Chapter Twenty-Three
Lorelie
I wake up knowing exactly where I am.
The steady beep beep. The antiseptic tang in the air.
It all hits me at once, familiar in a way that makes my stomach dip. Hospitals were supposed to be where I worked, not where I ended up.
I groan softly and squint at the light. The overhead one is mercifully off, but the others are still sharp enough to stab at my eyes.
My mouth feels like sandpaper, my tongue thick and useless.
My limbs ache in that heavy, floaty way that tells me I’ve been lying still for too long.
My fingers tingle, pins and needles racing under my skin.
My head throbs behind my eyes, a deep pulsing pressure that makes thought slow.
Dehydration. Low blood sugar. I know the signs as well as I know my own name.
But how the hell did I get here?
I twist my head toward the call button, ready to press it, when the curtain swishes aside and Patrick steps through.
He looks exhausted. Hair a mess, eyes swollen and rimmed red. He’s holding papers in his hand and glancing down at them absently as he walks in. He barely registers me at first, then his face snaps up and freezes.
He looks at me again, like he can’t trust the first blink.
A tear spills immediately down his cheek as he crosses the room in three long strides. His hand cups the side of my face, trembling, and he bows his head to my forehead. His lips linger there longer than necessary while he breathes in these quiet, shuddering breaths that shake his shoulders.
I can’t remember the last time I saw him this broken.
Charlize steps in a second later, clipboard hugged to her chest, and her tired face cracks into a relieved smile.
“Hey, Doc,” she says softly. “How you feeling?”
I clear my throat but no sound comes out. It feels like sand scraping together.
Charlize nods. “Thirsty?”
I manage a small nod.
Patrick reaches for a water bottle on the tray, his hands still trembling.
He uncaps it, slides a straw into the top, and holds it to my lips with the gentleness of a scared man.
The first sip hits like heaven and fire at the same time.
Too cold yet not cold enough. My stomach flips, my dry throat spasms, and a wave of dizziness rolls through me.
People don’t realize how awful that first drink can feel after dehydration. The body panics before it relaxes.
He pulls the bottle back, watching me like he’s afraid I’ll disappear if he blinks.
Charlize steps closer, flipping through her chart.
“Alright, here’s what we know. You came in severely dehydrated, with a nasty electrolyte imbalance and low blood sugar.
You’d been on the floor long enough that your core temp dropped too.
Nothing dangerous now, but definitely enough to make your body shut halfway down. ”
My stomach sinks. “How… long?”
Patrick swallows hard, still gripping the bottle like he needs something to hold on to. His voice comes out rough.
“Long enough.”
Charlize shoots him a look. “We estimate several hours. Your muscles were stiff, your skin was cool, and your vitals were unstable when EMS arrived. You’re lucky this one found you when he did.” She nods toward Patrick.
I turn my head, relief cutting through the fog. “The kids?”
“They’re ok,” he says quickly. “I brought Agnes with me and then I found you.” He swallows hard. “She’s with my parents now. They were here, but I asked them to take her home. They’ll pick up Milo too.”
I nod, then glance at Charlize. “I had a shift.”
She gives me a soft smile. “I don’t think anyone is going to blame you for missing it.”
The words should comfort me, but the old sting from the whole Murphy situation creeps in anyway. My throat works around nothing, hands shaking.
Charlize steps out with a promise to finish the discharge papers quickly.
The curtain falls back into place, and Patrick sits down beside me, close enough that I can feel the heat of his body. He hesitates, then takes my hand gently, almost afraid I’ll take it back.
“What happened?” he asks quietly. “My mom said you looked tired yesterday, but not like this.”
I stare at our hands, unable to look at him.
“It’s not her fault. I hadn’t slept the night before and I fell asleep on the sofa without eating or drinking anything.
I woke up, but I was too dizzy to get up.
I remember being on the floor. It was all blurry.
In and out.” I draw a shaky breath. “If you hadn’t found me… ”
“Don’t.” His voice cracks. “Please don’t say that.”
He looks down, gripping my hand harder, and for a moment his whole chest heaves like he can’t catch his breath.
“For a second,” he whispers, “I thought you were…” He stops. His jaw trembles. He tries again but nothing comes out. When he lifts his head, his eyes are wet.
Something in me shifts at the sight. Something deep and old and impossible to ignore.
I start crying before I even realize it. Tears spill down my cheeks and he reaches out instantly, cupping my face with both hands like he can keep me together.
“Don’t cry,” he breathes. “You’re dehydrated.” It sounds ridiculous and worried and so heartbreakingly gentle that a laugh slips out of me.
“I can’t stop,” I whisper. “I can’t.”
His thumbs stroke my cheeks, wiping my tears even as more fall.
And then the words come out before I can second guess them.
“I don’t want a divorce.”
Patrick goes still.
His eyes search mine, slow and careful, like he needs to make sure he heard me right. “Really?”
I nod, more tears gathering. “I know I said I was done. I know I meant it when I said it. But we’re not done. We never were. And I don’t want to be.”
“Oh thank God.” He lowers his forehead to our clasped hands like the strength has gone out of him.
I sniff. “Why did you offer if you didn’t want it?”
He lifts his head and rolls his eyes, tired and honest. “Dr Brett and Blake. They both said I was being selfish. And I thought I was. Keeping you tied to me, keeping you trapped. I thought giving you an out was the right thing.”
He shrugs helplessly, and I study his face, the cracks and the softness and the hope he is trying to hide.
“Let’s date,” I say.
He jerks back slightly, horrified. “Other people?”
“No,” I laugh, wiping my cheek with the back of my hand. “Each other.”
He stares, stunned. I keep going before he can talk himself out of it.
“We never really dated, you know.”
“Hey,” he protests, sitting up a little. “Me bringing you cold burgers and us eating them on freezing benches were amazing dates.”
A small laugh slips out of me. “They were.”
He watches me for a long second, then asks quietly, “You really want to try?”
I nod, heart thudding. “I really do. I don’t want to regret losing you.”
He smiles sadly. “I know I do.”
Patrick
I can’t stop grinning. We are in a hospital and I am smiling like a Cheshire cat. Lore covers her face and laughs.
“Stop smiling.”
I show her every tooth I have. “I can’t.”
“You’re a dork,” she mutters, easing off the bed. I watch her sway and immediately step forward as she grabs the rail.
“Maybe you should stay the night.”
She shakes her head. “We usually keep dehydration cases for four hours. I’ve been here for eight.”
I make a face. “I don’t want you staying alone.”
“I won’t.” I smile at that, but she keeps going. “Gen will be there. She’s already pissed I didn’t call her earlier.”
I blink. “Where did she think you were? And where was she all night?”
Lore gives me a look like I should know better. “She met a guy.”
“Oh.” I lift a brow. “This guy have a name?”
She laughs. “So, you can run a background check?”
I stare at her. “So, you don’t want me to?”
She presses her lips together, fighting a smile. “I’ll text you his Instagram.”
“Good,” I say, satisfied.
The curtain swishes open again and Charlize comes in with a wheelchair. I already met her boss, Caroline along with the on-call doc that filled in for Lore. It wasn’t how I expected to meet Lore’s colleagues, but that is how today went.
Charlize parks the chair beside the bed. “Alright, sweetheart, let’s get you out of here.”
Lore sits, and I steady her without thinking. Her fingers brush mine, and my heart leaps like an idiot. I try to play it off, but Charlize definitely sees it and absolutely files it away to gossip about later.
I don’t care.
All I care about is getting Lore home, getting her fed, and better.
And after that, taking her on the best date of her life, which won’t be hard considering I’m the only serious person she has ever dated.
It can’t be like our old date nights. It has to be something good, something that reminds her of why she married me in the first place.
“Dr Boise,” a voice calls from behind us.
Charlize pauses when David steps forward and rests a hand on the back of the wheelchair. “I’ll take this,” he says, already pushing Lore out. Lore’s eyes nearly pop out of her head, and she cringes as she mutters, “Chief Pratt.”
I fall into step beside them. David glances at Lore, then at me, and shakes my hand.
“Patrick,” he says. “I never imagined I would have to remind one of my best doctors to eat and drink.”
I nod. “That may be on me, sir.”
Lore looks at me, confused, but I keep going. “I’m working on rectifying that.”
David grunts in approval. “Good. I would hate to have to perform an unmedicated appendectomy just to make a point.”
I nod. “Of course, sir.”
By the time he finishes scaring the hell out of me, we’re outside. My car is waiting at the curb. Lore stands after a moment, a little too slowly, still unsteady. The chief pats her shoulder once.
“Be well,” he says, and with that he heads back inside.
Lore watches him go with wide eyes. “What just happened?”
I guide her toward the car. “I just got threatened,” I say simply.
She makes a face. “What? I don’t even understand what any of that meant.”
I open the passenger door for her. “That was your boss reminding me that if I don’t take care of you, he will remove my appendix with office scissors.”
Lore snorts and shakes her head. “Please stop talking.”
I grin as she settles into the seat. “No can do.”
The drive home is quick. The roads are clearer than they should be for this time of day, which doesn’t quite feel as satisfying as it should’ve.
“My dad picked up Milo,” I say, drumming my fingers lightly on the wheel. “I’m going to take the kids this week so you can rest.”
“I’m fine,” she says.
I huff. “At least today. So you can rest.”
She pauses, then nods. “Deal.”
I keep my eyes on the road, tapping a little faster. “So… you got plans Thursday?”
She turns her head slowly, unimpressed. “Really.”
“What?” I ask, totally innocent.
She gives me a look. “You know this is like calling a girl the same day she gives you her number.”
“I did call you the same day,” I remind her.
“Yes,” she says, “you did.”
I shrug, trying not to smile too big.
I can hear the smile in her voice when she says, “I’m free Friday.”
I nod my head to an invisible beat. “Cool.”
When I pull up to the house, Genesis is pacing outside. I barely put the car in park before she yanks open the passenger door.
She fusses over Lore like a mother hen on steroids, hands everywhere, voice sharp with worry. I get out too and circle the hood, standing beside her as she mutters, “You should’ve called me. I was ten minutes away.”
I clear my throat. “Let’s get her inside, ya?”
Gen shoots me a side eye but steps back. “Fine.”
Lore tries to stand, but the second she puts any weight on her legs, they buckle. I sweep her up before she can hit the ground. Her fingers clutch instinctively at my shirt; her face tucked against my neck.
Gen’s eyes widen. “Maybe we should go back to the hospital.”
Lore shakes her head weakly. “Some weakness is normal,” she murmurs, still staring at my collar.
Gen goes quiet and opens the front door for us.
I shift Lore in my arms and start toward the sofa, but Gen clicks her tongue.
“Straight to bed.”
“Gen, I’m fine,” Lore protests.
Gen ignores her completely and says to me, “Go.”
I nod and adjust my grip, carrying Lore up the stairs. She lets out a breath that brushes my throat.
“She’s acting like I don’t have an MD after my name,” she mutters.
I hold her a little closer and keep climbing.
“She’s worried,” I say quietly. “You are kind of important to us.”
Lore doesn’t answer. Her head rests against my shoulder, her breath warm on my collarbone.
I pause outside the bedroom door. I haven’t been in here in a year, and when I came up yesterday to look for her, I was too busy panicking to notice anything. Now, standing here with her in my arms, the weight of it hits me.
“You can put me down,” she says when I linger too long.
I shake my head and nudge the door open with my foot, stepping into what used to be our room. At first glance nothing looks different. The bed is there. The side tables. The mirror in the corner with the chair draped in clothes.
But then I notice the small things. The pitcher of water I always kept beside the bed is gone. My dumbbells aren’t in the corner. One side of the curtain is coming loose, too high for her to reach.
I lower her onto the bed gently.
She looks around. “I didn’t change much.”
I nod. “I see.”
She scoots back as I fuss with the comforter, fluff her pillows, make sure she is settled. When I turn to leave, I stop at the doorframe.
“Thank you,” I say softly. “For giving us another chance.”
She meets my eyes, hers tired from the day. “Please don’t make me regret it.”
I want to promise her. I want to swear I never will. But I know I can’t give her guarantees I’m not strong enough to uphold.
So, I don’t say anything.
I just smile, hoping she can see the truth in it.
I know I will never touch another woman again; and I’ll never lie to Lore.
But the pull of the bottle lives somewhere deeper.
I wish I could say it vanished the moment she forgave me.
It didn’t. I used to think despair was the reason I drank, but now I understand something worse.
Even happiness wakes the thirst.