I tried to find words. Any words. My law degree, my experience with corporate negotiations—all that eloquence deserted me now.
“Thank you.” My voice cracked on the second syllable.
It wasn’t only Doc’s condition tying my stomach in knots. Shame burned beneath my skin. The last time Diego and I had spoken face to face had been the summer before law school. The summer I’d let myself believe—for a few stolen weeks—that I might choose a different path.
But when August came, I’d gone to Chicago as planned. And instead of telling him honestly that I couldn’t do long-distance while tackling my first year, I’d... faded away. Stopped answering texts. Sent shorter and shorter emails. Made excuses not to come home on breaks.
I’d been a coward. And here he was, being kind to me.
“Can I get you anything?” His voice filled the silence. “Water? Coffee? The cafeteria’s not great, but?—”
“I’m okay.”
He nodded, and took a half-step closer. “Doc’s tough. Toughest guy I know.”
My throat tightened. “Yeah.”
Diego lifted his hand, hesitating before he moved toward me. For one heart-stopping moment, I thought he might touch my arm, or pull me into a hug. God, I wanted that—needed it—the solid reassurance of human contact.
But his hand stopped, hovering in the space between us before dropping back to his side.
Our eyes met again. His were still the same warm brown, deep enough to fall into. They held questions I didn’t know how to answer, kindness I didn’t deserve.
“It’s good to see you, Gill,” he said softly.
“I—“ The word hung in the air. I what? I’m sorry? I missed you? I think about you more than I should?
A sharp buzz cut through the moment. Diego glanced down at his radio as a voice crackled through.
“Rivera, we’ve got another call. Four minutes.”
He looked back at me, conflict written across his face. “I have to go.”
“Of course.” I nodded mechanically.
He hesitated, one foot already turned toward the exit. The radio buzzed again.
I forced my lips into what I hoped resembled a smile. “I’ll be fine. Thank you.”
Something flickered in his eyes—disappointment, maybe. Or relief. Then he was striding away, those broad shoulders disappearing through the automatic doors.
I watched until he was gone, his familiar silhouette disappearing completely from view, before sinking into the nearest waiting room chair. The molded plastic was cold and unforgiving through my jeans, offering no comfort whatsoever. The harsh fluorescent lighting cast everything in an unflattering, sickly pallor that made the beige walls look even more institutional and sterile.
Around me, other people waited in their own private agonies, each lost in their particular version of hospital purgatory. An elderly couple sat three chairs down, their weathered hands intertwined, whispering to each other in voices too low to catch. The woman’s eyes were red-rimmed, and every few moments she’d reach up to dab at them with a tissue pulled from her purse. Across the room, a young mother bounced a feverish child on her lap, the little boy’s flushed cheeks pressed against her shoulder as she murmured soothing words. Near the vending machines, a man in a rumpled business suit paced back and forth with mechanical precision, his phone pressed so tightly to his ear that his knuckles had gone white.
And me, sitting alone in this sea of worry and waiting, wrestling with my fears for Doc’s condition while the ghost of a summer romance I’d never properly laid to rest seemed to hover in the antiseptic air around me. Diego’s warm brown eyes, the way he’d almost reached for me, the careful distance he’d maintained—it all swirled together with my anxiety about Doc, creating a knot of emotion in my chest that felt impossible to untangle.
My phone buzzed in my pocket. Digging it out, I saw Lucy’s name on the screen.
“Hey,” I answered, my voice still rough with emotion.
“Oh, my God. How’s Doc?” Lucy’s words tumbled out in a breathless rush.
Momentarily thrown, I blinked. “How did you even know? We just got to the hospital.”
A short, humorless laugh came through the line. “Small town. Two people texted me already. Pepper called from the bar right after the ambulance left, and Mrs. Kovalchik saw the ambulance when she was driving past and recognized Doc being loaded in.”
Of course. In Huckleberry Creek, news traveled faster than emergency vehicles.
