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  “Don’t be ridiculous. Your family and friends would want to know what you’re going through.”

  “I’m exhausted. I’m on painkillers. I don’t feel like chatting or texting.”

  “I’ll do all that. You rest. Just tell me who to contact.”

  I let out a frustrated sigh. His persistence is legendary. I both hate and admire it. “Fine. I have my email up on my phone. My sister’s name is Addy; she should be one of the first names in my inbox. When you mention me being in the hospital, please make it clear that I’m okay.”

  His fetches my phone from my purse. His fingers move across the screen at lightning speed. “Email has been sent to Addy. Who’s next?”

  “No one. She’s it.”

  The way he throws his hand on his hip, his jaw tense, illustrates what a frustrating and uncooperative patient I am.

  “Give me the name of a friend to call or I’ll call the first name I come across in your contacts list.”

  The muscles in my neck and shoulders tense. I grip the railing again but let go as soon as his eyes dart to my hand. “Do it. I don’t care.” I fail in my attempt to sound tough.

  “You’re a terrible liar, you know that?” He glides his thumb across the screen.

  “Fine,” I groan. “You can call my friend Kaitlin, but she’s a new mom and busy as hell. I shouldn’t bother her.”

  “I’m sure she’d want to know how you’re doing.”

  I shake my head. “She’s listed in my contacts as ‘My Best Mate Kait (lin).’”

  “Cute.”

  I hear Tate leaving what sounds like a voice mail message before I slip into a light sleep.

  eleven

  A shrieking gasp jolts me awake. I squint my eyes open and see Kaitlin standing over me. Her mouth hangs wide and her eyebrows are pinched together. I know that expression well. It’s her signature horrified look.

  “Oh my God.” She covers her mouth with her hand and grips the bed railing with the other. “I rushed here as soon as your coworker called me.”

  “Um, why?” I look around for Tate, but he’s nowhere to be found.

  She shoots me an annoyed, dumbfounded look. “Because you’re in the hospital.”

  “Didn’t he tell you that I’m fine?” I’m half speaking, half moaning.

  “Emmie, get real. You are not fine. You’re in the hospital, for crying out loud.”

  I hold up the morphine drip button. “I have pain meds. I’m set.”

  She rolls her eyes and crosses her arms. She’s wearing a pink hoodie zipped over gray yoga pants and flip-flops. Guilt hits. She must have dropped everything and rushed to see me the moment Tate called her. I feel bad for being the cause of her worry.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “For what?” Her frown is one of utter confusion.

  “For making you worry. You didn’t need to drop everything to come here. I know you’re busy with Libby—”

  She cups her hand over my mouth. I smack it away.

  “Stop. You’re my best friend and you’re sick. Of course I’m going to drop everything to check on you.”

  “What about Libby, though?”

  “She’s with Ethan’s mom.” She pulls a chair to the bed and sits, then sniffles.

  “Cold?”

  She shrugs. “Libby caught a cough and runny nose from day care. And, of course, that means I get it too.” She pulls a tissue from her pocket and wipes her nose. “I feel terrible you’re going through this alone. You should have called me when you first got to the hospital yesterday. I would have driven like a bat out of hell to be with you.”

  “I wasn’t alone. Tate drove me here and checked me into the ER. He waited with me the whole day while they examined me and admitted me, and when the doctor talked to me.”

  She flashes a relieved smile. “I’m glad.” A moment later her lips purse. “Wait, you said Tate helped you? Tate is the guy who called me?”

  I nod.

  “I thought you didn’t like him? I thought you said he was insufferable?”

  I shift, pushing the covers off my chest. “Yes to both of those statements.”

  “Did something happen to change things between you two?”

  I contemplate telling her about the kiss in his car, but I don’t want to get into it here.

  “He’s just trying to be nice.”

  “I wonder what brought on the sudden kindness.”

  I’m wondering the same thing. “Where did he go?”

  “There was no one else in the room when I walked in.”

  “Maybe he went home.” An unexpected ping of disappointment hits. I have no right to feel this way. He’s done more than enough for me and deserves to enjoy what little is left of the weekend.

  Kaitlin starts to ask another question, but Tate walks back in, cup of coffee in hand. “Oh. Sorry.”

  “Don’t apologize!” Kaitlin pulls him into a hug. He’s wide-eyed as his arms hover over her back, barely touching her. I chuckle at how his large, muscled frame swallows her petite body.

  “This is Kaitlin,” I say.

  She returns to my side. “Thank you for taking care of Emmie.”

  “Of course. Here, I’ll step outside and give you two some privacy.”

  Tate walks out of the room. When Kaitlin turns to face me, her jaw is wide open. “Holy hell,” she says in a loud whisper.

  “What?”

  “He is gorgeous. Why have you never mentioned how good looking he is before?” She steals another glance at the doorway.

  I roll my eyes. “I never really thought about it. I was too busy being annoyed at him to notice.”

  She plops on the foot of the bed and raises an eyebrow at me. “I’d bet good money he likes you.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous.”

  She counters with a knowing smirk. “A man would never spend an entire Saturday taking care of a woman he can’t stand.”

  I shake my head, but inside I wonder if what she says is true. She pats my leg and checks her phone.

  “Thank you for coming to check on me, but you should go pick up Libby.”

  “I told you. I can stay.”

  “It’s fine. I’m fine.”

  “You sound like a broken record.”

  I clutch her hand. “Kaitlin, don’t push yourself. You’re sick. You should be home resting. You don’t want to end up in the room next to me, do you?” I wink, and she lets out an exasperated sigh. “As soon as I get out of surgery, Tate will text or call you.”

  “You are too stubborn, you know that? You’re lucky I love you.”

  “And I love you. Thanks for checking on me.”

  She leans down to give me a kiss on the cheek. She waves bye and stops at the door, smiling at an unseen person before walking out. Tate walks in the moment she’s gone.

  “She’s nice,” he says before sipping his coffee.

  “She is. She’s the best.”

  He scoots his chair closer to the bed.

  “Why did you make her leave?”

  “I didn’t need her to stay. It’s not necessary.” I close my eyes. “Also, thanks for eavesdropping, by the way. Good call hanging right by the open door like that.”

  “I wasn’t eavesdropping.”

  “You’re quite good at it during work hours. Why not do it at the hospital too?” I keep my eyes shut, thinking back to when Tate overheard me flirting with Jamie.

  “I guess I deserved that.” He sighs heavily, then gulps. “I gotta know, why do you do that?”

  “Do what?”

  “Pretend like you’re fine when you’re not? Like you don’t need anyone’s help even though you do? Like you’re some tough-as-nails warrior who is above other people helping you? You do it at work. You did it at the worksite. You did it with Kaitlin just now.” He�
�s not accusatory. He sounds more curious than anything.

  I open my eyes. The dull ache creeps back to my side. I press the morphine button before it has a chance to grow into full-fledged pain.

  “Because I’m full of shit.”

  “No, you’re not.”

  I shrug.

  “Then explain why. I don’t get it at all.”

  This gentle back-and-forth is new. We’re not arguing. Things aren’t tense between us. We’re simply having a casual conversation about the root cause of my behavior. I don’t know how much longer I’ll last, though. I’m dead tired and aching. I’m sliding back and forth between normal reality and the slow-motion one that takes over whenever another dose of morphine glides through my veins.

  “Of course it would be nice if Kaitlin stayed longer, but she’s not feeling well and her baby’s sick. What kind of a jerk best friend would I be if I made her stay with me when she’s dealing with all that?”

  I let my eyes wander over him. His head is drooped slightly, and he’s staring at the coffee cup in his hand.

  “And as far as work goes, come on. You couldn’t fathom why I would try to be tough and unfeeling in a workplace staffed by mostly gruff men? I have to be that way. If I were myself, I wouldn’t survive.”

  “No ‘try.’ You are strong and tough. Give yourself some credit.”

  I think he’s trying to coax personal information out of me by being nice. It’s working.

  “It’s pretty damn cute, though. Your face, the way you reset it before you respond to people sometimes. Like your natural expression happens first, then you have to remind yourself to act hard.” He follows with the hint of a smile. It’s gone after a second.

  I have to look away, I’m so flustered. I had no idea that he even noticed. I wonder when he picked up on it. And I wonder if other people notice too.

  “It must be exhausting, doing that all the time.”

  I sigh but say nothing. It used to be. I used to have to jog after work or chat with Addy or Kaitlin to crawl back to my real self. Now, it’s like slipping into a second skin.

  “You have me figured out. Congrats.” I attempt to sound bored, like I couldn’t care less that he’s noticed this telling habit of mine, but I’d bet anything he can decipher my real tone.

  I try to scoot out of bed, but Tate leads me gently back against the pillows. “What are you doing?”

  “I have to pee.”

  He squints at me.

  “I do.”

  He helps me out of bed and to the bathroom. Behind the door, I breathe deeply to steady myself. It’s my go-to boss-bitch exercise, but I need it to work now. I can’t afford to freak out. I need to keep my heartbeat and breathing under control. Going into surgery with an off-the-charts heart rate while hyperventilating can’t be good. When I crawl back into bed, I press the button to my morphine drip for the millionth time.

  “You’re doing it again,” Tate says.

  “Doing what?”

  “Breathing slowly, resetting, trying to mask your natural reactions.”

  “Thanks for the play-by-play.” I turn away, hoping he can’t see my face.

  With gentle fingertips, he turns my face to his. I crumble at his touch.

  “I’m scared,” I whisper. A lump hits the back of my throat.

  “It’s okay. I’m here.”

  I scoot closer and press my cheek against his palm. I zero in on the thickness of his skin, and how it soothes me.

  Soon I’m wheeled out of the room to the elevator. By the time I make it to pre-op, Tate is there waiting for me. He sits in the only chair in the space, and just like he did in my hospital room, he scoots it as close as he can to the bed to be near me.

  A clown car of medical staff filters into my room to check my vitals and explain the procedure. Then a late-twenties man with short dark hair steps in.

  He smiles politely and gives me a quick wave. “Hi, Emmie. I’m Brendan, the resident who will be operating on you with Dr. Tran.”

  At first I think it’s strange that he doesn’t call himself doctor, but then Tate stands up to shake his hand.

  “We’re old friends,” Tate says, patting him on the back.

  “Oh.” The seconds-long way I respond makes me sound like I’m living in slow motion. Pain meds have quite the relaxing effect on my vocal cords.

  Brendan chuckles. “I’m sorry you’re not feeling well, but we’ll fix you right up.”

  He stands in place for a moment without saying anything. He raises an eyebrow at Tate, then smiles. Tate shakes his head as Brendan leaves the room. I wonder what that silent exchange was about.

  “Do you know everyone?”

  He sits back down, grinning wide. There’s a burst of joy in my chest at getting him to smile so big.

  “Very funny. We go way back.”

  “That knowing look between the two of you just now. Don’t think I didn’t notice it.”

  His feet shuffle between the chair legs. “I texted him yesterday to let him know that I was at his hospital with you. He tried calling me during his break last night, but I didn’t answer. I think he was amused to see I was still here.”

  “You mean you don’t spend all your free nights at the hospital cuddling with random women?”

  “You’re hardly random.” He gazes up at me, exhaustion detectable in every feature of his face. Even when they’re fatigued, his eyes are powerful enough to floor me. If I look too long, I start to feel stripped down.

  I divert my gaze to the morphine button.

  “Careful with that,” he says. “No overdosing on my watch.”

  “I couldn’t even if I wanted to. There’s a limit programmed into it. It locks up after that.”

  I contemplate pressing it again but hold off. Noises from behind the closed curtain fill our silence. There’s a faint beeping from an unknown medical machine as well as a steady stream of squeaky footsteps. I count the loud ticks from the clock on the wall. Only minutes until I’m sliced and diced.

  “Tell me about Hawaii.” His soft voice interrupts the background noise.

  “Why?” I’m surprised at his odd request.

  “You seem like you could use a distraction.”

  The cynic inside of me is uncertain. He’s asked me about Hawaii before, but always in a way I didn’t fully trust. I don’t want to indulge him if his plan is to just make fun of me.

  “Or maybe you just want more things to tease me about.”

  He shakes his head, clearly annoyed. “No, of course not. I want to know.” He closes his eyes for a moment. When he opens them, he seems sincere. “I swear I won’t. I honestly want to hear about your life there.”

  I swallow, the inside of my mouth grainy with dryness.

  “Please?” His eyes sparkle with anticipation. The genuine kindness in his voice melts me.

  “Fine.” I try to sound unfazed. “I grew up on the Big Island.”

  “Where exactly?”

  “Kona side. Kailua, specifically.”

  “Did you go to the beach every day?”

  “That’s the first question everyone asks me. Not every day. Probably every other day.”

  “Sounds amazing.”

  “It was. Sunny almost every single day. A few rainy days here and there. Sometimes we’d have an off year where winter was rainy, but it never lasted longer than a week or so.” I mark “winter” with air quotes since there is no such thing as winter in Hawaii, only more rain.

  “What are the beaches like?” He scoots his chair closer to the bed until his knees touch the edge.

  “Beautiful, but rockier than you’d think. Especially on the Hilo side.”

  “That’s the eastern part of the island?”

  I nod and glance up at him. He’s staring at me intently, like I’m telling a suspenseful campfi
re story.

  “Magic Sands and Hapuna are my favorite. They’re on the west side.”

  “What else?”

  “The waves of the water are crystal blue. There are sea turtles everywhere, on almost every beach. The farmers markets are the greatest. You can get so much fresh tropical fruit for cheap.” My mouth waters at the thought of strawberry papayas and ice cream bananas. This is the first time I’ve felt hungry in days.

  “What’s your favorite fruit?”

  “Papayas. Actually, mangoes. Mangoes from the Big Island are the best. You’ll fall on the floor crying after one bite.”

  “Did you ever see a lava flow?”

  “No. We went to Volcanoes National Park once. I was maybe seven, and we only stayed for a few hours. The most we ever saw was steam coming out of the lava fields.”

  “Still pretty cool though,” he says.

  “Standing near them felt like being in a steam shower. My sister and I shredded our flip-flops walking all over the lava rock. They were ruined. Our mom was pissed.”

  He lets out a quiet chuckle, and I try to memorize the joyful shape his face takes.

  “Did your family have a house near the beach?”

  “Nope. Too expensive. My dad never had a steady job, so we basically shuffled from crappy apartment to crappy apartment, miles away from any beach. Sometimes we couldn’t even finish out a lease because my parents wouldn’t have enough money for the rent, and we’d get evicted.”

  My chest squeezes at the memory.

  “I’m sorry,” Tate says.

  “It’s fine. First-world problem.”

  “It’s not. That’s a terrible thing to have to go through as a little kid.”

  “I survived.”

  “Just like you are surviving now.” He reaches for me, his hand landing on my arm. With his index finger, he rubs the underside of my wrist. My eyes focus on the tiny patch of skin-to-skin contact.

  “We’ll see if I make it out of surgery,” I say, closing my eyes.

  “Don’t say that. It’s a simple operation. You heard what Dr. Tran said.” His finger glides all the way down to my fingertips. He touches them one by one, and I nearly stop breathing. It’s weirdly intimate telling him about my childhood while he touches me.