Last I heard, he was still on restrictions—basically nothing that would stress his ribs or shoulder wound.
Yet, here he is, coffee in hand, no evidence of a ride in sight and stubborn as ever.
“Ah, yes, caffeine is always worth risking your health for.” A touch more snark than I intend slips into my tone, but I’m really fucking tired so I try not to beat myself up for the extra dose of sarcasm.
“I was cleared for walks yesterday, but you wouldn’t know that because you’ve been here for twenty hours.”
Ouch.
I lift a brow. “My house is one-point-one miles from the hospital.”
One shoulder lifts. “Found a shortcut.”
His hand brushes my elbow and we come to a stop in the middle of the lobby, people flowing around us. Emmet’s eyes soften, looking almost as perplexed as he is peeved.
“You didn’t come home last night.”
Given the way he naturally seems to loom over me by just existing, I don’t count on is how heartfelt his concern sounds.
It draws me a step closer to him.
“It’s not unusual for me to work straight through a second shift.” I shrug, taking a sip of the coffee. “I didn’t think you’d worry.”
Something in him hardens, instead of letting it go.
“Some of the nurses are fighting a stomach bug,” I add when he doesn’t respond. “We were short-staffed, then there was a car crash. I had to fly on an extraction before sunrise.”
He rubs his hand over the back of his neck. “Isn’t there some limit on how long you can work?”
I lower my mug. “It's part of the job. You sleep when you can, eat when you remember, and drink enough coffee to qualify as medically concerning.”
His mouth doesn't even twitch.
“I'm serious,” I add, softer this time. “I wouldn't have climbed into that helicopter if I wasn't safe to.”
“No.” He exhales the word, rough around the edges. “I’m worried aboutyou.”
The words hit somewhere I’m too tired and too scared to examine.
So I do what any emotionally mature woman would do.
I look down into my coffee, suddenly fascinated by the swirl of cream. “I'll survive.”
”That's a pretty low bar.”
I let out a quiet breath
“When we're short-staffed, it's either stay or leave patients without proper care. That's not really a choice.”
“That explains why you stayed. It doesn't explain how you're supposed to keep doing it.”
I blink up at him. “What?”
“How the hell are you supposed to take care of anyone when I can see you’re exhausted.”
I pause the cup halfway to my lips, one brow lifting in warning.
You want to rethink that, buddy?
