"How long?" Trish asks, and I realize Mark has appeared beside Ash, looking just as exhausted.
"They said about two hours," Mark replies. "Maybe less."
The four of us settle into an awkward silence. The waiting room has that timeless quality that all hospital waiting rooms have, where minutes feel like hours and you start to forget what the outside world even looks like.
"I should call my mom," Trish says suddenly, pulling out her phone. "She'll want to know what happened."
But when she tries to dial, her hands are shaking so badly she can barely hit the right numbers. I notice and gently take the phone from her.
"I'll call her," I say. "What's her number?"
She tells me the number and I put it in for her. The conversation is one-sided, but when Trish hangs up, she seems like she's doing better. "Mom isn't coming because I told her there's enough people here, and I'm sure this is the last place you want to meet her."
"Thank you," I manage.
Ash and Mark have wandered off to find food, leaving Trish and me alone. The silence stretches between us, but it's not entirely uncomfortable. We're both here for the same reason, after all.
"He talks about you, you know," Trish says suddenly.
"What?"
"Gunner. He talks about you and Rosa all the time. At the station, at barbecues, pretty much any time someone will listen."
My heart does something complicated in my chest. "He does?"
"Oh yeah. It's actually kind of adorable how gone he is on you two. Last week, he spent twenty minutes telling Mark about Rosa's latest art project."
I feel tears prick at the corners of my eyes. "I didn't know he... I mean, we've never really talked about..."
"About what you are to each other?"
I nod, not trusting my voice.
"Amy, that man is head over heels in love with you. Anyone with eyes can see it. The way he looks at you, the way he talks about you... the way he lights up when you walk into a room."
The tears I've been holding back finally spill over. "But what if I never get the chance to tell him how I feel? What if something happens and he never knows that I—" I can't finish the sentence.
Trish reaches over and squeezes my hand. "He's going to be fine. This is a broken arm, not... not something worse. He's going to be fine, and you're going to have plenty of chances to tell him how you feel."
"I'm scared," I whisper.
"Of course you are. You love him."
The simple statement hangs between us, and I realize she's right. I do love him. I love his gentle way with Rosa, the way he always seems to know exactly what we need before we even ask. I love his dedication to his job and his community, his easy laugh, the way he makes me feel safe and cherished and like maybe, just maybe, I deserve something good in my life.
I love him, and I've been too scared to admit it, even to myself.
"I never thought I'd fall in love again," I say. "After Nathan, after everything that happened... I thought that part of my life was over."
"But it's not."
"No," I admit. "It's not."
Ash and Mark return with coffee and vending machine sandwiches that taste like cardboard, but I eat mine anyway because I need something to do with my hands. But mostly, I just wait. And think. And try not to let my imagination run away with all the things that could go wrong.
It's been three hours when the doctor finally appears, still in his scrubs, pulling off his surgical cap. My heart jumps into my throat as he approaches us.
"Who's here for Gunner?" he asks.
