Page 43 of Asystole

Marcy squeals with delight when she unwraps the dolphin blanket I got for her. Eleven is a weird age. She wants to be grown up, but she isn’t, and she definitely doesn’t want childish things—not from me anyway—so I got her something practical. “It matches the slippers,” I tell her, setting a bag with tissue paper in her lap.

“Thank you, Chase. This means the world to us. I wish you were on her medical team,” Helen says, placing a hand on Marcy’s shin.

“Me too,” I admit.

Marcy fights hard after that, but eventually, fatigue wins, and she falls asleep clutching her new blanket.

“I know you guys have had a long day, so Logan and I will clean up and let you get some sleep.”

“Here, let me. You’ve already done so much,” Helen says, standing immediately.

“Absolutely not. I did not bring all this in here just for you to clean it up,” I tell her quietly.

With a small laugh, Helen says, “Dr. Matthews, if you were fifteen years older, I’d marry you right this second.”

I laugh out loud before covering my mouth with my hand.

“I’d make a terrible husband, Helen. I’m married to my job and work a hundred hours a week.”

“And don’t forget you’re a neat freak with more than a touch of OCD about bath towels,” Logan chimes in, clapping me on the back.

Helen quirks a brow at me.

“We’re roommates,” I explain quickly.

“Must be nice to have a friend and roommate who works with you. At least you can understand each other’s world and how crazy your days can be.”

I nod and smile. It’s been a long day, and with Marcy full and happy, I’m ready to go home.

Chapter 17

Logan

Iwake up to an empty house on Christmas morning, just like I knew I would.

I make the mandatory call to my parents, but it doesn’t last long. My parents and I are on good terms, but we’ve never been super close. It’s never really bothered me, and after hearing how Chase’s parents control so much of his life—even at twenty-six—I’ve never been more thankful that mine are off doing their own thing.

I spend the day doing meal prep, laundry, and giving the small condo a good scrub-down before I go back to work tomorrow for my on-week.

It’s seven p.m. when Chase texts me, but I wasn’t expecting him until much later.

Chase

Honey, I’m headed home. Put on something slutty and start dinner.

I roll my eyes but laugh anyway. He’s such an idiot.

Logan:

Unless you’re footing the bill for my existence, Dr. Matthews, the sluttiest thing you’ll see me in is this hoodie.

Chase

I disagree. Your flight suit is way sluttier.

When Chase talks like this, it makes me so confused. I can’t tell if he’s flirting with me or if he’s just so fucking free with his words that he doesn’t stop to think about how someone might read into them… How I might read into them.

And don’t get me started on the emojis.