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Chapter Four
I needed a shower, badly. Not to clean myself, but to wash away the day. I smelled fine, according to Rachel and Esme, who actually compared me to a spicy cookie, which was something I wasn’t really sure how to reply to, when I checked to see if Avery’s room changed. As I walked closer to her room, I wondered why my brain was even worrying about what sort of baked good I smelled like, but when I slowly turned the corner I felt my heart literally skip a damn beat.
Blondie was wiping away tears in the hallway. She hadn’t seen me, which was great because I didn’t do well with babes and the tears. Not in these circumstances. Not when it all felt too close to home. I watched her slowly pace, clinging to the wall with her gaze unfocused on the tiles below. She whimpered something, sniffled, and cursed. It was the prettiest use of profanities I’d heard in a long time. I still didn’t know what to do with her tears, though…
I ran my fingers through my hair, intertwining them against the back of my neck while I steadied my breath. She exhaled just as I did, both of us silently grieving someone, something. I cautiously approached, unsure if she’d recognize me from earlier. Holy hotness was what she called me before, so I figured she might at least remember something.
“Hey,” I whispered. “Do you ever wonder why the chair rails are so thick in hospitals?”
She looked up at me, eyebrows furrowed and eyelids raw. “Excuse me?”
“It’s not for bumpers, you know, to protect patient beds from hitting them,” I continued, joining her posture against the wall. “It’s so,” I took the hand she held up to her cheek and slowly placed it on the curve of the chair rail, folding her long fingers over the edge, “people who care have something to hold onto when it feels there’s nothing left.”
Her sodden gaze traveled between our hands to my eyes, pausing briefly to consider me. “Thank you.”
It was hard not to smile at her, knowing she didn’t buy my story, so I was definitely struggling to fight the grin I hadn’t expected. “You don’t believe me?”
“I never trust a man in uniform,” she grinned, “especially one with tattoos.”
“Ah.” I turned to press my back against the wall, staring at the floor while her laugh drifted right into the heart on my damn sleeve. “All valid points. I am dangerous and should be avoided at all costs.”
“Dangerous?”
I bit my lip to hide the laugh ready to burst from her immediate intrigue. “Well, yeah.” I peered at her with my head down. “I know exactly where to punch someone to break their nose, which muscle to pinch so they go limp. But I prefer to use my power for good. You know, like helping a woman give birth, wiping the tears of a little guy who fell from the monkey bars at school, and helping people like Avery.” I stopped when her hand wrapped around my bicep, stilling with her touch.
“Which muscle makes someone limp?” Her eyes widened while she wiped away the remnants of her tears. I smiled at her, tugging my thumbs into the cuffs of my shirt and lifting my makeshift handkerchief to gently wipe the residue from her mascara.
“I’m Noah,” I murmured.
“Lizzie,” she replied, barely a breath while I wiped her other eye.
“Holy hotness, huh?” I teased, getting her eruption of blushing laughter in reply. “I’m fine with you calling me either, but Noah’s probably more appropriate.”
“Sure.” Lizzie laughed, shaking her head. “I’m not sorry about that, though. It’s the tattoos.”
“Of course.” I nodded, pretending to agree with her. “There’s really nothing more to me. I completely understand. Actually, I got them to cover my shattered exterior. I’m a weakling, big softie. These make people think I’m dangerous, so they avoid me.”
She placed her thin fingers around my wrist and lifted my sleeve to observe the mermaid tattoo, looking up at me with a skeptical grin. “Really, Noah? People are afraid of a man with a dancing lady fish on his arm? You could have at least painted a bra on her.”
I looked down at my mermaid, smiling at the memory of getting it with Silas during undergrad. “Eh, I’m not one to support gender stereotypes and confining women to antiquated patriarchal norms. She’s much happier this way.”
Lizzie gaped, squeezing my forearm tighter as her eyes widened. “Will you marry me?”
I waited for her to catch herself but couldn’t help laughing at her bluntness. She was adorable, in an obnoxiously feisty way that was twisting my gut. It knew better, sure as hell, but I didn’t see anyone else trying to clear the smudge of Lizzie’s mascara in the hallway.
“That depends. Do you like dogs?”
“I do. I have two cats.”
“Oh.” I scrunched my face. “That’s a deal breaker. I don’t want to spend my retirement cleaning a litter box, Lizzie. My bones are going to go one of these days, and it’ll be harder to bend and clean up after those things.”
“I have an electric litter box,” she confessed, giggling. Lizzie let out a deep sigh, one that sounded restorative, like she’d shaken off a bit of her anxiety about everything happening with her friends. I pushed up my other sleeve and crossed my arms, rolling my head along my shoulders before leaning once more against the wall.
“Let’s start with coffee,” she said quietly, and I turned to look at her, unable to resist the grin she brought out of me. It was the worst timing, it was totally inappropriate, and I felt guilty as hell.
“I like coffee,” I boldly lifted my fingers to gently tug on one of her curls, “and cats too.” Lizzie’s lips twisted up, not parting with a smile, as she looked once more at me and placed her hand on the doorknob.
“They waited years to be together. He’s twenty-six, he survived cancer, and now he’s on a bed somewhere cut open in here,” Lizzie whispered to me, her voice cracking as she tried to keep it quiet. “And now she’s pregnant and alone. How fucked up is this universe, Noah?”
