Frank smiles faintly. “He hasn’t.”
As I leave the room, Aubrey’s voice drifts into my thoughts.“He’s been through a lot.”
I didn’t press her for details. Didn’t want to cross a line. But now, watching Colton disappear piece by piece behind that carefully constructed control, I find myself wondering …
What happened to him?
What kind of loss carves someone this deeply?
And how close is he to breaking under the weight of it all?
It’s the silence that gives him away.
Not the absence of words because Colton has always been measured with those, but the way he seems to exist, several steps removed from everything around him now. He moves through the floor like he’s behind glass, present but unreachable, his focus narrowed to the point of sharpness.
I see it in the way nurses glance at him and then quickly look away. In the way residents straighten when he enters a space but hesitate before speaking. He’s always commanded respect, but now he commands distance.
I don’t know if this is who he is during a difficult time in this department and others are used to it or if this is something new.
Frank’s room has become the one place Colton seems to dread.
I watch him pause outside the door one afternoon, tablet tucked against his chest, his shoulders lifting with a slow inhale before he steps inside. It’s the kind of breath you take before diving underwater.
Frank notices immediately.
“Well,” Frank says, looking him up and down, “you look like hell.”
Colton’s mouth tightens. “Good afternoon to you too.”
“Don’t get snippy,” Frank replies. “I’m just saying, you used to look at me like I was mildly entertaining. Now you look at me like I’m a problem you can’t solve.”
Colton checks the monitor, deliberately avoiding Frank’s eyes. “How are you feeling today?”
“Tired,” Frank says. “Still funny though.”
Diane smiles softly from the chair beside him. “He’s been practicing.”
“I don’t practice,” Frank says. “I perform.”
Colton nods, scrolling through the chart. “Your labs are back.”
Frank watches his face carefully. “And?”
“They’ve continued to trend down,” Colton says, voice level.
Frank exhales, long and slow. “There it is.”
The room feels smaller suddenly.
“I know that look,” Frank continues. “That’s the one you get when you’re mad at yourself.”
Colton finally looks at him. “This isn’t about me.”
“Everything is about you,” Frank says mildly. “That’s your problem.”
I hold my breath.
Diane clears her throat gently. “Frank.”