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“No. I’m done with class for the day. I’m on my way.” He frowns as he hangs up the phone, and the instinct to comfort him is immediate.
“What’s wrong?” I ask, stepping up to his desk to put a hand to his rigid forearm.
I don’t like seeing him like this—in turmoil.
He shakes his head without speaking and then grabs his coat from the hook in the corner. “Come on. We have to go.”
“Go? Go where?” I question, but his hand is in mine and he is dragging me out the door long before the words have time to land. He’s focused to the point of single-mindedness, and right now, it’s not on me.
Normally, I would push. I would make him stop and explain. But I’ll be honest, seeing him upset like this makes all my needs seem unimportant, and I don’t even consider doing either of the two.
He drags me down the hall and out the main lecture door, sticking his fingers into his mouth and whistling for the first taxi he sees. It comes to a sliding stop in front of us and he opens the door, ushering me in straightaway.
I scuttle into the seat on the other side of the bench so he can get in, and I wait for him to tell the cabbie where we’re going. At least I’ll find out then.
“St. Luke’s Hospital, please. As fast as you can go.”
“The hospital?” I squeak. “Ty, what’s going on? Are you okay?”
“I’m fine. It’s my sister-in-law Daisy. She’s having her twins today, but there’s something going on. I didn’t get the details, but Jude sounded freaked, and Jude doesn’t get freaked.”
“Jude?”
“My brother. I have three brothers, actually. And a sister, Winnie. I’m the proverbial middle child of all of us—or, you know, third oldest, as I like to call it.”
“You…you have four siblings?”
“Yeah.”
Suddenly it hits me that not only does Ty have four siblings, but seeing as we’re on our way to the hospital for his sister-in-law’s distressed labor, there’s a pretty good chance I’m going to meet at least some of them. I don’t know that that’s a good idea.
My mind races with a bevy of insecurities I haven’t heard from my inner voice since I was a kid. Worry about whether someone will like me, anxiety over how a situation might look, questions over if this is the kind of thing I can handle or not.
Pulling myself out of my own head and looking over at Ty is the only thing that makes the overwhelming internal noise grow quiet.
He’s staring out the window, his mind clearly racing as we make our way across town. I want to speak up, to tell him I don’t think I should be a part of this, but when he reaches out to my lap to slide his hand under mine and squeeze, I shut right the hell up.
His grip is tight, and his message is clear, even without words. I’m a comfort to him in this moment, whether I like it or understand it or not.
Fucking liar, my brain taunts. You know you like it. The problem is that you like it too much.
I shake off the noisy bitch and hold on tight for the rest of the ride. We sit in silence, and I don’t try to change it. I know when I’m at my most distressed, the last thing I feel like doing is talking. My throat gets tight, and my eyes get overly watery. Even the slightest hint of conversation from someone and I’m likely to devolve into tears.
I don’t know that that’s what Ty is feeling, but it doesn’t matter. I can respect his needs without knowing why.
When he doesn’t let go of my hand upon arrival at the hospital, even digging in his pocket to get the money for the cabbie at a completely awkward angle with his free hand, I don’t even bother begging off going upstairs like I planned in my head.
To be completely honest, something about the way he’s holding my hand like a lifeline makes it impossible to use my vocal cords at all.
Ty pulls me into the front entrance of St. Luke’s and heads straight for the front desk. I hold on to his hand in the background and listen intently as he does the talking.
“Maternity floor? Daisy Winslow?”
I swallow thickly at the sadness and worry in his voice and grip his hand reflexively. His tightens in return, and I lean into his shoulder with my cheek.
I don’t know how I’ve ended up here—both at the hospital and feeling this emotionally invested in a man I absolutely should not—but I don’t like to see him hurting. I don’t like it at all. Zero out of ten, do not recommend.
“You’re going to go straight down this hall, all the way to the end, and take the elevator to the fourth floor,” the receptionist explains. “She already has several guests checked in, so you’ll need to go directly to the waiting room, okay?”
