“You seem like you have an opinion.”
“To be fair, you look like someone who got pinned under a burning tree branch and is lucky to be breathing, so you should probably take Becky’s advice.”
What starts as a rumble of laughter turns into a cough that has me reaching for his water on his table.
“That bad, huh?” he asks when the cough clears, sounding hoarser than before.
“Worse.” I take the hospital-issued water bottle back from him, noticing it’s nearly empty now. He’ll need more before I leave. “Cracked ribs. Third-degree burns on your shoulder. Six stitches above your eyebrow. You’ve got cuts and lacerations all over. And don’t even get me started on the smoke inhalation. But you already know that, and I’m off duty.”
Emmett flexes his fingers, testing the stiffness in his left hand—the one that’s bruised. “She sent you in here to play good cop then?”
“She didn’t send me in here at all. And I might not seem like it, but I can be just as strict as her.”
Almost. Sometimes.
“If you’re off duty and she didn’t send you, why are you here?”
Phew, that’s a loaded question. Especially since it doesn’t seem like he remembers me. Giving him the whole reason—that he got under my skin—will make me look unhinged.
“You saved my best friend.” That much is true. He saved Harlowe, and from what I’ve heard, an elderly couple whowouldn’t have made it out of the fire otherwise. “I owe it to you and her to make sure you’re okay.”
His eyes sweep over my wrinkled scrubs with a hint of intrigue that wasn’t there when I first walked in. A look like that does something to a girl's ego especially when I feel as glamourous as the walking dead.
Whatever that look was, it's gone quicker than I can snap my fingers.
“Can you tell me when I’ll be able to get back out there?” He barely spares me a look. The distance he’s putting between us is a one-eighty from the guy in my helicopter.
If he thinks his bad attitude is going to scare me away he’s going to be disappointed.
“So, when can I get back out there?” he asks again, patience thinner than his hospital gown.
Out there.
Not out of here. Not discharged.
“You’re a fool.”
My candor doesn’t phase him.
“Probably. But it’s never stopped me before.”
I narrow my eyes on him. “Should I call psych?”
“You could just answer me. Or can you not since you’re off duty?”
“Answer me first. Are you in danger of doing something reckless?”
“Not exactly in the position to.”
“You seem like the type who’d find a way.”
There’s a brief moment of tension, before his posture relaxes. “Tell you what. Give me the whole truth, and I’ll be on my best behavior.”
Relenting, because I didn’t come here to argue, and honestly, I’m too damn tired. “That’s up to your doctor, but it’s safe to assume it’ll be awhile.” I collapse into the seat beside his bed,letting my head fall against the back. He eyes me skeptically, like he’s a breath away from asking what the hell I think I’m doing. Funnily enough, I couldn’t explain it if he did.
I’ve been forced over twice this week due to low staffing that put me well over forty hours. Exhaustion is my default state at this point, but I let the chair take a fraction of it. I’m too tired to be here, but too tired to drive. This chair is my home now.
When I crack my eyes open to check on a silent Emmett, I see he’s still staring at that damn TV. I stretch, grabbing the remote from the table between us and turn it off. Becky says he barely sleeps—just watches the news and stares at the wall.
