Her cell phone is in her hand. Did she try to call nine-one-one before passing out?
I kneel next to her and feel for a pulse. It’s steady, if a bit erratic. Her skin feels overly warm, dark circles are like bruises under her eyes, and her lashes are wet.
This isn’t Grandpa. She’s young and healthy. Don’t be melodramatic.
You’re here as a concerned coworker. Nothing else.
As I pick her up, she moans softly. God, she hardly weighs anything.
Why did she faint? And don’t women usually recover almost instantly after fainting? At least, they seem to in movies.
“I’m taking you to the hospital to get checked.”
No “go fuck yourself, you toxic bastard.” Not even a moan. Instead she remains limp in my arms.
Panic spikes through me, turning my thoughts sluggish. For fuck’s sake, get a grip. It’s probably nothing. People faint all the time…
I take Ava to Sterling Medical Center. It’s close anyway, and they’ll surely take care of one of their own. A large and competent-looking nurse bustles over when I arrive. She takes charge, and I have no choice but to hand Ava over even though every cell in my body protests. I watch the staff take her away, her body so small and helpless on the white hospital sheet. I start to say something, start to follow…
I know she’s in good hands. Nate doesn’t hire incompetent people. But I just…
I want to be by her side when she wakes up.
Don’t be idiotic.
I’ve done my duty. She’s with people who can help her. It’s not as though she’s going to want to see me.
You’re toxic.
I haven’t forgotten. I can’t.
I take a final glimpse of her on the gurney and tell myself to leave.
Walk away.
Walk away.
My legs ignore the command.
Chapter Nineteen
Ava
When I open my eyes, I’m lying on an unfamiliar bed in an unfamiliar room. What happened?
The last thing I remember is calling Robbie then sort of drifting away on the living room floor. I probably should’ve crawled back to bed, but that seemed like too much effort for so little reward.
My mind slowly processes my surroundings. White walls. A narrow bed. A faint odor of disinfectant. A needle in my arm, feeding me some kind of fluid.
A middle-aged nurse walks by, and I call out, “Excuse me.”
She stops and turns. Her employee tag reads Leslie Simms, Sterling Medical Center. I’m at work? Except I’m not working, I think.
“Oh, you’re awake,” she says, a kind smile on her round, friendly face. The fluorescent light hits her permed strawberry-blond hair, making it glow like a halo.
“Um. Yeah. What happened? What am I doing here?”
“You don’t remember? Your boyfriend brought you. You fainted.”