Page 9 of Faron
I shrugged. “You left me a note in Iran. Said it was a small world. Turns out you were right.”
Her lips twitched like she wanted to smile but didn’t dare let it happen. “Figures you'd show up to prove a point.”
There were a hundred things I wanted to say. Shake her, kiss her, make her remember that we were never temporary. That what we had didn’t die in that cave or fade over time.
But all I asked was, “Why here? You could be chief of surgery at some top-tier hospital.”
She scoffed—no warmth in the sound. “This is a hospital, Lightfoot. Just without the suits, the marble floors, or the five-star cafeteria. These people deserve care too. Someone has to show up for them.”
I pushed off the counter, closing the distance between us. Only inches now. And she didn’t move.
Her chin lifted in that defiant way she had, like daring me to be the one to flinch first.
“Why didn’t you come find me, Blue?”
Her throat worked. She blinked once, slow.
“You made it clear. You had your war. I had mine. I figured... less damage and a lot less pain if I stayed gone.”
I reached out and touched her wrist—barely. Just enough to feel her pulse stutter under my thumb.
“You were wrong.”
She laughed, a brittle sound that cracked at the edges. “I usually am when it comes to you.”
I let my hand travel up her arm, slow and cautious. She didn’t stop me.
“You ever think about it?” I asked, my voice rough.
“About what?”
“Us. If we’d made different choices.”
Her eyes softened for the briefest second—then hardened again. “Don’t do that,” she whispered. “Not after everything. Not tonight.”
I dipped my forehead to hers. Her breath hitched, warm and familiar, like mint and vanilla and the scent of a home I forgot I missed.
“You’re right,” I murmured. “Not tonight,” I whispered, against her lips.
She laughed against my lips—dry and broken, but real. “You’re still meaner than me, Cherokee.”
“Never to you.”
Behind us, Bear let out a dramatic yawn, flipping over with a grunt. We both cracked up—just like that, the tension shattered.
Blue wiped beneath her eye with the heel of her hand and cleared her throat. “You hungry?”
“Starving.”
“Good. Help me lock up. I know a diner that won’t poison you.”
I glanced down at Bear, who was now sitting up, tail wagging like he'd been invited too.
“He’s coming.”
She rolled her eyes. “Like I could say no to that face.”
And just like that—seven years, a war zone, and a thousand miles of silence later—I was walking beside her into the night.
