Page 104 of Wade’s Wrath

“Yeah, I’ve met Wade, and he’s worse than you are,” she assessed.

“Wade is way worse than me,” Ripper agreed.

“Harlow seems to like it,” she said.

“Harlow likes arguing with him,” Ripper corrected.

“She does,” Sarah agreed.

“Poor bastard,” Ripper grumbled, making her smile. Ripper found himself staring at her. He shouldn't, and he knew that. Sarah wasn't some woman at Wade's bar he could flirt with. She'd been through hell. She was recovering and healing from scars that no one could see. Sarah was trying to figure out what her life looked like after eight months of having every choice taken from her. The last thing she needed was him complicating it. So why the fuck couldn't he stay away from her?

A knock sounded against the open door, and Sarah flinched. It was a tiny movement, barely noticeable, but Ripper noticed. A doctor stepped inside. “Ms. Mitchell?”

Sarah straightened. “Yes?”

The doctor glanced at Ripper. “Are you family?” the doctor asked.

“No,” Sarah said a bit too quickly.

Ripper stood. “I'll head out.”

The relief that should've followed didn't come. Instead, Sarah looked at him. “Wait.” Ripper stopped, and the doctor waited as Sarah's fingers tightened around the blanket. “You can stay.”

He stared at her. “You sure?”

“Yes,” she breathed.

“Sarah—” Ripper started. He wanted to tell her that he was fine with giving her privacy, but she quickly cut him off.

“I said yes.” There was a little bite in her voice, and Ripper smiled as he sat back down.

The doctor checked the chart. “Your bloodwork looks much better. Your iron is still low, but that's not unexpected. If everything continues this way, I think we can discharge you tomorrow.” Sarah froze, and Ripper felt it immediately. She should be happy to be going home tomorrow, except Sarah didn't have a home—not anymore.

Her apartment had been given up months ago after she'd disappeared. Her parents lived in Ohio, and according to Harlow, Sarah hadn't told them everything yet. The doctor kept talking about follow-up appointments, medication, counseling, and nutrition. Sarah nodded at all the right places, but Ripper noticed that her breathing had changed. Her fingers twisted the blanket, and by the time the doctor left, she was staring at the doorway.

Ripper waited her out, but she didn’t speak. “Sarah.”

“I'm fine,” she quickly lied.

“No, you're not,” he insisted.

She looked over at him. “You don't know me well enough to decide that.”

“That’s fair,” he agreed. That seemed to surprise her. Ripper leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees. “So tell me.”

“Tell you what?” she spat.

“What's wrong?” he asked. “Being discharged from this place should make you happy.”

“Nothing’s wrong,” she lied.

“Bullshit,” he breathed.

Her eyes narrowed. “Maybe I don't want to tell you.”

“Then don't.” She blinked over at him like he had lost his mind, and Ripper shrugged. “You don't owe me shit.”

Something about that made her shoulders loosen—just barely, though. “I don't know where I'm supposed to go when they discharge me,” she admitted.