“Bad idea,” he says.
“Definitely,” I agree. Then the tension breaks. Mostly. And I tell myself any small, lingering pang of regret is simply from the knowledge that I’ll never have this kind of openness with Carter. Or anything with Carter.
The elevator slows and then chimes, signaling our arrival on the designated floor.
I take a deep breath, straighten my shoulders, and release Devon’s hand. I need to do this. Moment of weakness over.
The ICU waiting room is a wide-open space, filled with matching upholstered chairs and faux-leather love seats in a vaguely geometric design. The wall to our right as we stop off the elevator is a full bank of windows, revealing the gorgeous pink and orange clouds of sunrise.
The room is sparsely populated. One woman is sleeping on alove seat, her body curled into a tight C-shape, with her jacket over her head to block the light. Another man is snoring with his head tipped against the back of his chair, a clump of tissues still clutched in his hands.
The sense of despair is strong in here, wave upon wave of it, and it takes me a second to adjust. To ignore it.
At least feeding on the Fear spawn gave me that benefit—I’m full enough for now.
I spot Chessa and Carter in the farthest corner, away from the windows, sitting in chairs opposite each other, both of them leaning forward, as if engaged in a battle of wills or chess or something. Double doors set in the wall behind them lead to the ICU. They are as close as they can be to Daan without being in his room.
Chessa notices me first, and she pops up to her feet. She pushes her glasses up her nose repeatedly—her telltale sign that she is pissed—as she wends her way through the maze of furniture toward me. Carter follows but at a slower pace.
I steel myself as Chessa approaches, fury written in every line of her face.
“Where the hell were you?” she demands in a loud whisper, folding her arms across herself. “You said you would stay with Carter!”
Then, before I can even respond, she bursts into tears.
“Shit.” My hands flap helplessly at my sides for a second because I’m not sure what to do between the conflicting signals of anger and sadness. Then I finally take a chance and reach out to hug her. Gingerly. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I… had some stuff to do and I—”
Chessa jerks back from me, eyes red and overflowing throughher visibly smudged and blurry glasses. “Excuse me? You hadstuffto do?”
Great job, Jo.“I was just trying to find out what happened with Lennie and I—”
“Did you ever think that I would be worried about you, too?” Chessa asks. “You’re the one who was talking about murder yesterday. Lennie’s dead, Daan is…” Her throat works convulsively. “And you promised, youpromisedyou would stay in touch—”
She holds her hand up and then stalks off in the opposite direction, disappearing down a hallway on the other side of the lounge.
“Chessa!” I stare after her. I’ve seen her upset before. But Chessa upset is Chessa yelling, crying, then dropping into “solve everything” mode. Assess the problem logically, create a plan of attack, and execute. She’s practical, almost clinical. Her fury burns hot but clean.
I’veneverseen her walk away before, as if it’s all too much.
“Just give her a second. It’s been a rough night,” Carter says, his hands stuffed into his jeans pockets.
Misplaced irritation flares in me, and I want to push back at him. Who is he to tell me what Chessa, my friend, needs? Last I checked, she didn’t even like him.
Except… he’s the one who answered her call, the one who came to the hospital to sit with her when she couldn’t get me.
Carter looks worn out, his normally perfect hair ruffled from where he’s been running his hands through it. His crumpled button-down shirt is not the same one as yesterday, this one a solid blue, but it looks like it came straight out of the laundry basket, creases and all.
“Hi,” I manage.
His lips quirk upward. “Hi.” He reaches out and flips up the collar on the peacoat I’m wearing,hispeacoat. “Nice coat.”
“Thanks.” I grimace. “I didn’t mean to—”
He pulls his hands from his pockets and tugs me into him in one swift motion. “Jesus, Jocasta. You scared the shit out of me.” His voice is muffled against the top of my head. His larger body quakes slightly against mine, giving truth to his words.
Stunned, I automatically wrap my arms around him. The heat of him sinks into me, even through all of our layers, and I feel warm and safe for the first time in hours. “It’s okay,I’mokay.” My cheek rests against his chest, and the steady thrum of his heart is the soothing lullaby I’ve been missing.
But I’m also struggling to readjust my understanding of reality to encompassthismoment.
