Page 13 of Thor

Amy lay in the hospital bed, her skin nearly as pale as the sheets. IV lines snaked from her thin arms, monitors beeped steadily beside her. At twenty-four, four years younger than me, she looked impossibly fragile. The leukemia had stolen her once-vibrant energy, leaving behind a whisper of the girl who used to drag me out dancing until 3 AM.

Her eyes fluttered open as I rushed to her bedside. "Mandy," she whispered, a weak smile forming. "You came."

"Of course I came," I said, taking her cold hand in mine. "How are you feeling?"

"Like I got hit by a truck." Her gaze drifted past me to Thor, who stood awkwardly in the doorway, his bulk making the hospital room seem even smaller. "Who's your friend?"

I turned, suddenly remembering his presence. "This is Thor. He . . . helped me get here."

Thor cleared his throat. "I'll wait outside," he said gruffly. "Give you two some privacy."

Before he left, his eyes met mine, and I caught something unexpected in those ice-blue depths. Gentleness. Then he was gone, pulling the door partly closed behind him.

"Thor?" Amy's eyebrows raised despite her exhaustion. "Like the superhero? He looks more like the real Norse god version."

"He's with the MC I do consulting for," I explained, dropping my voice. "I had an accident on the way here. Car spun out in the rain. He found me, brought me on his motorcycle."

Amy's eyes widened. "Jesus, Mandy. Are you okay?"

Trust her to worry about me while she lay there, desperately sick.

"I'm fine. Just a cut." I squeezed her hand. "You're the one who scared me to death. What happened?"

She sighed, the sound rattling in her chest. "New medication. My body decided it was poison, apparently. I guess because it basically is. Doctor says we need to try something else."

I nodded, swallowing the lump in my throat. I felt lucky there was another option.

We talked quietly for nearly an hour, me perched on the edge of her bed as she drifted in and out of sleep. At some point, I shifted my bag on my lap, and it fell open. To my horror, the soft ear of my stuffed bunny, Mr. Hoppy, poked out from the top.

I froze, quickly shoving it back inside, but Amy had seen it. Her tired eyes lit up with recognition.

"You brought Mr. Hoppy," she said softly.

My cheeks burned. "I grabbed the wrong bag when I left the office."

Amy was the only person in the world who knew about my "little" side—how sometimes the weight of being responsible for everything and everyone crushed me until I needed to escape into a simpler, more innocent space. Where stuffed animals and coloring books and cartoon movies were allowed. Where being small and taken care of wasn't shameful.

"Did your biker friend see him?" Amy asked, a teasing lilt in her weak voice.

"God, I hope not," I muttered, mortified at the thought.

My eyes darted to the partially open door, paranoid that Thor might have overheard. The hallway beyond was empty.

Amy's eyelids grew heavy again. "You should go home," she murmured. "You look worse than I do."

I laughed softly. "Thanks a lot."

"I mean it. I'm stable now. Come back tomorrow."

I waited until her breathing evened out into sleep before standing, joints creaking in protest. Between the crash and the emotional whiplash, my body felt like it had aged twenty years in one night.

Quietly, I slipped into the hallway, expecting Thor to be long gone. Instead, I found him in a too-small plastic chair outside Amy's room, scrolling through his phone. He stood when he saw me, unfolding to his full height.

"She's asleep," I said unnecessarily.

He nodded. "Doctor came by. Said she's stable."

"You've been here this whole time?" I glanced at the clock on the wall—it was nearly midnight. "You didn't have to wait."

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