“Hey,” I call to him and he reluctantly tears his eyes away from his leg. “We’ll get through this together, okay? Just take deep breaths and keep talking to me.”
* * *
By the end of my shift, I’m past the point of burn-out. A fifteen-hour shift should be illegal, but when I think back on all of the people that we’ve helped today, I tell myself that it’s worth it if all of these people get to live another day.
We lost a few today. Two adults, including the driver and a teenage girl who was looking like she was going to make it until she suffered a pulmonary embolism.
By the time I’m driving home, I’m shattered. My shoulders feel as if I’ve been lifting weights all day, my ankles are killing me, and my eyes are so sore I just know a migraine is going to grace me with its presence any time soon. The minute I get home, I’m planting myself face-first into my bed, scrubs be damned. I don’t think I have it in me to take them off.
Thankfully, the drive from the hospital to my house is short. I pull up, head inside and immediately feel something nudge my leg.
“Do you just wait by the front door until I get home?” I ask Ollie.
He meows in confirmation.
“That’s kind of sweet and kind of creepy, dude.”
I give him the fusses that he begs for and then head into the kitchen to fill myself a glass of water to take to bed. I sigh when I check the time on the oven. It’s a little after three in the morning and I’m supposed to be at Wren’s for one. Why the hell did I agree to that?
I don’t know if it’s because Wren mentioned it yesterday, or if it’s simply been subtle enough to escape my notice, but whatever this thing is about Wanda wishing for Finn and I to get together, it’s definitely noticeable now. Wanda sent me a couple of photos as her way of letting me know that they are back in Beckford, and every single one has Finn in it in some way. In one, he’s lifting their luggage onto the back of his truck, biceps bulging as he does so. His brown skin is glistening as the summer sun shines on it, highlighting every vein, every ridge.
In another one, Wanda didn’t even bother to put herself in the photo. She simply sent one of Finn frowning at her in confusion with the caption, “Don’t I just have the most handsome chauffeur?”
I want to tell Wanda one time that it’s never going to happen, but every time I go to type out the message, something stops me. This invisible force seems to hold my thumbs still, eventually guiding them to type out something completely different.
Eh, I’ve seen better, Mama.
Instead of taking the time to delve into possible reasons why this is happening, I lock my phone and throw it down onto the couch.
I’m exhausted, and I feel as if one night’s sleep will be nowhere near what I should be getting with how much I work, and yet the same thing that happens every night takes over my body. My fingers itch with a need to type out every single idea that I’ve had since I began today’s shift. I was in the middle of working on an important scene last night before I fell asleep with my computer still on my lap and my mind is begging me to finish it.
With a heavy sigh, I run into the bedroom to grab my laptop. I return to the living room and let myself drop down onto the couch.
By the time six in the morning rolls around, everything I’m reading is blurry and I keep nodding off accidentally. I feel good with what I’ve managed to get done, though. The fight scene is done and the MMC and FMC’s first kiss together is well underway. Hopefully, when brunch with the Southwicks wraps up, I’ll have enough time before work to get some more done.
I turn the kitchen light off and head to bed to pass out and hopefully sleep until I’m forty and have made millions of dollars and can retire for the rest of my life.
ChapterFour
FINN
So far, I’ve been able to escape any mention of Oakleigh and our inevitable love story by keeping out of the way while we prepare dinner. Gus was finally able to meet his future in-laws, though he’d already spoken to Joe over the phone when he was asking for permission to propose to Wren. He’s doing well, considering how opposed he is to social interactions. He’s really trying his hardest to be open and as cheerful as he can be.
Now, though, he gets to focus on cooking, something he offered to do for everyone as a token of his appreciation. That is, of course, after the hour-long lecture on the different forms of chopping and dicing.
I decide to stick to the jobs that require one person—setting the table, putting the dishes away, and loading the dishwasher. I’m doing well until it comes time to actually eat dinner. Unfortunately, one can’t really do that by oneself when surrounded by family.
“Is Oakleigh not joining us tonight?” Mom asks Wren.
“Not tonight as she’s working a night shift, but she’ll be by tomorrow,” Wren replies.
I have a piece of lasagna halfway to my mouth when my brain decides to ruin my appetite completely.
What if he put something in there that you’re allergic to?
I frown at my plate.
If you eat it, you could get really sick and end up in hospital. Maybe even worse.
