Chapter 12 Danae
Twelve
Danae
Two Weeks Later
My feet feel like they’re made of lead by the time I clock out.
I haven’t felt this bad coming off a shift since I first did clinicals in nursing school.
Twelve hour shifts are normal. Days back to back happen.
Even sometimes staying at the hospital working shifts consecutively due to staffing issues or a random storm.
Today the minutes dragged on feeling like an endless loop stuck at work.
The kind of exhaustion that isn’t just physical.
It’s in my pores. In my bones. In the place behind my eyes where the fluorescent lights live even after you leave the building.
My hair is scraped back, my scrub top smells faintly like disinfectant and old coffee, and my brain is still half in someone else’s room, beeping monitors, low voices, a family trying to be brave in a hallway as they make a difficult decision for a loved one’s care.
I sign the last thing I need to sign, filling in the last few notes on a chart, and letting my mind review the shift.
I give a bed side report for the shift change relieving myself of the responsibilities of patient care.
I force my mouth into the right polite shape for the night-shift charge nurse.
I nod at an aid I barely recognize because turnover is constant and the life of a hospital swallows some people whole.
Then I walk. Through double doors. Through the hush of the lobby. Past the vending machines with their snacks. Past security, where the guard gives me a tired wave as he counts down his own shift to clock out time.
Outside, Arkansas early morning sky hits me as the sad reminder, I’m going home and he won’t be there.
There won’t be coffee together before getting Papa cleaned up and then climbing in bed for myself to get a little sleep before getting up and taking over his care at dinner.
Back to the same grind I had before meeting Miles.
The parking lot is lit in early morning sun rising as the overhead lights have cut out due to the timers. The air smells like wet asphalt and cut grass and something faintly metallic from the road. My car sits where I left it.
I’m already thinking about my grandfather, if he’s sleeping okay, if he’s going to wake up coughing and scared, if he’s going to need water or a hand on his shoulder or someone to tell him he’s home, he’s safe, and I’ll be there soon. It’s the same worry I have every morning when I head home.
Josie and Raff left a week ago. Miles left two weeks ago.
Miles.
The thought of him slides through me like warmth, like a hand at my lower back guiding me forward. We’ve been talking. Texting. Calling. Small pieces of our days traded back and forth like we’re building something out of fragments. It doesn’t fix the distance.
But it makes things more bearable.
I hit the unlock button on my key fob. My headlights blink. I walk closer, already fishing my keys out of my pocket. That’s when I see it.
My front tire is slumped. Not low. Not maybe I can drive until it warms up and expands. No, there right in front of my face, the tire was toast.
Completely flat.
My stomach drops.
I step closer, heart thumping harder now, and shine my phone light down at it as if it might change the visual in front of me. The rubber looks wrong, collapsed, like it’s given up. I move around to the passenger side, something inside me said to check it too.
A sharp, cold spike of adrenaline cuts through my exhaustion.
Two flat tires.
Not one. Two.
I stand there for a second, just staring, trying to make my brain compute it.
How? I drove here. I parked. Everything was fine.
Two.
My skin prickles. I turn slowly, scanning the lot like I’m going to see the answer standing under a lamp post.
There’s nobody close. A car pulls out near the far entrance. A nurse I don’t know crosses between buildings, head down, phone pressed to her ear. The rest is quiet.
Too quiet.
I swallow and make myself breathe. Okay.
Okay, Danae. Think. I could call roadside assistance, but that’s a coin flip this time of the day on how long I will have to wait.
I could call a tow company, but I’m already calculating money in my head like it’s a triage chart, what’s urgent, what can wait, and what will break the bank.
Taking the time off when Josie had Journey I depleted my savings.
While I still have some, I never know what may pop up for Papa.
I pay out of pocket for home health care since his insurance only covers a small portion of the time needed.
Obviously, I have to do something even if it means putting the cost on a credit card.
Before I could make the call, my phone vibrates in my hand.
Miles. Of course it’s Miles. Like the universe has a sick sense of timing and also, somehow, mercy.
I answer fast. “Hey.”
His voice comes through like gravel and warmth. “Hey, sweetheart. You off?”
“Yes,” I say, and the word comes out shaky.
“Danae.” His tone shifts instantly. “What’s wrong?”
I blink hard and try not to let the fear sound too loud. “It’s stupid. Just been a long shift. I went to my car and to head home. I’m gonna be a little late getting to Papa. I have two flat tires.”
There’s a beat of silence. Not because he doesn’t believe me. Because he’s already thinking.
“Two?” he repeats, low.
“Yes.”
“Where are you right now?”
“Hospital parking lot.”
“Are you alone?”
I look around again. “Yes.”
“You stay right there.” His voice is calm in a way that makes my chest loosen a fraction. “Listen to me. You go back inside the hospital. Sit where there are people. I’ll have someone to you within thirty minutes.”
My mouth opens. “Miles, you’re— you’re in North Carolina.”
“I know where the hell I am,” he says, and there’s something fierce under it. “I got people. You go inside and wait. Let your man be a man and trust I will get this handled.”
The way he says it—like it’s not a suggestion, like it’s the only safe answer—makes me want to cry. No one has ever protected me so fiercely.
Okay. This is ridiculous. I’m a grown woman. I handle life and death every night. But right now, in an empty parking lot with two flat tires, my hands cold around my phone, I don’t feel grown. I feel small. I feel fragile.
“I’m going inside,” I reply quietly. Part of me wants to stop all of this and tell him I’ll take care of myself. The other part of me, the woman wanting a protector and a partner is grateful for the man on the other end of the phone that sees my problem and takes over.
“Good.” I can hear him exhale, like he’s been holding his breath since I said two. “Tell me when you’re inside.”
“I will.”
I start walking back toward the entrance, keys clenched between my fingers like a weapon, phone pressed tight to my ear. I’m almost to the sidewalk when the door opens behind me.
“Danae.”
My spine goes rigid. I don’t need to turn to know that voice. Dr. Reeves. I make myself pivot slowly, like if I move too fast something worse will happen. He steps out into my space, white coat thrown over his arm like he’s just finishing up, like this is normal, like he belongs out here with me.
His smile is thin. Practiced. “Long night?” he asks.
“Yeah,” I say, keeping my voice neutral. My thumb stays on my phone screen. Miles is still on the line, quiet now.
Dr. Reeves’s gaze slides past me toward the lot. “Heading home?” he asks, as if he doesn’t already know the answer.
I don’t say anything. I decide to keep walking toward the doors again, forcing my legs to move.
“Danae,” he says again, faster. “Wait.”
I stop because my body betrays me. Because the part of me that was trained to be polite, to not escalate, to not make someone angry, still lives in my bones. I turn back.
He’s closer now. Not close-close, but closer than I want. “I saw you out there,” he says. “You looked distressed.”
My mouth is dry. Honesty is the best policy right? “My tires are flat.”
His eyebrows lift, like he’s surprised. Like he’s concerned.
“Tires? More than one?” he inquires.
“Yes.”
“That’s awful.” He shakes his head, slow. “Do you have someone coming?”
“I’ve got it handled,” I reply the truth.
His eyes narrow slightly. “It’s crazy early in the morning.”
“I know.”
He steps nearer, and the light catches his face in a way that makes his expression look sharper, harder. The friendliness doesn’t reach his eyes. “I can take you,” he says. “It’s no trouble.”
My pulse kicks. “No.”
He blinks. “No?”
“I’m fine,” I repeat, and I hate how my voice wobbles on the last word.
He tilts his head, like he’s trying to understand me. Like I’m the unreasonable one. “Danae,” he says, softer, and that softness makes my skin crawl. “Your grandfather needs you. You can’t just sit here waiting around.”
My throat tightens. He knows. Of course he knows. Everyone knows about my grandfather. Nurses talk. Doctors talk. Hospitals are small towns all their own with better lighting.
“I’m going inside,” I say, turning back toward the doors.
He moves with me, matching my pace.
“I can fix it,” he offers. “I can change a tire.”
“I said no.”
He laughs a little, like I’m being cute. Like I’m being dramatic. “Why are you so stubborn?” he asks frustration laced in his tone.
Because my gut is screaming. Because something about this feels wrong. Because it is wrong. “Miles,” I whisper into the phone, not looking down, not making it obvious. “You still there?”
His voice hits my ear like a lifeline. “Yeah. I hear him. I have someone on the way to you.”
My heart stutters. He’s been listening the whole time. I swallow hard, and without thinking I slide the phone down into my scrub pocket. Not hanging up. Just hiding it.
My hands are shaking, but my voice comes out steadier when I face Dr. Reeves again.
“I appreciate the offer,” I state, lying through my teeth, “but I’m not getting in your car.”