Page 67 of The Way We Are

Once he enters his room, the stranger turns his eyes to me. “What the hell were you thinking? He has displacement issues when you take him out of his domain.” His nearly black eyes dance between mine before asking, “Did they not tell you that before your placement?”

With my mouth refusing to cooperate with the prompts of my brain, I shake my head.

“God damn motherfucking budget cuts,” the stranger grumbles in a roar.

He scrubs his hand over the stubble on his chin when Thorn parrots his gripe.

“Great...” he murmurs in a long drawl. “I’ve got three days to wipe that string of words from his extensive vocabulary before my next in-house appraisal. Thanks for that. You just made my week ten times harder.”

I release a ragged breath when he shoves a bag full of groceries into my chest. “Do me a favor: put these away before you leave.” His voice sounds peeved, like he thinks I’m an idiot.

When I attempt to tell him I’m not a home nurse, he continues talking, interrupting me, “I know I’m late, and I know I promised I wouldn’t do it again, but it was Savannah’s prom last night, so I had to get her something special.”

The elaborate flair of his words halts my jealousy. He doesn’t speak of Savannah as if she's on his radar; he talks about her like they are girlfriends.

“Check it out,” he hoots showily as his hands expand dramatically.

The entrance of Savannah’s home is no longer bland and uninviting. The large “Congratulations!” balloon hanging above a dozen smaller helium balloons gives it the touch of color it desperately needed.

“What do you think? She’s gonna love it, won’t she?”

The eagerness is wiped off his face in one fell swoop when I blubber out, “Savannah’s in the hospital. She was in an accident last night.” His chocolate skin mottles more with every syllable I speak. “She’s okay now, but it was ... uh ... pretty scary last night.” I hook my thumb in the direction Thorn walked. “That’s why I’m here. I wanted to take Thorn to see her.”

The playful glimmer in his eyes is dowsed, replaced with a more thoughtful one. “Oh, sweetie. Thorn hasn’t left his room in years. Didn’t you know that?”

I shake my head. “No. Savannah and I lost contact for a couple of years.”

My brows scrunch when he suddenly grips the top of my arm to yank me away from the wall. “Ahh... you’re Ryan. Savannah was right, you do have amighty fineass.”

“Thank you?” I don’t know why my reply comes out as a question; it just did.

I lick my dry lips while contemplating how to ask my next question in a non-rude way. My pause is pointless when I blubber out, “Is Savannah moving?”

The still unnamed man’s Adam’s apple bobs up and down before he mumbles, “Not as far as I am aware.”

“Then why don’t they have any furniture?”

He coughs to clear the nerves from his throat. “Ah... umm... uh...”

He is saved from further interrogation when a loud, “Goddammit!” bellows down the hall.

His dark eyes lock on Thorn’s door before they drift back to me. “Maria left him with the orange juice again, didn’t she?”

Even though he's asking a question, he doesn’t wait for me to reply. Thorn’s grumbled, “Stupid liquid. I spilled it on my pants,” answers on my behalf.

With a roll of his eyes, the male nurse heads for Thorn’s bedroom, taking on a saintly nurse role. It's a pity I know the real reason he's fleeing; he was uncomfortable with my interrogation.

More confused than ever, I begin to descend the stairs, knowing there's only one person who can answer my questions: Savannah.

“Hey, Ryan,” the nurse shouts, stopping my steps down the stairs midstride.

He waits for me to pop my head back into the hall before adding on, “My business card is in the top drawer in the kitchen. I know I’m technically here for her dad, but Savannah is my friend. Can you keep me updated on her condition?”

“Sure,” I reply, easing the worry on his face with one simple word.

“Thank you.” After adding a dip of his chin, he enters Thorn’s room.

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