Page 15 of High Intensity

“You’re stubborn,” I fire back.

We stop at the nurses’ station, where we’re told Aspen is still sleeping, and yes, I’m allowed to join Sloane in the room. She appears tiny in the big crib, which looks more like a dog kennel on wheels. It doesn’t seem to bother her, she looks quitepeacefully asleep with her hands relaxed by her face, and her mouth soft and slightly open.

She’s so precious.

When I turn around, Sloane is on her phone, typing a message. Good.

“I let Ama know,” she volunteers when she catches me looking.

I’ve only met Ama briefly, but it was clear off the bat the woman is a force. I can see why Sloane would pick her to pass the information to.

“Good call.”

“Why don’t you sit down?”

Sloane takes the chair beside the crib and points me to the recliner in the corner of the room. I have a feeling there’s a reason she wants me comfortable. The moment my ass hits the seat I’m proven right.

“So…a nurse? How come I didn’t know this?”

I shrug. “I don’t know, it’s never really come up. I haven’t worked as a nurse in eight years.”

“Why not? What made you change careers?”

A little honesty goes a long way. At least I hope it does.

“I specialized in palliative care; it starts to wear on you after a while.”

A sympathetic expression slides over her face.

“I can only imagine. That has to be a tough job.”

“It is. Although, it’s gratifying at the same time. Supporting terminal patients and their families through those final steps feels like a privilege too.”

“Right. Still…” she nudges gently, probably sensing this isn’t the easiest subject for me.

“Still…” I pick up on her prompt, “It’s hard dealing with someone else’s loss when you’re grieving yourself.”

“You lost someone,” she confirms.

I swallow the lump in my throat and blow out a sharp breath.

“I did, but I don’t know if I’m ready to talk about it.”

She tosses me a sad little smile. “Then don’t. Why don’t you tell me how you ended up working with the dogs?”

I’m grateful she steers the conversation in a different direction, and for the next half hour or so, I tell her about volunteering at the animal shelter because I had to stay busy but couldn’t handle people. I share how I ended up with Peanut and Nugget, who were deemed unadoptable, but ended up being exceptionally wonderful support dogs to me, and as it turns out, to others as well.

Sloane doesn’t pry, but seems genuinely interested when I tell her about my growing passion to give these animals, rejected by the people who were supposed to care for them, a new purpose in life. It’s my favorite topic and I’m so deep into it, at first, I don’t notice the door opening, but Sloane does.

“What are you doing here?”

Dan stalks into the room glaring at her, all broody and hot under the collar.

“What am I doing here? Where would you have me be when our daughter is lying in a hospital bed?”

Yikes. I sense a come-to-Jesus discussion in the air, and they certainly don’t need me for that. But when I ease my way to the door, I find it blocked.

By Lucas Wolff.

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