"Not really."
"Kent's already on it. He called me ten minutes ago." A pause. "They're idiots, Hope. Going to the court like this—they have no idea what they just handed him."
"I know."
"I'm coming over after my shift."
"Okay. Drive safe."
The call ends. I sit in my kitchen and the weight of what's happened presses down on me until I can't move.
My phone rings again. Mishel.
"I just saw something on the news about Greenridge." Her voice is high, panicked. "Hope, what the fuck is happening? Are you still working there? Why didn't you call me?"
"I'm okay."
"You don't sound okay."
"I'm not okay." The admission comes out rough. "I'm really not okay, Mish. But I made a choice and I'm going to live with it."
"What choice? What did you—Hope, talk to me."
I close my eyes. Think about how to explain any of this to someone who hasn't been inside that building. Who hasn't seen what I've seen. Who hasn't felt what I've felt.
"I fell in love with someone," I say. "Someone I wasn't supposed to fall in love with. And they're hurting him, Mish. They're destroying him because he protected me. And I can't—I won't—"
"Okay." Her voice steadies. "Okay. You're in love. With a patient?"
"Yes."
"The serial killer patient?"
"Yes."
Silence. Long enough that I think she might have hung up.
"Okay," she says again. "I have questions. A lot of questions. But right now I need to know—are you safe?"
"Yes."
"Are you sure?"
"There's someone watching out for me."
"Gage, the guard?"
"Yeah." I press my fingers to my eyes. "I don't know if it's love, Mish. With Gage. But he's been the one holding me together."
"I know, babe." Her voice softens. "I could hear it when you talked about him."
The laugh that escapes me is half-hysterical.
"Fuck me." But there's no judgment in her voice. Just Mishel, adapting, being the friend I've needed since we were kids. "Okay. I'm coming over. Don't argue. I'm coming over and you're going to tell me everything, and then we're going to figure out how to unfuck this situation."
"You can't unfuck this."
"Watch me."
