“Brace coming off?”
“That is the plan.”
“Good. We need someone with two hands to fix Caleb’s labels.”
Caleb objected.
Noah smiled.
The ride to the hospital took twenty minutes.
Traffic was light. Noah watched the road, his right hand resting near the center console.
When a delivery truck passed in the opposite lane, his body tightened.
I slowed.
“You all right?”
“Yes.”
“Do you want me to stop?”
“No.”
He watched the truck disappear in the mirror.
“Keep going.”
I did.
The hospital entrance brought a different reaction.
Noah stared up at the glass façade.
His jaw tightened.
“I don’t want to go inside.”
“We can sit here.”
“I have appointments.”
“They can wait ten minutes.”
His fingers flexed.
“I know too much about that building.”
“Not all of it is bad.”
“No.”
He looked at me.
“You were there.”
“Yes.”
