Page 31 of Midnight Between Us
“Nope.”Dr.Darren Russell-Aldridge cuts me off before I can finish.His eyes are already back on his tablet like we’re checking off a grocery list.“He’s stable.Lucid.Cognition’s tracking within expected post-trauma parameters.He’s cleared for outpatient care under close supervision.That’s why we assembled a team.”
“Supervision,” I echo, jaw tight.“Right.That’d be me.”
“For now,” he confirms, glancing up like he can sense what I’m holding back.“We’ll rotate specialists during his recovery window.But you know as well as I do—he can’t stay here.”
Because the boss wants it that way.
No questions.No appeals.No time to argue when you’ve sold your soul.I should pack my things.Change my name and find a remote island where no one needs saving but me.But that’d be a waste of time because he’d still find me.
Finnegan Gil always does.
Today, I wish I’d gone into architecture.I could’ve rebuilt the guy’s house instead of attending Keir Timberbridge.I could’ve laid bricks instead of bones.Molded glass to steal, instead of memories.
I grind my molars together and flip through Keir’s chart again, slower this time.Make it clear that my hesitation is clinical.Pretending it has nothing to do with the fact that the only man who’s broken me just woke up with no memory of doing it.
“Sedation protocol?”
“Discontinued twenty-four hours ago.Glasgow Coma Scale was fifteen at his neuro check.Reflexes intact.No dysphasia, no focal deficits.Mild tremors in his right hand—he’s aware.No hallucinations.He’s oriented to person and place.”
Unfortunately.
I scroll through the med sheet.“I’ll adjust his dosages to transition to oral pain management.”
“Already pre-authorized,” Darren replies.“Pharmacy should drop the rest of his meds before you take him home.”
Take him home.
My home.
I swallow that sentence whole and move on.“At least he has amnesia,” I mutter.
Darren snorts.It’s a too-quick, smug sound that puts me instantly on edge.
I lift an eyebrow.“What does that mean?”My throat goes tight.“Did he remember something?His name?Because if that’s coming back, maybe it’s safer if?—”
“Only one name,” he says, and he’s smiling now.Not professional.Not kind.Amused.Like he’s been waiting for this.
I go still.
“His name, right?”I ask, even though I already know the answer.
Darren shakes his head.“Nope.Said he remembered a woman.Said she was in his dreams.”His grin widens.“Her name was Simone.”
The air leaves the room.
My name hits harder than I expect, like it doesn’t belong to me anymore.As he dug it out of a part of me, I thought I’d buried a long time ago.I keep my face neutral, professional.
But my pulse doesn’t get the message.
“It could be any Simone,” I argue—out loud, because silence is starting to get too loud.
“Sure,” Darren says with a smirk that knows too much.“I’m heading to the hotel.Call if you need me.Or ...if you’re ready to talk about your hesitation in treating this guy.”
I don’t answer.Just watch him walk away and try not to think too hard about that word—hesitation.Like it’s some clinical observation, not a confession I haven’t dared say out loud.
The pen squeaks across the discharge form, like it’s just as annoyed with me as I am with myself.
“Vitals stable, mobility limited but improving.Discharge approved,” I mutter, like saying it will somehow make it easier to deal with what comes next.I close the folder, slap it against my palm, and turn toward the hall.
