Page 86 of Savannah Royals
When he reaches for my chin, I give it to him. I let him tip my face up. When he does, I identify something unfamiliar in his eyes: uncertainty.
Paul is never uncertain.
I freeze, wondering—not for the first time—if something has broken between us. Something potentially irreparable.
He sighs and leans his forehead against mine. We stand together, just like that, for a while, neither of us saying anything. Just breathing. Without any prompting, our breaths gradually get heavier, a little faster. We sneak peeksat each other and slowly, my heart comes alive. Paul licks his lips and looks at mine.
“You don’t have to ask,” I whisper.
His eyes grow molten, and when our lips meet, he pours himself into me. He presses me to the brick wall and kisses me with everything he’s got. Over and over again. And oh, can that boy kiss. He kisses me silly. Until I’m blue in the face and not sure what my first name is.
“Kat,” he whispers against my lips.
That’s right. I’m Kat. And this is…
“Paul,” I whisper back.
He pulls away. “It’s been a long time since you blue balled me, but tonight, I’m gonna let it slide and say goodnight.”
I laugh lightly. “Okay. Goodnight, Paul.”
“Goodnight, doll.” He reaches for my waist and lifts me onto the wall, lightly swatting my behind as I scamper up. I swing through the window and turn to wave, but he’s already melted into the darkness. I laugh again and, hoping Mellie won’t stir, release the tiniest, quietest of howls out the window. I hold my breath and wait.
He doesn’t disappoint. Hardly a moment later, I hear him, a playful yip from somewhere down the dark street. I don’t need to see him to feel his eyes on me. With Paul, I always know.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
“MatthewDaMolin?”Iinquire.Per usual, the mere mention of his name proves the golden ticket.
“Oh, Doc Matt?” The security guard at the hospital door gives me a second look. “He hasn’t left yet, and without an impetus, he likely never will.” He checks with his partner for affirmation.
“Why don’t you take her inside, James? Light a fire under the good doctor,” the second guard says. “I’ll be fine here.”
“Where do you think he is?”
“Where he always is.” The guard chuckles. “The pit.”
James jerks his head for me to follow. I trail behind him, down several twisting, sterile hallways, past countless sets of double doors, up a derelict back stairwell. The guard pushes through a set of marked doors, and I step into a new world.
“The pit.” The guard nods. “We’ve got a few small, dedicated medical and surgical wards, but you’re lucky to get one of those beds. This is where most end up. Overflow.”
“I see,” I manage, finding my voice.
The pit is cavernous, a ballroom filled with none of the usual old-world trappings save high ceilings and wide windows. It’s stuffed wall-to-wall with beds, four rows down its length. Some separated by freestanding screens, almost all filled with people. Grimacing people, coughing people, sleeping people. People with sallow skin and bruised eyes. Tired people.
Sickpeople.
I realize I’m holding my breath and release it in a rush, but I hesitate to take another. The air tastes different here. Sour.Infected.I, who make a living walking on highwires and sliding down drainpipes, feel nearly overcome in this sickroom.
“I’ll help you find him,” the guard kindly offers.
“Thank you,” I murmur, faint with relief.
I follow him into the depths of the pit. We walk down aisles, passing beds. Endless beds.
“I hear him.” I’d know his voice anywhere. He’s just beyond the next screen, talking to a patient. Unable to help myself, I peek around the boundary.
A white-coat-clad Matthew leans over the bed with his stethoscope, listening and nodding as the man in the bed recounts something. Matt’s fingers move over the man’s abdomen, pressing while he asks questions. He flicks his hair out of his eyes to meet the patient’s gaze as he speaks. He’s fully absorbed.
