Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 78329 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 392(@200wpm)___ 313(@250wpm)___ 261(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78329 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 392(@200wpm)___ 313(@250wpm)___ 261(@300wpm)
I let her do what she needed. Sensing she wants to feel some normalcy I didn’t pull her to me interrupting her path to her tasks.
Raff and Josie are already up. Raff’s sitting at the table with a legal pad, trying to make sense of discharge instructions like they’re a wiring diagram for a car. Josie’s packing snacks and extra clothes with the efficiency of someone who’s done this dance before.
Family orbiting a crisis.
I don’t step in. I don’t need to. Danae knows I’m here. That’s enough.
Danae’s grandpa looks smaller being home swallowed by the bed, oxygen tubing looped under his nose. But his eyes are sharp. Always have been. He sizes me up when I step into the room, and I don’t flinch. Men like him respect that.
“Morning, sir,” I greet wanting to have some time to get to know the man who is a rock for both Danae and Josie.
He nods. “You ride that bike out front?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Hmph.” A pause with the man staring me down. I imagine back in his younger years he would have been intimidating to anyone trying to date his daughters or granddaughters. The man is six feet three inches filling out the hospital beds easily. The space of the room makes him seem smaller, but standing here under his scrutiny I feel my six feet two inches tall self, feeling about five feet tall. He smiles a toothy grin. Then with a nod, he tells me quieter, “Good. She likes to go fast.”
A small laugh behind me gets my attention. Danae flushes, half embarrassed, half smiling. I feel something warm low in my chest at the way he watches her, like he’s memorizing her face in case he ever needs to carry it with him somewhere else.
Danae sinks onto the edge of the mattress and presses her forehead to his hand.
“You scared me,” she whispers.
He squeezes back. “Didn’t mean to.”
She laughs softly, a sound edged with tears, and I look away to give them that moment. Some things aren’t meant for witnesses. She has to work tonight and I know leaving him is bothering her.
Once she gets ready, I take her to work on the bike.
She hesitates at first about her scrubs getting dirty, but something changes. In a moment, she’s strapping on the helmet, hands steady, like she trusts me with her life. That thought hits harder than it should.
She climbs on behind me, arms slipping around my waist, body fitting to mine like it always has. Familiar. Right.
The ride is quiet. Wind. Engine. The steady drum of my heart.
When we pull in, I kill the bike and help her off. She takes her helmet off, hair already braided, she just pins the edges again, eyes bright, and a smile that I know is meant for me alone.
Her gaze moves to over my shoulder in the distance. That’s when I see him.
Dr. Reeves stands near the entrance, coat over his arm, posture just a little too still. He watches Danae like she’s something he’s already decided belongs to him.
I feel it immediately. That low, animal warning hum. The lion inside me coming alive into protective mode.
Danae thanks me, kisses my cheek, turns to go, and I catch her wrist.
“Hey,” I stop her for a second.
She looks back, confused.
I don’t give myself time to think. I pull her in and kiss her. Not hurried. Not sloppy.
Deliberate.
Her body responds instantly, softening, her mouth opening under mine like she knows exactly what I’m saying without words. My hand slides to her lower back, holding her there, grounding her against me.
This is mine.
Not ownership like property. Claim. Because she matters to me, I claim this feeling. I own my emotion, the care I have for her, it matters.
When we break apart, I meet Reeves’s eyes over her shoulder.
He doesn’t look away.
Neither do I.
Unspoken conversation complete, I give my attention back to Danae only when the man moves giving us our privacy back.
Danae exhales, forehead resting against my chest, unaware of the silent exchange happening over her head. I brush my thumb along her jaw, gentle now.
“I’ll be here when you’re done,” I tell her.
She nods, squeezes my hand once, and walks inside.
Reeves is long gone by the time she makes it inside.
Good.
The night drags.
I sit on my bike, helmet hooked on the handlebars, watching nurses come and go, watching shadows move behind glass. Every so often, I replay the look on his face.
Not anger.
Calculation.
That bothers me more.
When Danae finally comes out, exhaustion clings to her. I wrap her up before she can say anything, press my lips to her hair.
“You okay?” I ask.
She nods. “Better now.”
We ride home under a sky thick with stars, and for a little while, everything feels almost normal. The next day, Raff corners me out back while Danae and Josie fold laundry inside.