Page 42 of Fallen Knight

“Thank you.”

I follow Dr. Mills out of my private waiting room, Archie stepping in line behind me as we walk the quiet corridors, my heels clicking against the linoleum floor. The smell of bleach and coffee fills the air, the pale walls and florescent lighting making everything seem brighter than necessary.

“I’ll give you some privacy,” Dr. Mills tells me when we reach my brother’s room, Creed standing guard outside it. “If you’d like to discuss anything further, you can reach out at any time. Your brother’s given me permission to discuss everything with you.”

I find a certain level of relief in this.

Since I first arrived home, Anderson refused to slow down, keeping the same schedule he always did, despite the fact I’d agreed to stay to relieve some of the burden off him. I get the feeling it was his way of proving to the royal household that he can still do this job.

Maybe this is the wake-up call he needs to slow down before it’s too late.

“Thank you, Dr. Mills.”

“Ma’am.” He bows, then turns, leaving me alone with Creed for the first time since the opera.

I lift my eyes toward his, taking in the strong line of his jaw as I search for a hint of emotion in his rugged features. His eyebrows are slightly furrowed, his expression a mask of indifference. It hasn’t bothered me before. In fact, I welcomed it. It made my decision to keep him at arm’s length easier to swallow.

But right now, I’d give anything to see even a touch of compassion in his distant stare. To have him wrap me in his rams and assure me everything will be okay.

Instead, there’s nothing but stiff formality, the air thick and oppressive.

Without a single glance my way, he opens the door. I hesitate for a beat, then sigh, slipping inside Anderson’s room.

“Oh, Anders…” I exhale at the sight of him in a hospital bed, wires and IVs attached to him.

I hate it. Hate everything about this. Wish this didn’t happen to him. Wish it could be me in that bed right now instead of him. If I could trade places with him, I happily would. He doesn’t deserve this.

“Hey, Ezzy,” he says with a lopsided smile that doesn’t reach his eyes.

I rush over to him and wrap my arms around him tightly as relief floods through me. “Thank god you’re okay. You bloody scared me back there. So fucking much.”

“I didn’t mean to. I just… I thought I could handle it all.” He laughs under his breath. “I guess there was a part of me that didn’t want to admit I’m sick.”

“You’re not sick, Anders.”

I sit on the edge of the bed as I take in his appearance — pale skin, sweat-dampened hair, deep circles under his piercing blue eyes.

“You have to give yourself time and grace to adjust, instead of trying to prove to everyone you’re invincible. Trying to pretend you’re okay when you’re not. You can’t ignore this. Not when doing so could cause more harm than good.”

“I know. I see that now.”

I squeeze his hand, grateful when he’s able to return the gesture. It’s not as strong as is typically the case, but after the feeling of absolute helplessness I experienced tonight when he couldn’t move his fingers, I’ll take it.

“Have you…” I chew on my bottom lip, hesitating.

“What?”

“Have you considered going public with your diagnosis?”

“I don’t know.” He sighs, briefly glancing out the window. The night sky is dark, the lights from the stadium in the distance a heavy reminder of everything that’s happened tonight. “Don’t know what it’ll accomplish, other than angering the royal household, since they’re hoping to keep it quiet while they determine what the ‘optics’ of something like this might be.”

“Sounds like something they’d say.” I roll my eyes. “Only in this world do we have to run polls to see if and when we can share a life-changing medical diagnosis.”

“I can understand where they’re coming from, though, especially with everything on the line in the next election.”

“But what about what’s on the line for you? Shouldn’t that matter more?”

He furrows his brow. “What do you mean?”

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