Chapter 13
Chapter Thirteen
Melissa
As I open my locker and place my coat on its hanger, I realize I feel calmer this morning. It’s hard to name the difference, but then Colton walks into the room, and I know he has everything to do with it.
I smile at him, and he smiles back. It’s a big upgrade from his head nod—or worse, him completely ignoring me.
Hope blooms in my chest.
He opens his locker and pulls out his white coat, then turns to face me.
“Morning,” he says, his voice low. It’s not clipped or distant now.
The single word hits heavier than it should.
“Morning,” I reply, my smile lingering too long.
For a moment, neither of us moves. The hum of the heater, the faint echo of voices down the hall … it all feels too loud in the quiet between us.
“You heading to 447?” he asks.
“I am. I’m sure Frank already has something he’s ready to complain about.”
A corner of his mouth lifts. “He’s persistent.”
“He says it builds character,” I add.
His smile deepens, and the tightness in my chest eases even further.
“Of course he does.”
He slips his arms into his coat, but his eyes don’t leave mine. Not like they’ve avoided me before.
“I wanted to say …” He stops, his jaw tightening, like he’s choosing his words carefully. “You did good work yesterday.”
The compliment catches me off guard.
We both close our lockers and walk out of the room together before moving down the hall.
“Thank you,” I reply softly. “I was just doing my job.”
He shakes his head. “You were doing more than that.”
Heat creeps up my neck, and I glance up at him. His eyes must catch my reaction to his compliment, as they focus intently on where I feel warm and flush.
“Frank makes it easy,” I finally reply.
His throat bobs as he swallows, and then he looks forward. “Still,” he says, “not everyone knows how to meet patients where they are.”
“You do,” I state, the words slipping out before I can stop them.
His expression shifts. A flicker passes through his eyes—closer to recognition than anything else.
“That comes with time.”
“And loss,” I add quietly.
He stops and holds my gaze for a moment that feels like time has stopped. “Yes,” he says, “it does.”
A beat passes, and then he stands up straight.
“Ready?” he asks, gesturing toward the door.
I nod. “Yeah.”
We both walk into Frank’s room, him leading in front of me. Frank looks up the second we enter, eyes bright despite the lines fatigue has carved into his face.
“Well, if it isn’t my two favorite people,” he says. “And before you ask … yes, the pain is still winning.”
I sigh, already moving to his IV pole. “Good morning to you too, Frank.”
“Morning, sunshine,” he says easily. “You’re looking suspiciously cheerful for a place that smells like antiseptic and broken dreams.”
Colton shakes his head. “You’ve been awake for five minutes.”
“And I’ve hated all of them,” he fires back.
I bite my lip, trying not to laugh as I check his line. “Your vitals are stable. Pain meds are working.”
“Working is generous,” he says. “I’d say mildly inconveniencing the pain.”
Colton steps closer to the bed, scanning his chart. “You’re maxed out on what I’m comfortable increasing right now.”
Frank squints at him. “Doctor, I trust you with my life. I do not trust you with my comfort.”
“That’s fair,” I murmur.
Colton glances at me, seeming surprised.
I flash a knowing smile before turning back to Frank. “But Dr. Fisher’s right. Pushing it too far will only leave you groggy.”
“Already there,” Frank says cheerfully. “I want to be groggy and numb.”
Colton huffs a laugh.
“Tell me something good,” Frank says suddenly, pointing between us. “Either of you. I don’t care what. Lie if you have to.”
I pause, then smile softly. “The cafeteria is serving a dish that resembles real food today.”
Frank gasps. “Now I know you’re lying.”
Colton looks over at me. “He’s not wrong.”
I grin. “It was worth a try.”
Frank watches us for a moment, eyes sharp despite the humor. Then he nods to himself. “There it is.”
Colton arches a brow. “There what is?”
“That,” he says, gesturing vaguely between us. “You two actually smiling. Took long enough.”
I stiffen slightly. Not sure how to reply. I catch his wife, Diane, rolling her eyes in the corner, but not joining in. She must be used to her husband inserting himself quite often.
Colton clears his throat. “Frank—”
“Nope,” he cuts in. “I don’t need details. I’m dying, not blind.”
I let out a quiet breath. “Frank …”
“I like you both,” he continues, gentler now. “You make this place less miserable. That’s saying something.”
I soften at his words, resting a hand briefly on the rail of his bed. “We’re glad you’re here.”
He scoffs. “I didn’t have much choice.”
Colton glances back at his chart. “Your labs from this morning are holding steady.”
“That’s doctor talk for nothing’s exploded yet, right?”
“Exactly.”
A soft giggle escapes me. Colton’s head turns in my direction. Frank appears to notice.
“Careful, Doc,” he says mildly. “You keep looking at her like that, people are gonna talk.”
My laughter fades into a quiet breath as my cheeks heat again at what Frank is implying.
Colton straightens again. “I’m looking at her because she’s good at her job.”
“She is,” Frank agrees. “And she’s easy to talk to. Makes the hard stuff less hard.”
I swallow. “Thank you,” I reply.
Frank nods once. “Anytime.”
“All right,” Colton says, “I’ll check back in a few hours. No heroics.”
“No promises.”
Colton turns his attention to me. “You good here?”
I nod. “I’ll be back shortly, Frank.”
As we step back into the hallway, the door closing softly behind us, the air between us feels … different.
Lighter.
“Thank you,” I say suddenly.
“For?”
“For not shutting him down.”
He meets my gaze. “He’s earned the right to be honest.”
I study him for a moment, then nod. “So have you,” I reply.
I take a step forward, then slow when I realize he’s done the same. We fall into stride together without comment.
“Well,” I say lightly, breaking the silence, “I guess that officially makes us Frank’s entertainment for the day.”
He huffs a quiet laugh. “He charges extra for that.”
“He absolutely does not,” I reply. “He’d do it for free.”
“That’s what worries me.”
I smile at that, glancing down the hall instead of at him. “He has a way of saying things out loud that most people only think.”
“No filter.”
“None,” I agree. Then, after a beat, I add, “It’s … impressive really.”
“Impressive?” he questions.
I shrug. “Confidence or recklessness. Hard to tell the difference sometimes.”
“Usually both,” he replies.
We reach the nurses’ station, and I slow, fingers brushing absently against my clipboard.
“He didn’t make you uncomfortable, did he?” I ask nervously.
“No,” he says quickly. Then, more measured, “He didn’t say anything that wasn’t already obvious.”
I falter. “Oh,” I say. “Obvious.”
He lifts a shoulder. “To him.”
Shaking my head, I reply. “Frank barely knows me.”
“That’s generous,” he says. “He knew you in ten minutes.”
I laugh. “That’s unsettling.”
“Tell me about it.” His eyes hold mine.
Another beat passes. Something unspoken stretches between us.
“Frank isn’t subtle, is he?” I add.
He lets out a quiet breath. “That’s one word for it.”
My mouth curves. “He definitely has opinions.”
“He always does. Usually accurate ones.”
I still for half a second. My heartbeat accelerating instantly. “Oh”—I place my clipboard down and fold my arms— “is that so?”
“He’s been doing this a long time.”
My lips part, then press together again as I try to decide how far to take this moment of honesty.
“And what exactly do you think he was saying?” I blurt out.
He tilts his head. “I think he was suggesting we’re terrible at pretending nothing’s happening.”
A soft, almost-flirtatious laugh slips out. “That’s unfair,” I reply with a smile. “I’m doing an excellent job.”
He glances pointedly at my flushed cheeks. “Sure you are.”
I roll my eyes, but there’s warmth there. “So … should we be concerned?”
“About Frank?” he asks.
I nod.
“No. He’ll forget by lunchtime.”
“And the rest of it?” I ask, quieter now.
He holds my gaze. “That might take a little more effort.”
My breath catches as I try to figure out what he means. Is this going too far? What started as innocent flirting feels bigger now.
“Well,” I reply, stepping back toward the station, “good thing we’re both professionals.”
I begin to walk away and feel his attention still on me, and then I hear him murmur, “That’s never stopped anyone.”
I pause, glancing over my shoulder.
“Excuse me?” I ask.
He straightens. “Nothing.”
I study him for a moment, something warmer passing through his eyes. I tuck my hair nervously behind my ear and smile. Then I walk away. Not sure what just happened.
At the end of the day, I’m at the nurses’ station with my coat on, ready to head out for the day.
Colton approaches. He pauses as I log in to check Frank’s vitals before I leave.
“You’re off early today,” he notes.
“My roommate threatened to cook,” I say. “I figured the risk was worth it.”
He huffs a quiet laugh. “Brave.”
“I’m hoping wine will soften the blow.”
His expression shifts. A flicker of interest crosses his face.
“Do you have a favorite?” he asks casually.
I glance at him, surprised. “Wine?”
“Mmhmm.”
“I don’t know,” I say. “I like things that take time. The kind you don’t rush.”
His eyes hold mine. “Me too.”
The moment stretches—too long, too charged.
A nurse calls his name from down the hall, breaking the spell.
“Enjoy your dinner and wine. I’ll see you tomorrow,” he says before he disappears.
“So”—Kayla looks at me as I chew— “what do you think?”
I swallow slowly, then take a sip of my wine—a Chianti from 2018, which was known for a great rainfall and produced incredible grapes in Italy. The wine goes down smoothly. The lasagna, not so much.
“It’s pretty good.” I smile and take another gulp of wine.
“Don’t lie.” She rolls her eyes. “It’s terrible.”
“No, no. Not terrible. The pasta is a little chewy. But the cheese and sauce are good.”
Kayla watches me for a moment as I chew, her head tilted slightly to the side.
“So,” she says, dragging the word out, “either this Chianti is stronger than advertised or you’re doing that thing where you pretend to focus on food, so you don’t have to talk about what’s actually going on.”
I glance up at her. “I’m tired.”
She snorts. “You’re always tired. This is different. This is … existential pasta chewing. And before you even go there, my pasta isn’t that damn chewy.”
I take another sip of wine, letting it linger. “It’s been a long day.”
“Hmm,” she hums, unconvinced. Then her eyes sharpen a little. “Hospital guy.”
My fork pauses midair. “What hospital guy?”
She rolls her eyes. “Oh, please. Tall. Intense. Looks like he hasn’t slept properly in years and definitely owns more than one expensive coat. The one who was practically burning holes through you with his eyes at the bar.”
I set my fork down slowly. “He’s my boss.”
Kayla grins. “You say that like it’s a deterrent.”
“It is a deterrent,” I say quickly. “And it’s not like that.”
Her eyebrow arches. “You didn’t say it wasn’t mutual.”
I exhale, my gaze dropping to the table. “I shouldn’t even be thinking about it.”
“Thinking about what?” she asks, softer now.
I hesitate, the words catching somewhere between my chest and my throat. “What it would feel like to want someone again.”
Kayla doesn’t joke this time. She simply watches me.
“It feels wrong,” I continue quietly. “Like I’m betraying what I had by noticing him. By feeling … this.”
She reaches for her glass but doesn’t drink. “Missing your husband doesn’t mean you stop being alive, Mel.”
My chest tightens. “I know. I just—this is the first time since I lost him that it doesn’t feel like a fleeting thought. It feels real. And that scares me.”
She nods slowly. “Of course it does. But this means something has cracked open. And that doesn’t happen unless you’re ready, even if you don’t feel like you are.”
I shake my head. “He’s my boss. He’s complicated. And I don’t even know if he wants—”
She holds up a hand. “Melissa, I watched that man stare at you like you were oxygen. Trust me, he wants.”
I laugh despite myself. “You’re impossible.”
“And yet,” she says smugly, “usually right.”
I take another sip of wine, feeling its warmth spread. “I don’t know how to do this. I don’t know how to be … that person again.”
Kayla leans forward. “You don’t have to know. You only have to not shut the door before you’ve even tried the handle.”
I glance at her. “That’s very poetic for someone who once told me relationships were nothing but well-timed bad decisions.”
She grins. “I contain multitudes. Also, I’m a romance novelist. This is literally my brand.”
I smile, then hesitate. “It feels inappropriate.”
She shrugs. “So is dessert before dinner. People survive.”
“Kayla.”
“I’m just saying,” she adds, lowering her voice, “life is short. Grief doesn’t get to decide you’re done being touched, or wanted, or kissed senseless by a man who clearly hasn’t figured out how to stop wanting you.
And trust me, men who look at you like that don’t do gentle by accident.
That kind of focus? That’s a man who likes control. ”
Heat creeps up my neck. “You’re being inappropriate.”
“I’m being supportive,” she counters. “With flair.”
I laugh, the sound surprising me. Lighter than I’ve felt in a long time.
“I don’t even know if anything will happen,” I say.
She lifts her glass. “It doesn’t have to. But you deserve the chance. And if nothing else, I fully support you having one morally questionable crush that makes you feel alive again.”
I clink my glass against hers.
Maybe wanting someone again doesn’t mean losing what I had. Maybe it means I’m still here. I’m still human, and I have urges, just like everybody else.