His shoulders drop.
“Hey.”
His voice has gone rough. I feel it in places I have no business feeling anything right now.
The nurse slips into Susan’s room.
Ryan rubs both hands over his face. “What time?”
“Almost six.”
He pushes himself up with a sound that says every muscle hates him. Then he offers me a hand.
I take it.
He pulls me up, and my legs immediately forget their job. His hand closes around my arm until I am steady. Warm. Firm. Too brief.
“Okay?”
“Physically? Questionable. Emotionally? Worse.”
He comes close to smiling.
I count that as a victory.
“I’m going to check on her.”
“Go. I’ll be downstairs with the twins.”
The waiting room has changed by the time I reach it. Night has thinned at the windows. The receptionist is new. A janitor pushes a mop down the hall. The twins are still asleep, tangled in a blanket that looks like it lost a fight.
I buy coffee from a machine that commits several crimes against beans and sit near them.
Gil texts while I am trying to decide whether the coffee counts as liquid or evidence.
Gil: Tell me you are not writing the McAllister situation.
Peyton: I am in a hospital waiting room. Good morning to you too.
Gil: Peyton.
I look at the twins. Emma has one hand tucked under her cheek. Lily is frowning in her sleep like the dream failed to meet her standards.
Peyton: I am not writing it.
Gil: There is a photo circulating. You at the arena with Jennifer. No credential, restricted hall, Ryan pulled from the game. People are asking if you influenced him.
They would be.
Peyton: I delivered a family emergency.
Gil: I know. The internet does not.
Peyton: The internet can choke.
Gil: There she is.
I almost laugh.
