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“What is it?” Grease asked kindly.
“I put my hands on him first,” I said, the words painful to utter. “He was coming after me, but before he could reach me, Bird ran to call 9-1-1, so Pop started chasing Bird… and I tackled him.”
“Fuck,” Rumi whispered.
“He was going to hurt Bird,” I said defensively, looking at each man in turn. “I had to stop him from getting Bird.”
“Nova,” Casper said, his hand squeezing my shoulder.
“Bird almost got away,” I said, remembering that moment when I’d thought that Bird was safe. “But he stopped.” My throat was so tight it felt like I was being strangled. “He stopped to help instead of calling 9-1-1.”
I couldn’t read their faces. Their expressions were carefully blank, even as Grease bowed his head toward the floor and Dragon reached up to press his fingers against his forehead.
“I was just trying to—”
“We know what you were tryin’ to do,” Casper said hoarsely. “You did the right thing, honey. You did exactly what you had to.”
Rumi coughed, and I turned to look at him, but he’d turned his back to the room.
“But you don’t think that the police will blame me, do you?” I asked nervously. “Because I—”
“Not a chance in hell,” Dragon said firmly, his voice like broken glass.
“Can’t believe I’m sayin’ this,” Grease muttered with a weary smile. “But you tell the police exactly what happened. You didn’t do anythin’ wrong.”
The men said their goodbyes and left my room, but still Rumi stood, facing the wall. It almost looked like he’d put himself in the corner like a little kid.
“Rum,” I called softly. “Do you have your phone?”
“I have yours,” he said with a sigh, turning to face me. “I had Otto grab your bag from the trailer so you’d have your ID and shit.”
“Thanks,” I replied as he picked it up off the floor and set it on the edge of my bed.
“You must fuckin’ hate me,” he murmured so quietly I almost didn’t hear him.
I looked up at him in surprise. “Why would I hate you?”
The laugh that came out of Rumi’s mouth sounded like it hurt, it was so rusty and broken. “Ignored you for months and then when I asked you to tell me who was hurtin’ you, I didn’t fuckin’ listen. Jesus Christ.”
“If I hated you,” I replied, reaching out to grab his hand. “You wouldn’t be in here right now.”
“Not sure why you don’t.”
“Because you’re my Rumi,” I replied simply. I wasn’t sure how to explain to him how much his presence centered me, how safe it made me feel. Even with everything that happened, having Rumi by my side made things almost bearable.
I was pretty sure that if he hadn’t shown up when he did, I’d still be sitting on the couch in our trailer, completely zoned out.
“Aren’t you pissed at me?”
“I’m not,” I replied. “At some point, I might be—”
“Somethin’ to look forward to.”
“But I’m not right now,” I continued. “I’m just glad you’re here.”
Rumi handed me a business card and sat down in the chair where his grandma had camped all evening. The detective in charge of the case must’ve handed the cards out at some point, and he answered his phone on the first ring. He agreed to come down to the hospital even though by then it was the middle of the night and when I got off the phone, I sighed in relief. The sooner I gave my side of the story, the sooner they’d leave Nana alone.
“You could’ve waited until tomorrow,” Rumi said, leaning forward until his elbows rested on his knees. “You need to get some sleep.”
