* * *
“So where are we going now?”she asked, after they’d been driving in silence for at least ten minutes. She knew that he was upset about the photographer, but as she’d pointed out on their walk back to the car, it may have only seemed as if the lens was aimed at her and Griffin. Maybe the guy had been photographing the historic facades along Congress Avenue.
“I don’t think so,” he’d said in response to that suggestion. And since then, he hadn’t said another word.
“Griffin,” she pressed. “Either talk to me or take me home.”
His hands tightened on the steering wheel, and for a second she feared he’d take her up on the second option. But then he relaxed. “I’m sorry. I know you’re right. It might just be coincidence. But I’ve managed to live my life without being tossed into the spotlight, and I don’t really want to go there now.”
“I know.”
They reached a red light, and he turned to face her. “I know you think I should just say screw it and stop wearing the gloves and the hoodies. And I know,” he continued before she could jump in, “that my scars don’t bother you.”
“They don’t,” she whispered, and he reached for her hand, the leather of his glove cool against her skin.
“I believe you. But even then, it was my choice to show you. And those damn social media whores are trying to take that away from me.”
“They don’t know about the scars. They just want to unmask my mysterious man.”
“Same difference as far as I’m concerned,” he said.
“I know.” She waited for him to respond, and when he didn’t, she turned to look at him. His hands were tight on the wheel again, and he was focusing intently on the traffic. Too intently, it seemed. “Griff?”
He drew an audible breath, then spoke without looking at her. “There’s one place I never wear the hoodie or the gloves.” He turned to her. “That’s where I’m taking you.”
She started to ask where, but realized he would tell her when he was ready. So she simply nodded and sat in silence as he maneuvered past the University and then down Red River to Dell Seton Medical Center, Austin’s still-new teaching hospital.
He parked in a visitor slot, then raised a shoulder in a shrug. “We’re here.”
She followed him inside without question, unsure of where they were going until she saw the signs for the burn unit. “You volunteer here?”
“Sort of. I talk to the patients. I try to come regularly, and I always come when they call to tell me a kid’s been admitted.”
“I—” She broke off, unable to speak through the tears clogging her throat.
“It’s not hero shit. I just want them to know that they’ll find a way to survive even with the scars.”
She nodded, realizing as she did that he’d done that. Maybe she wished he were more open, more out there. But he’d done what he said—he’d found a way to survive. And he’d found a way to let her into his life. Which under the circumstances was pretty damn impressive.
They’d reached the double doors that led into the burn center, and he tugged off his hoodie, then pulled off his gloves, shoving them in his pocket. “Ready?” he asked, then pushed the intercom when she nodded.
A nurse responded, and as soon as he identified himself, the doors opened. Obviously, he’d meant what he said when he told her he came regularly.
“Just two on the floor today,” a nurse with a nametag identifying her as Angie said. “Jessie and an infant.”
“A baby.” The sadness and horror in his voice mirrored her own emotions.
“He’s stable, but in a sterile environment.”
“Parents here?”
“They were,” Angie said. “They’re in a consult with the surgical team right now.”
Griffin nodded. “Give them my number. Tell them they can call me if they have questions or just need to vent.” He glanced around. “Jessie awake?”
“She’s in the playroom.”
He gestured to Beverly and they started walking deeper into the unit. “This is a good day. I’ve never seen the unit with less than five patients, usually more.”