My nose burned, and I turned in his arms and grasped his face. I couldn’t see him, but I felt him lean into my touch, felt his jaw move as he spoke again.
“I see you, Indigo,” he said, repeating what he’d said before, but it took on more meaning this time. “And I… I think you see me too.”
All I could do was brush my lips over his thundering heart in answer.
46
ADAIR
My new alarm vibrated in my scrubs pocket.
Showtime.
Again.
Rain pelted the hallway windows as I called the elevator, and I sighed, hoping the storm blew through before the gala this Saturday. It was all indoors, but I’d heard Ireland on the phone with Ari, worrying that people would bail if the weather was too bad.
It’d been a week since my birthday.
A week of losing myself in Ireland every night, of falling asleep with her in my arms and waking up in her bed. Of adding more photos to her “happy” album at every opportunity.
It’d also been a week of healing. Of rigorous PT and enough progress toward walking again that I was officially back at work.
When I made it to the first floor, I swerved into the nearest bathroom and took a minute to brace myself, washing my hands thoroughly before fussing with my hair.
Maybe I should’ve gone to the salon before starting this endeavor, but…
No.
He’d only ever seen me like this.
My phone buzzed with back-to-back messages from Cole.
Cole
Third time’s the charm, babe. You’ve got this!
Call me after? Gary has gone too far this time. I cannot do
Clicking the side button, I locked the screen before reading the rest of the text. I was truly starting to wonder if Gary was even real or just a figment of Cole’s psychosis, conjured by his loneliness.
Seeing the glamor shot of me and Ireland that was set as my lock screen wallpaper was enough to distract me from the troubling thought.
I waved to co-workers and residents as I walked down the hall, my walking boot supporting my ankle properly and letting me go faster than I had in months. My gaze darted around every corner and into every room, always looking for Ireland even though I knew she was over at the Locc, meeting with Ari.
An ABBA song I faintly recognized crackled from the turntable in the Zinnia House recreation room when I stepped inside, and I straightened my shoulders as I approached Beck Sewell. He was sitting on a stool in front of an easel by the window, glaring at his canvas.
“Hey, Mr. Beck,” I said, pulling up a chair beside him.
His blue eyes flashed to me, then back to his canvas.
Alrighty. So, it was going about as well as the first two times, but that was okay.
I still had four more to go after this.
“I’d like to speak to you about something, if you’ve got a moment.”
He made a stroke across the canvas with paint a color I couldn’t confidently describe.
