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We stay like that for hours. The panic of the first hour gradually settling into something quieter, heavier. Exhausted waiting. The kind where you stop checking the clock because the numbers don’t mean anything anymore.

Kira twists around so she can hold her mom’s hand again without moving away from me. Every now and then she speaks softly to her mom. I think she’s even half-singing at some point.

It’s dark outside when Carly interrupts, bringing us a paper bag from… I don’t even know. I wasn’t listening. She sets it on the rolling table without saying much, squeezes Kira’s shoulder once, and leaves.

“You should eat,” I say.

Kira shakes her head. “I’m not hungry.”

“You haven’t eaten since lunch.”

“I can’t possibly think about food right now,” she snips, craning her neck to glare at me as though the mere suggestion is preposterous.

That’s good because that means she’s still in there and hasn’t succumbed to her fear.

“Kira,” I growl. “You need to eat, and so do I.”

“I’m not—”

“So help me God. If you don’t eat, I’ll drag you over my lap and spank you right here.”

“You wouldn’t,” she gasps, jumping off my lap.

Smirking, I stand and reach for the bag. While Kira stretches her legs, I unpack the food and drinks. There are a couple of sandwiches, freshly cut fruit, chocolate cake, and water. Christ, Carly really went all out here.

“You know,” I say, as I move the table closer to the chair and sit back down. “I’ve never met your mom, baby. But I’m pretty sure she’d side with me.”

Kira lets out a humorless laugh and rolls her red-rimmed eyes. “Of course she would,” she relents. Then she sighs and returns to my lap. “Okay, I’ll take a small bite.”

I unwrap one of the sandwiches and hold it in front of her mouth so she can take a bite, which she does. While she chews, I take one. We continue alternating like that until both sandwiches are gone.

Then I feed her all the chocolate cake and fruit, which she accepts without a single protest. Judging by the contemplative look in her eyes, she isn’t fully present. But that’s okay as long as she eats.

Once the food’s gone, Kira’s hand finds mine on the arm of the chair. Her fingers are cold. “I need to text Father Joseph,” she mumbles. “So he can pray for her. And I should text my dad. He needs to know.”

She’s speaking her thoughts out loud, the way people do when they’re too tired to filter. I tighten my hand around hers.

“Whatever you need, baby.”

I don’t mention my recent visit from Harry, or how much I doubt he’ll bother showing up. He’s a selfish, pathetic waste of space. But again, I keep those thoughts to myself.

She pulls her phone from her pocket with her free hand. I watch over her shoulder as she sends two texts before putting the phone away again.

More time passes. The kind that stretches and contracts without a pattern. Kira’s head finds my shoulder. Her breathing evens out. At first I think she’s asleep, but as I ponder if I should get a bed set up for her in here, I notice her eyes are fixed on her mom’s face.

I don’t know what time it is when a nurse enters the room. She checks Paige’s vitals and makes notes on a tablet before adjusting the IV drip.

As soon as she’s done, I ask, “Who’s the attending neurologist?”

She looks up, surprised. Like she forgot I was here. “That would be Dr. Chen.”

“Has he changed Paige’s medication?”

“Not that I’m aware of,” she replies. I glare pointedly at her until she unlocks the tablet and studies it for a minute. “Nope, no changes, Mr. DeLuca.”

Since I’m not a goddamn doctor, I can’t claim to know if there should have been changes. It pisses me off that she didn’t already know, though. I mean, aren’t nurses meant to know if their patients’ medications have changed?

“What tests are they running?”