Page 98 of Inside Silence
With a promise a nurse will be in shortly with the kids’ discharge papers, the two men are about to walk out when Bess arrives with a bakery box. The older doctor greets her with a nod before disappearing down the hall, but Dr. Sharma pauses, his eyebrow raised as he inspects the box.
“Busted,” she grins at him sheepishly. “I hope the kids aren’t on any dietary restrictions. I thought they might be allowed a little something sweet.”
“They’re allowed. I’m partial to sweets myself,” the guy smiles back, tapping a finger on the Strange Brew logo on the box. “Yours? I was in there for coffee and breakfast the other day, and I’m pretty sure I saw you pop out of the kitchen a time or two.”
I hear a distinct sound of grinding teeth behind me and when I glance over my shoulder at Hugo, he’s glaring at the new doctor with a jaw clenched so tight, I’m afraid he’ll break it.
Interesting reaction.
“Yup, it’s mine,” Bess clarifies. “Hope you enjoyed your breakfast.”
“I did. I’ve gotta run, but I was planning to come back, so I’m sure I’ll see you around,” Sharma returns before he hurries out the door.
I almost laugh at the sharp huff from Hugo. I’m not exactly sure whether he just feels very protective in a friendly way or if he actually has an interest beyond that. I suspect the latter. He most definitely has a strong opinion on that little exchange, and glares at Bess as she approaches the kids’ beds.
I shouldn’t laugh at his obvious frustration, it’s not like I’m doing swimmingly in the romance department myself.
Bess seems oblivious to it all as she ceremoniously whips the lid back off the box.
“Fresh donuts, anyone?”
Savvy
* * *
I’ve been sitting here, staring at the text I received twenty minutes ago, waiting for the knock on my door.
It’s been five days since Auden’s brains were blown all over me, my father’s finger on the trigger.
There are events you know, even as they are happening, will be etched into your brain with excruciating detail. This was definitely one. From the casual, “Don’t worry, he’s alive. For now,” right up to the deafening reverberation of the gunshot that brought a long friendship to a violent and abrupt end, and every moment in between.
I’ve relived each one of them time and time again as I’ve lain awake in my empty bed. The lonely picture on my nightstand found the trash can that very first night, when I finally got home, after spending the night before in the hospital and at the office.
There was no sleep then, and there has been little since. I’m coasting by on coffee, piles of work, and sheer will. Although, I will say the latter is wearing concerningly thin.
And now I get this message from the man I’ve avoided all week, announcing he’ll be here in mere minutes and if I even think about ducking out to avoid him, he vows to hunt me down.
I’m too tired to duck and run, I haven’t even had the energy to change into my sleep shirt and go to bed, which I fully intended on doing when I left the station.
The kicker is, I could probably sleep with Nate holding me, but first I owe him an explanation for avoiding him, and don’t know that I’m ready. I’m hurt, I’m confused, I feel betrayed, and nothing in my life I thought I knew for a fact was apparently based in reality. As much as Nate does not carry any responsibility whatsoever for any of it, he is entwined in all of it.
Also, if I’m absolutely honest with myself, I have to admit I’m ashamed for being so gullible for so long. I know Nate didn’t trust Auden’s motivations, but I brushed it off. That could’ve cost two innocent kids and one of my deputies their lives. As it is, they’ll be traumatized for the duration because I couldn’t see what was right under my nose.
A sharp rap on my door interrupts the sea of self-doubt and recriminations I’m drowning myself in, and I push myself to my feet with a groan.
I almost sob at the sight of him, so strong and handsome, and I want to throw myself in his arms, despite the angry scowl he’s aiming at me.
“You didn’t run.”
“No.”
I step aside to let him in. When I follow him inside, he stops in front of the coffee table, his hands jammed in his pockets.
“Can I get you something?” I ask, almost by rote.
His response is curt. “I’m fine.”
I sit down in the same spot on the couch I just vacated, grab a toss pillow to hold in my arms, and curl my legs under me. Even as I’m doing it, I recognize the defensive body language. Nate notices too, and his expression gentles slightly as he perches himself on the edge of the coffee table in front of me.
