Page 194 of Branded
She groaned. “I take it back.”
“What back?”
“Don’t sort out your head. Stay stuck in it so I don’t have to deal with another round of Someone’s Superglued a Body Part to Something.”
I nudged her. “Now you’re just giving me ideas.”
Another groan, her head tipping back. “Dear God. I work with children. Big, burly ones who are giant pains in my asses.”
A tug of her ponytail. “You love it. Now,” I said when she lifted her head, but didn’t argue my point, “am I driving you home, or is Oliver coming to get you?”
Her face gentled and she nodded to the right. “He’s waiting in the lot.”
I approved. “I’ll walk you over.”
“Okay,” she murmured.
But we didn’t get very far because then Ollie was there, his gait so steady, no one would have guessed it was done on one prosthetic leg, never mind that it was recent and had ended his career.
Fuck.
Ollie had his head straight. He understood his priorities and all the good that came from having a woman like Hazel.
My shit was hardly in the same realm as Oliver’s.
So I needed to make doubly sure mine was shoveled away, that I was ready to be there for Beth.
Because I had some motherfucking demons to slay.
Twenty-Two
Beth
Marin was standing next to the hospital bed, clipboard in her hand and pressed to her belly.
And she was silent.
Studying me.
Raph and Hazel were gone, slipping through the sliding door, leaving me with Marin. And now I needed to figure out how to play this.
What to give.
How to find some peace.
“That was masterfully done.”
My eyes had been on the clear blue plastic of the clipboard, the label declaring it property of the emergency department, small silver rivets on the back, but Marin’s dry sentence had my eyes shooting up.
She was a clipboard thief.
So none of what Marin said in that moment meant anything.
Right. Nice attempt at an argument.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I said quietly.
Another attempt at an argument—pretending to know nothing.
