Page 38 of Patch's Bride
“Always.”
He disappears into the kitchen. I can hear the sound of cupboards opening, the tap of mugs on the counter, the scrape of a toaster lever. I drag myself out of bed, get a quick shower, and get dressed. When I finally join Patch downstairs, he’s leaningagainst the counter, shirtless, with his hair pulled back into a loose tie. Steam rises from two mugs sitting on the counter next to a plate of toast with butter slowly melting into the cracks. His sweetness makes something inside me melt for him.
“You need to eat,” he says. “You barely touched dinner yesterday.”
“I was too nervous to eat.”
He passes me the mug he made for me. The coffee smells strong enough to wake the dead. I take a sip and watch him over the rim. The corners of his mouth twitch like he knows I’m staring.
He takes a bite of toast and leans his hip against the counter. “Did you sleep okay?”
“Yeah. I was too exhausted to even dream.”
“You can thank me for that later,” he teases as he chews on his food.
I set the toast down and meet his eyes. “I’m worried all this is going to disappear and you’re going to say it was a mistake one day.”
He shakes his head. “No. I’m not going to do that. You’ve got enough problems without inventing things to worry about.”
I look down at my plate, throat tight. “Even if you don’t think you will, you could still change your mind.”
He reaches across the counter, hooks a finger under my chin, and lifts my head to meet his eyes, lifting until I have to meet his gaze. “I already made my choice. I chose you. I won’t change my mind. I promise.”
Before I can respond, his phone buzzes on the counter.
He frowns and picks it up. When the screen lights, his face pales.
“What is it?” I ask.
“Missed calls,” he says, scrolling. “Two from the care home. One from Serena.”
The coffee turns bitter in my mouth. “Call them back.”
He nods, puts the phone on speaker, and hits redial. It rings once, then a woman’s voice answers.
“Thank God you called back,” she says. “It’s about Lila. Her father signed her out this morning against medical advice.”
My mug slips from my hand and hits the counter hard enough to splash coffee across the tile.
The nurse keeps talking. “We couldn’t stop him, he showed us the papers saying he had authority. We tried to talk to him about continuity of care, but he brushed it off, saying he had it covered. He threatened to call the police if we didn’t comply. Lila was crying, saying she didn’t want to go. The attending physician filed an APS report because he couldn’t articulate a reasonable plan of care for her in the home environment. They’re already reviewing it, but God only knows how long it will take for them to make a decision.”
Patch glances at me. “When did this happen?”
“About two hours ago,” the nurse says. “He said he was taking her home, but we haven’t been able to reach him since.”
“Do you have that APS case number?”
The nurse gives it, her voice still sounding a little panicked. He jots it on a yellow sticky note, writing small, precise letters.
“Do you have any record of precisely where he said he was taking her, as in an actual address?” Patch asks.
“No, Dr. Patchett. He said he was taking her home, but didn’t specify which address. His file still lists his residence as Las Salinas.”
“He won’t go back there,” I whisper. “He knows that’s the first place we’ll look.”
Patch looks at me, then speaks into the phone again. “Thanks for the information. Please forward a copy of the AMA form and any surveillance footage from this morning to my email. We’ll coordinate with APS.”
“I’ll send it right away.”
