37. Kenny
Kenny
I stare at the paperwork in disbelief. “You’re discharging me? You kicking me out, Doc?”
Abrams spreads out his hands. “Everything about your stats are completely and utterly normal. I see no reason to keep pulling you in here every week. I think you’ve spent enough time in medical areas to last a lifetime.”
My smile slips. “But what if—,”
“Then you call, and we’ll take a look.” But he reaches for his pad, scribbles on it with his scrawl that I can never quite work out. “Here you go. One last recommendation.”
It’s almost a relief. The idea of being completely untethered makes me feel a little uncertain. I take the white slip of paper when he hands it out, glancing down.
And back at him. “You know, that might be the corniest thing I’ve ever heard. And I have four mates. They practically define corny.”
But I’m smiling at the word written out in spiky handwriting.
Live.
“Good advice, you’ll find.” He’s watching me. “I am one of the best at what I do, you know. And you’re well overdue for this particular dose, Kenny.”
My throat tightens as I smile at him. “Guess this is goodbye for now then, Doc.”
Abrams leans forward, his words conspiratorial. “Don’t tell anyone. But I’ve never been so relieved to discharge a patient.”
“I’m trying not to be offended by that.”
“You shouldn’t be,” he says quietly. “Not at all.”