13. Stasi
thirteen
Stasi
“ W hat’s got your head up in the clouds?”
Blinking out of a daze, I refocus my attention on my patient.
Iris Grikowski is a seventy-three-year-old woman on her third week of inpatient therapy after a series of strokes. She’s an avid bunko player, a grandmother twelve times over, and a hardcore football fan, which is how we bonded on day one of her recovery here.
Although she’s more of a college football fan, I don’t take away any cool points since one of her grandkids is a tight end for the Wisconsin Badgers.
I wish I could tell her she’s the highlight of my day. Guarantee she’d find a way to sabotage her therapy to stay here longer. She’s ride or die like that.
Forcing a practiced smile, I apologize. “Sorry, Iris. I must be tired today. No excuse, I know.”
“Well, how many more of these stupid exercises are you going to make me do?”
I laugh and hold out a hand to help her back into her wheelchair for a rest. “Another lap walking the hall would be good.”
“And your torture routine continues. The stretching is nice though. Let’s do more of that.”
I crouch down beside her. It’s a relief on my achy legs. I’m on my feet most of my shift, constantly using my own muscles to help patients work to regain mobility.
“Did you take my advice and find yourself a hot man last weekend?” Iris asks.
Heat floods my cheeks, and she waggles her patchy silver brows. “You did, didn’t you?”
She’s been harping me since day one to go out and “paint the town”.
I roll my eyes, holding out a hand to her. “More walking.”
“Thought we were friends, doc,” she mumbles.
I assist her with the first few steps to get her balance and stride.
It's not like we haven't had open chats before. She’s the only patient I’ve shared personal details with. If I don’t talk with her like this, she’s less inclined to participate in her exercises, and then I’d feel responsible for her lack of improvement.
Even though Iris has told me countless times that she doesn’t give a shit about her rehabilitation, I’m not sure I believe her. I think she’s scared of hope. Scared of the possibility of not being able to live on her own anymore.
I don’t blame her. I’m scared of hope, too.
Glancing around the hall to assure no one can hear us, I whisper, “This stays between you and me.”
Her light blue eyes sparkle with delight. “Spill the tea. I’m living vicariously through you, beautiful girl.”
I blush again. What is it about receiving a compliment from a woman that holds such power? It’s like some higher form of magic.
I shake my head and push down my nerves. “Okay. So there is a guy—”
“Hot? Muscled? Rich?” She rattles off, pausing her steps.
“Keep walking. All three. More. All the things. ”
Kind. Loyal. Considerate…
“Wonderful. Keep talking,” Iris encourages.
My stomach flips as I sift through words to find the right ones. Would she judge me for what I share? Others would. Others have in the past.
Worse, if Iris doesn’t like what I share, she might mention it to my boss, and I can’t risk losing this job when bills need to be paid.
“Focus, doc,” Iris snaps.
“Yeah. Okay. Well…there’s another guy. And we all sort of…”
Iris sucks in an audible breath. “ No . You overachiever.”
My shoulders collapse on an exhale. I drop my gaze to the patterned linoleum. “Do you see my problem?”
She balks. “Problem? Honey, there is no problem. Unless the orgasms were lacking.”
“Iris!” A laugh punches out of me.
One of the doctors peeks out of us from another patient’s room. I wince and wave a hand in apology.
Iris leans in closer. “Well, do you get to keep them?”
I sigh. It’s been a struggle to keep my emotions bottled up. I haven’t heard from Liam since the weekend. I spent last night pacing my apartment, wondering if I should text him and worried Beau hopped on a flight to Phoenix, never to be seen again.
“No one keeps Liam. Ever . And the other guy is only in town temporarily, I think.”
Why am I telling her all of this?
Because she might be the closest thing I have to a friend outside of my brother, which is pretty pathetic, considering I’ve lived in Texas my entire life.
Iris pats my arm. “Do you want to keep them?”
The question catches me off guard. I hadn’t given much space for those thoughts. At the end of the day, it doesn’t matter.
But the idea of carrying on alone has my heart sinking. I’m sick of quiet nights in my apartment. Sick of counting down the days until my brother comes home so I can have some company. Soon enough, he’ll have his boyfriend here with him, and then I’ll have to find someone else to bother.
“I think I do. Yeah.”
“Then listen to me, you little whippersnapper,” Iris says firmly.
“Whippersnapper?” I echo, frowning.
“Life is meant to be lived. Not feared. You need to speak up. Tell them what you want. Be brave. Make demands.”
I push out a long breath, sinking further into my internal despair. “You make it sound so easy.”
“As easy as you make these exercises sound. Now take me back to my chair. I’m done walking until you start talking to these men of yours.”
A call vibrates my phone on the nightstand.
It’s late. Way past the appropriate time to call someone.
I’ve been lying in bed for over two hours, stuck in my head, churning on thoughts of Liam and Beau and weighing the consequences of severing relationships with my parents and how that might trickle down into the bond I’m starting to rebuild with Max, my older brother.
Shooting upright, I bobble my phone as I snatch it off my nightstand, panicked that my twin needs me.
But it’s not Hail’s name lit up on my phone.
“Hello,” I answer breathlessly.
“Hey,” Liam replies in a husky tone. “Why aren’t you asleep? ”
I fall back onto my bed and stare up at the ceiling. “How do you know I wasn’t asleep? Maybe your 2 A.M. call woke me.”
“You answered on the first ring, Anastasia. Don’t get smart with me.”
A smile creeps onto my face. “Next time I’ll let you go to voicemail.”
His laugh is a hit of dopamine I didn’t realize I needed. Sorry, Iris. You’re no longer the highlight of my day.
Although, it is technically a new day…
We fall into a comfortable silence, and I mull over Iris’s words. I’m tempted to lay out what I want. Him in any form he can offer. Beau, too. But that’s not something people do in their thirties, right? College was different. You’re expected to experiment there.
And what if Liam called to end things?
Anxiously, I wait for him to speak.
“Can I come see you?” he finally asks.
My heart skips. I don’t mean to hesitate. It’s just, this is the last thing I’m expecting from him.
When I find my words, they come out twinged with sadness. “Please.”
“Be there in fifteen. Keep your door locked until then.”
He hangs up before I can ask him how he knows where I live. He must have gotten the address from Hail.
Leaping out of bed, I quickly brush my teeth and finger comb my tangle of hair. I refuse to let myself hope, but maybe Beau’s right.
Maybe Liam has changed.