work, sleep, repeat.
I read it over, thought about deleting it. Jesus, I wasn’t usually built for melodrama.
I sent it.
