“Because I love you.”
He breathed out slowly.
“And if I don’t love you?”
The question still hurt.
It no longer destroyed me.
“Then I love you without collecting payment.”
His jaw tightened.
“That’s an awful answer.”
“It’s the only honest one.”
He looked toward the window.
“I think I care about you.”
My heart stopped.
Noah rubbed his thumb against the cardboard cup.
“I don’t know what kind of caring. I don’t know if it belongs to now or if something old is underneath it.”
“You don’t have to name it.”
“I know.”
He looked back.
“But it’s there.”
I could not trust myself to speak.
A knock rescued me.
Dr. Whitcomb entered carrying a thick binder. Priya followed with a nurse and a pharmacy technician pushing a cart crowded with labeled bags.
“Ready to escape?” Dr. Whitcomb asked.
Noah lifted the coffee. “I’ve been bribed.”
“Excellent. Bribery is an underused rehabilitation strategy.”
The next hour became instruction.
Medication for pain.
Medication to reduce seizure risk.
Medication to prevent clotting.
A schedule for tapering one drug and continuing another.
Warning signs written in red.
