Does he think this is all in good fun? Am I the only one battling this internal monologue that tells me that things are moving quickly?
Frank is propped up in bed when I enter his room, the afternoon light slanting through the window behind him. His TV is on, muted, some daytime talk show flashing by unnoticed.
“There she is,” he says, plastering on a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “My favorite nurse.”
“Careful,” I tease. “Trudy will hear you.”
“She knows she’s second place,” he replies weakly.
I step closer, scanning the monitors out of habit. His vitals are stable, but I can see it. It’s the subtle changes. The way his shoulders seem to sink a little more into the mattress. The way his color is slightly off.
“How are you feeling today?” I ask gently.
“Like I ran a marathon in my sleep,” he says. “And lost.”
I force a small smile, but my eyes drift back to his chart. Labs. Trends. Numbers I’ve been watching closely over the last few weeks.
They aren’t improving.
Treatment after treatment, adjustment after adjustment, and still, his body isn’t responding the way we hoped. The knowledge sits heavy in my chest, unwelcome and unavoidable.
Frank watches my face carefully. He’s always been perceptive.
“That bad, huh?” he asks quietly.
I meet his gaze. “You’re tired,” I say honestly. “More than usual.”
He exhales. “Yeah, I am.”
There’s a beat of silence between us. The kind that carries more than words.
“But,” he adds, lifting a finger, “I’m still handsome. And charming. And statistically speaking, annoying.”
I laugh, grateful for the levity. “All very true.”
“I heard you laughing in the break room earlier,” he says casually. “With Dr. Broody.”
I feel heat creep up my neck. “You have excellent hearing for someone who claims he’s exhausted.”
“Occupational hazard,” he replies. “When you spend this much time lying around, you pick up on things.”
I busy myself, rearranging his IV line, giving myself something to do with my hands. “He’s not broody.”
Frank snorts. “Please. That man looks like he’s constantly restraining himself from either yelling at someone or kissing them.”
I freeze for half a second.
Frank’s eyes sparkle. “Which is it?”
I shake my head, smiling despite myself. “You’re impossible.”
“And yet,” he says softly, “you’ve been happier lately.”
That stops me.
I glance back at him. “Do I look happy?”
He nods. “You do. Lighter.”