Page 5

Romi and Sullivan eventually stand to leave, pledging their return after a necessary son-related pit stop. “Gotta feed the munchkin,” Romi says, kissing my cheek before she motions toward Banks. “Call me if you need anything.”

“I’ll take care of whatever she needs,” Banks reassures my sister.

With a wave and another hard glance at Banks, my sister and brother-in-law make their way out.

Silence fills the room, cozy and comfortable. Banks sips his coffee, looking over at me thoughtfully. It's nice, somehow, having him here. There's a soothing solidness to his presence. “You really don’t have to babysit me,” I remark, unable to completely hide the quizzical note in my voice.

“I know,” he says, simple as that, and it’s weirdly comforting knowing he's staying by choice. “I want to be here with you, knockout. Nothing could get me to leave.”

I don’t really have a response to his declaration, so I keep quiet and enjoy my hot latte.

The hours slip by in a mostly pleasurable haze broken by routine prods from nurses and episodes of a television drama playing softly in the background.

Eventually, I drift off to sleep with Banks still sitting in the chair next to my bed.

When Romi returns the next morning, she’s armed with large take-out cups of coffee.

“You two looked like you could use a pick-me-up,” she declares, handing a cup to Banks with an all-too-innocent smile before holding one out to me.

“Thank you.” I grab the cup and take a big sip. “Hospital coffee leaves a lot to be desired.”

I’m just about to make a half-hearted complaint about the lack of decent TV channels when there’s a firm knock on the door. Banks glances over at me and makes sure I’m covered before calling out, “Come in.”

The door opens to reveal a deputy in uniform, who looks like he’s been up far too long wrestling with paperwork and caffeine. He gives a polite nod at me and then focuses on Banks, summoning him to the hallway with an urgent, “Can I have a word with you?”

As Banks gets up, curiosity bubbles up, mingled with a touch of anxiety. I strain to catch snippets of their conversation, half-heard through the doorframe. Their voices rise and fall, not quite an argument but steeped in enough intensity to suggest tension. I catch Banks’s steadfast, insistent voice, and my pulse quickens.

He comes back, the deputy trailing behind with a clipboard in hand, which can only mean one thing; it’s time to deal with the legalities of the accident.

“Yvette,” Banks begins, re-settling into the chair next to me, his expression mingling gentle concern with grim resolution, “you’re going to need to give a statement. They can’t hold Richard Hecken without it.”

My stomach twists at the name, memories I’d prefer stayed buried bubbling unbidden to the surface. Richard Hecken. The last person I expected to cross paths with in Silver Spoon Falls. Suddenly, those days at my old firm in Houston, with Richard’s relentless presence making work life unbearable, are fresh and raw again in my mind.

Still, I nod, knowing it’s the right thing to do. Necessary, even, not just for justice, but for closure and for putting the past behind me once and for all. Banks watches me with a kind of steady reassurance, affirming silently I’m not facing this alone.

The deputy positions himself, pen poised above a sheet of paper attached to his clipboard, his demeanor shifting from official to respectfully attentive as he asks, “You made a statement in the ambulance accusing Richard Hecken of purposely running you off the road.” I nod my head and he adds, “Can you please explain the situation to me?”

I take a deep breath, steadying myself and letting the words spill like a recounted litany. “I haven’t seen Richard in over a year,” I start, recollecting timelines and detailing the decision to leave my firm back in Houston. “Around that time, I realized staying there would mean continuously dealing with his harassment. It was affecting my work and my peace of mind.”

The deputy nods as he jots this down, though his presence doesn’t stifle the gentle resolve I feel as Banks remains beside me, lending silent support.

After a pause, I continue, “He made my life difficult, refusing to respect boundaries or professionalism. I figured leaving, starting fresh by opening my own firm here in Silver Spoon Falls, would put enough distance between us.”

I recount each particular issue and the frustration of navigating an environment fraught with unwanted advances and workplace politics. It’s liberating, in a strange way, to have it laid out, no longer a tangled mess but a thread unraveled into coherence. Up until now, I felt embarrassed by my inability to handle the situation without running away, but Banks’ support has changed my outlook.

As I finish, the deputy thanks me and reassures me my statement should help keep Richard from causing further disruption. Now, he’ll have to face the consequences of his reckless actions.

He leaves after a few more logistical questions, the door clicking shut, ushering back a semblance of quiet into the room. I exhale, tension sliding away slowly, making space for a lighter, more hopeful emotion as I turn my attention back to Banks.

“Thank you,” I tell him quietly, meaning so much more than the surface-level politeness of those words. I’m not sure what’s happening to me, but I’m pretty sure he’s well on his way to stealing my freaking heart.

Chapter 4

Banks

Sitting in the stark, no-frills hospital room, everything feels a bit too bright and too sterile. The kind of place where the air smells of antiseptic and the steady beep of machines serves as a constant reminder of what happened to her yesterday.

I’m parked in a chair next to Yvette, who might be the only damn comforting thing in this cold room with her quiet strength and those utterly captivating violet eyes. It’s been a long haul from the crash to here, but somehow, sitting with her feels like the most natural thing in the world.