Chapter 7 Harper
Harper
The fluorescent lights hummed overhead, the same steady buzz they always had on nights that never seemed to end.
I’d been at the hospital since five p.m., patching together patients with injuries that blurred into one another—car wrecks, bar fights, the usual tide of chaos that funneled through the ER.
By the time I ducked into the break room, my hands smelled faintly of antiseptic and coffee. I tied my braid tighter, rolling the ache out of my shoulders, when a knock tapped against the doorframe.
“Long shift?”
I froze, half-turning. Carter leaned against the door like he belonged there—ball cap shoved back on his head, shirt sleeves pushed to his elbows, forearms dusted with the faintest sheen of grease. Not his usual tactical boots and vest. Civilian clothes. And somehow, that made him more dangerous.
“What are you doing here?” I asked, aware of how clipped my voice sounded.
He held up a brown paper bag. “Kid from my team broke his wrist sliding into home plate. Figured I’d bring his mom something that doesn’t taste like cafeteria regret.”
I blinked. “You brought food?”
His mouth tugged in that half-smile again. “What? You don’t think I know how to be neighborly?”
I didn’t answer. Mostly because my throat was tight, and my heart had kicked into an inconvenient gallop. He crossed the room, set the bag on the table, and lingered there—close enough for the warmth of him to seep into the cold corners of the break room.
“You look tired,” he said softly.
I bristled. “That’s what twelve hours in triage does to a person.”
“Not what I meant.” His eyes caught mine, steady, unflinching. “You carry everyone else’s weight. You ever put any of it down?”
I should’ve brushed it off. Should’ve told him he didn’t know me well enough to ask questions like that. But something in his voice—gentle, sure, like he already knew the answer—made me falter.
“No,” I admitted quietly. “I don’t.”
For a beat, the hum of the lights filled the silence. Then Carter nodded, like I’d just told him a secret worth guarding.
“Well,” he said, pulling a bottle of water from the bag and sliding it toward me, “maybe let someone else carry it for a minute.”
I stared at the bottle. Then at him. “And who exactly do you think that someone should be?”
His smile was small but wickedly sure. “Take a wild guess.”
Before I could respond, a nurse stuck her head in the door, calling my name. Duty pulled me back in an instant. I grabbed the water, tucking it under my arm as I passed Carter.
“Thanks for the… neighborly gesture,” I said, brushing past him.
“Anytime, Harper,” he said, voice following me down the hall, low and certain. “Anytime.”
And damn him, I knew he meant it.