“I didn’t think you had friends.”
“Yeah, well, you brought me outside.”
She beams across the table at me, and it does more to soothe the permanent ache I live with than any of the drugs they’ve given me in the last few days.
“I’m jealous of my brothers. They’re unstoppable—the best at what they do and unapologetic for it.”
“You seem pretty unstoppable to me.”
“Challenge motivates me,” she teases before letting loose a sigh. “I’m envious of how effortlessly they own their achievements.”
“And you don’t?”
Every crumb she brushes my way has me hanging on her next word more than the last. And sure, I want to stay out here as long as we can, but that’s not why.
“They’re at a different level. Take Trace. He’s not loud about his success, but he wears confidence like a second skin. Like there’s nothing he can’t do. Drake might not show it the same way, but he gives zero fucks.”
What she’s saying makes sense, but it’s not what I see when I look at her.
I see courage and compassion. I see the confidence of a woman who flies in helicopters.
“And you want to . . . care less?”
“I’m not really sure how to explain it without sounding like a jealous freak.” She rubs her temples. “I’m a whole-ass adult, and I still feel like I’m faking it half the time.” She lets that sit before adding, “Do you ever feel like you’re the last person who should be trusted with what we do?”
She has no idea.
When I don’t rush to answer she ducks her head, looping a strand of hair behind her ear, suddenly shy. “Sorry, that was a lot.”
I tuck my chin, ignoring the strain on my shoulder and ribs to find her eyes. “Every damn day.” She relaxes at that, but I’m notdone. “This is the only pep talk I’ve given . . . maybe ever, so it’s probably going to suck,” I warn her. “You’re allowed to take up as much space as you want. Isn’t that what your brothers would do?”
She blinks back at me. It seems I’ve stunned her quiet.
“Yeah, I guess it is.” It’s barely loud enough to hear over the breeze.
“If it’s good enough for them, why isn’t it good enough for you?”
There’s a buzz and she checks her phone.
“Shit!”
I watch the shift happen with her soft curse. Something sharpens as her eyes scan the screen.
She huffs out a breath, already lifting the phone to her ear. “Yeah—I got it.” A pause. “I’m in-house. Give me ten.”
I deflate. It’s time to go back.
“Looks like our field trip is over.” There’s a hint of a smile, but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes this time.
“Everything okay?” I ask.
She grabs the rest of her lunch and shoves it into the bag. I frown as I realize she barely ate.
“They need a flight nurse for a transplant,” she says, tucking the phone away.
I don’t know much about that world, but I know enough to see it in her face—how saving one life doesn’t come without losing another.
I want to say something, to ease the line etched between her eyes, but I know there’s nothing to be said.
