Page 8 of Faron

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“You didn’t call.”

“You didn’t ask.”

Over her shoulder, Jose groaned. She snapped her fingers.

“Stitches. Local anesthetic. Now.”

“You’re still mean,” I murmured.

“And you’re still in my damn way.” She stood, chest brushing mine.

“You gonna make me move, Doc?”

Her eyes flicked to my mouth. “Maybe,” she whispered.

I brushed a curl from her cheek. Her breath hitched.

“You ran.”

“You let me.”

Fair.

Too fair.

She stepped back. Always her move, always her timing.

“Sit down, hero. I’ve got a patient to sew up. Then you can pretend this is about a checkup.”

I watched her go.

Bear curled at my feet.

And I knew, without a doubt—

This time, I wouldn’t let her leave.

10

Faron

The last kid shuffled out of the clinic just after midnight, a lollipop in his mouth and a new bandage on his knee. He waved over his shoulder like we were some kind of family.

Blue flipped the OPEN sign to CLOSED and locked the door with a firm click. For a while, she just stood there, hand on the deadbolt, her shoulders tight with the weight of everything she carried.

Bear was sprawled belly-up at my feet, snoring like a lumberjack, legs twitching in his sleep.

I leaned against the reception counter, arms crossed.

“You ever sleep?” I asked.

She didn’t turn around. “Sleep is for people with fewer regrets.”

“Cute.” I nodded. “Still sharp as ever.”

She finally faced me, arms crossed just like mine. Always armored. Always keeping the world one layer away from her skin.

“You’re still here, huh?”

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