7. Liam
Liam
My phone rang while I was restacking the last of the firewood.
I recognized the number. City area code. Hospital. The kind of call that never comes with good news.
“Liam Beltane,” I said.
There was a pause. Papers shifting. The clacking of a keyboard.
“This is St. Mary’s Medical Center,” the woman said. “You’re listed as the emergency contact for Zoey Yates? It was recently entered into our system by the nurse practitioner Marlene Smith, who has rights here and at her Pine Hollow practice.”
My eyes widened in shock. I knew she’d put me down on the form, but that was supposed to be temporary. On-site. Just in case.
I had not expected it to follow her into the city. Into her real life.
“What happened?” I asked. My voice came out a bit shaky, which I didn’t expect or appreciate.
“She took a fall and briefly lost consciousness,” the nurse said. “She’s awake and stable, but we’re admitting her overnight for observation and imaging.”
My grip tightened on the phone.
“I’m on my way,” I said.
It was a forty-minute drive. I made it in thirty-two.
I parked crookedly, tried to correct it, and failed. So I left my car like that.
The lobby lights inside the emergency department were too bright. The chairs were out of alignment. I noticed all of it, but none of it mattered.
Security checked me in and gave me a wristband, then led me down a hallway that smelled like antiseptic and stale coffee.
And there she was. The blue hair made it impossible to miss her.
The call had been too much information and not enough detail. Hospital. Loss of consciousness. Head injury. My mind had filled in the blanks efficiently and without mercy. I had prepared myself for blood. For fear. For the look people get when they’re hurt badly enough that they stop arguing.
Instead, she was awake.
Pale, yes. Annoyed. She was propped up on pillows and clearly displeased with the situation. Functional irritation. That mattered more than anything else. It meant she wasn’t grievously injured.
The relief hit me so hard, I had to lock my knees to keep from sagging.
I let it settle all the way through me. The tension I’d been carrying since the phone rang loosened in layers. Not gone. Never gone. But quieter. Quiet enough that I could stand there without bracing for the next worst thing.
Seeing her again did something else I hadn’t prepared for. It revealed that the space she’d left in my chest when she walked out of Pine Hollow had not been filled in. It had just been waiting.
She stared at me for a second too long.
“Liam?” she said.
“Yeah.”
Her brow creased in confusion. “Why are you here?”
“I’m your emergency contact.”
Her expression shifted again. Slower this time. “I thought that was just for the B&B.”
“So did I.”
She looked down at the blanket, then back up at me. “I didn’t mean for that to… carry over to the real world.”
“It’s okay.”
The truth of that surprised me.
The idea that she’d needed someone and the system had landed on me tightened something low in my chest.
I realized then that part of me had been carrying the disappointment of not asking for her number, of letting that night stay contained and unfinished. I had accepted it because acceptance was almost always easier than wanting.
Standing here now, watching her process the fact that I existed in this space, I knew I wouldn’t have turned this down even if I’d been given the choice.
Whatever this was, I was in it. I wanted to see it through as far as she would let me, to see what this turned into.
I could see the relief washing over her. It started in her shoulders dropping a fraction, then the rest of her body relaxed. Embarrassment and disbelief flashed over her face briefly.
“I’m sorry,” she said.
“You don’t need to be,” I said. “I’m glad they called.”
She didn’t answer that beyond nodding once. I recognized the nod. It was the kind that meant she had filed something away for later and didn’t intend to unpack it right now.
I stayed where I was, close enough so she’d know I wasn’t leaving, far enough that she didn’t feel crowded.
A doctor stepped in without ceremony. He was middle-aged and had a calm demeanor. He gave me a perfunctory glance before taking in her posture and looking at the monitor beside her bed.
“She had a brief loss of consciousness,” he said. “Likely related to pain and dehydration. We did a CT scan to rule out anything serious but don’t have results yet. We’ll keep her overnight for observation.”
Zoey pushed herself up on one elbow. “I’m actually fine going back to my place.”
The doctor shook his head. “Not without supervision. Someone needs to be with you.” The doctor turned toward me. “Will you be staying with her?”
She waved her hand dismissively. “He’s not really my?—”
“She doesn’t have anyone else,” I said.
The words were out before I reconsidered them.
Zoey turned her head and looked at me, and there was a warning there that I recognized immediately.
There was something else underneath it, too.
Surprise, maybe. Wariness. I held her gaze and didn’t move, didn’t explain, didn’t soften it.
I wasn’t backing away from what I’d just said.
The doctor nodded, already moving on. “We don’t discharge patients who’ve lost consciousness to ride-share services. You’ll be staying the night unless you have a trusted adult to monitor you.”
Zoey closed her eyes and let her head fall back against the pillow with a groan that sounded more offended than exhausted. She dragged in a slow breath and let it out through her nose, resignation settling in. Policy always won these fights.
“Congratulations, Liam,” she said without opening her eyes. “You’re my trusted adult.”
I smiled despite myself. “I can handle that.”
She cracked one eye open and still managed to give me a sharp, assessing look.
The doctor turned his attention fully to me, giving me detailed instructions on what to look out for, how often to check on her while she rested, what warranted calling a nurse, and what absolutely didn’t warrant panic.
I listened carefully. Mitigating risk was familiar ground for me.
When he finished, the doctor nodded once and stepped toward the door. “We’ll get the scans read shortly. Expect a call with results later tonight. I’ll have the nurses get you on the schedule with your primary for a follow-up this week. Keep that ankle elevated.”
As he left, the quiet returned.
Zoey opened her eyes and studied me again, as though measuring what I had just volunteered for and whether she intended to accept it.
“You didn’t have to do that,” she said.
“I know,” I answered.
She shifted slightly, then let herself sink back. “So, you’re coming with me?”
“Yes.”
She watched me another second, then looked away, letting out a resigned sigh. “Okay.”
I pulled the chair closer and adjusted it so it wouldn’t squeak when I sat. She noticed. Of course she did. Her shoulders eased a fraction, the tension dropping away.
“You’re taking this very seriously,” she said after a moment.
“The seriousness is warranted.”
She huffed quietly. “Right.”
“Are you okay?” I asked.
She nodded. “I passed out in my kitchen. I’m embarrassed.”
“I’m sure you are,” I said.
The corner of her mouth twitched.
I took in the rest of her without comment. The IV. The faint bruise near her temple. Her propped-up foot. I shifted the chair an inch closer without thinking. Her gaze followed the movement immediately.
“You don’t have to do this,” she said again, softer this time.
“I know.”
“Has anyone ever told you you’re very good in a crisis?”
I simply smiled. “Try to rest, Zoey.”
She nodded. Her hand moved toward mine, then stopped halfway, restraint snapping into place.
I didn’t reach for her, but I wanted to.
I wanted to climb into the narrow hospital bed beside her and pull her in close until some of the tension left her body.
I wanted to let her sleep against me while I listened for anything that sounded wrong.
The urge arrived whole and immediate, so domestic it almost unsettled me. I stayed where I was.
And for the first time since the call came in, my mind quieted enough to let me sit still without scanning for what came next.