“Oh, yeah. I had to drop off a retirement gift for one of our radiologists.”
“On your day off?”
She rolls her tongue over the inside of her cheek, holding back her smile. Acting as professional as she looks.
“Yeah . . . keep up, Hotshot.”
Becky doesn’t waste a second.
“Would you like to do the honors?” She motions to my wheelchair. “Pretty sure this one prefers you over me any day.”
Aspen’s smile slips free and pink blooms over her cheekbones as she looks between us. “I don’t want to intrude on this special moment for you two.”
“Save me,” I mouth.
At the same time, Becky says, “You’d be doing me a favor.”
“Stop pretending you won’t miss each other. You’re two ornery peas in a cranky pod,” Aspen says, stepping behind my wheelchair.
I didn’t think I’d get a chance to see her again, and now that I’ve got her undivided attention, I freeze, caught between wanting and knowing I shouldn’t.
The closer we get to the exit, the harder it is to know what to say or do.
I’m not good at people or feelings. I hate goodbyes. My life has been spent keeping everyone at a distance, leaving me incapable of giving or receiving meaningful connection.
Moments like this threaten the wall I’ve built to keep myself and those around me safe.
But damn it, I want it anyway. Just a few more seconds. Just this moment.
“You must be thrilled to get out of here.” She laughs, nervous, as the doors slide open. “Promise me you’re not going to run back into a fire the second I park this wheelchair.”
“Tempting, but no. I’ll be suffering through my time off.”
“Maybe you’ll be surprised and end up liking the downtime. Find a new hobby. Ever tried doing cross-stitch?
I glare at her over my shoulder.
She crinkles her nose. “Yeah. I didn’t think so.”
A van with a medical transport logo pulls up.
“Care Management arranged a ride for you?” She sounds almost sad.
“They did.”
“Good.” She nods, but it feels like she’s trying to convince herself.
The driver rushes around, opening the rear door for me. I want to bark at him for moving so fast when I’m trying to steal a few extra seconds before I say goodbye.
Aspen stays behind the chair as I stand. When I’m steady, I lean against the van and turn to get a look at her.
This is where it ends for us.
I linger a beat too long, lost in my head as I try to memorize how this moment feels.
She forces her smile wider, like she knows how hard this is for me. “See you around, Hotshot.”
“See you around, Aspen.”
