“How did you know where I live?” he asked, realizing he had never told anyone where he lived, not even John.
Steph shrugged off her coat and hung it on the vintage coat stand Jin had picked out on one of his many antique-thrifting adventures. “Oh, honey, when you’ve been around confidential files long enough, you discover all kinds of things. Just don’t tell HIPAA I'm here.”
“I like you,” Jin remarked. “Drink? We have beer, wine, and pre-made cocktails in a can.”
“Huh, that sounds lovely. What do ya got, bartender?”
After several minutes of informing Steph of the value of margaritas in a can, she sat at the dining table with Wyatt while Jin gave them some privacy and sauntered off to his room.
Steph leaned back into the small wooden chair, sipping her canned margarita. “You look… like shit.”
He frowned, nodding. He knew exactly how great he looked because Jin mentioned it daily. He hadn’t shaved or slept much this week. By day three, he had finally stopped calling and texting John. He was a certified mess, strung out with a broken heart.
He declared his love to the literal man of his dreams and was met with silence.
He wasn’t sure what was worse—a Nazi wielding a knife at him or John’s refusal to pick up his phone.
“How’s the arm?” she asked.
He pulled back the white sleeve of his shirt, revealing the healing wound with the fresh bandage. “Good.”
“Good,” she nodded. “So, you’re leaving us?”
“Yeah. But I’ll be back.”
She hummed, scrutinizing him. “This doesn’t have anything to do with what happened, does it? Cause right after, Tanya and John talked. We now have more security and hired three more nurses. Workin’ on a few more doctors, too. Walsh will finally have another consistent night-shift doctor on rotation, and Samuels can put in for vacation, if he ever leaves.”
“That’s great,” he said, attempting to sound enthusiastic.
“So, if it ain’t from what happened, how come your paperwork didn’t have a return date? You’re a good doctor, Lawson. We need you.”
Wyatt’s heart sank, and then once more, the anger that had been so easily at the surface lately rose in his chest and he glared at her. He had submitted his FMLA paperwork to the hospital through Steph, who insisted on doing it for him when he asked where to submit it. He knew he was running. But he didn’t know what else to do. His Aunts were calling daily, and his father probably wouldn’t make it to Christmas.
He couldn’t control John. He couldn’t control his anger these days, either.
But he could control his decision to go home.
Wyatt leaned back, arms folded over his chest. “I just need some time.”
She nodded, “Yeah, I get it. The job's intense, but I didn’t take you for someone scared of a bit of pain, Lawson.”
“I don’t think I was scared enough,” he admitted, thinking of John.
“What do you mean?”
He shook his head, refusing to elaborate. “You don’t have to worry about me.”
“Oh, honey, yes, I do. That’s what good pseudo mamas do. We notice when things happen to our kids. And I know something's happened. In fact, I know that the day you left the hospital, Dr. Donnelly’s good mood also left us.”
“Sorry to hear that,” he muttered.
“Yeah, me too. Johnny’s a good man. Sensitive,” her dark brown eyes impaled him from across the table, as though looking for something. “I bet if you asked him, he could tell you the number of lives he’s lost, but not the ones he saved.”
Wyatt rubbed his temple, fighting the burn in his belly. Steph didn’t have to give him more reasons to love John.
“He’s never risked getting close to anyone. Even his ex-wife said so the last time I saw her. Johnny pushes people away because he’s scared. He sees the suffering, the grief of his patients and their families, and denies it to himself. But the job can’t love him back, no matter how much he pours into it.”
“It’s never enough,” Wyatt said softly.
