A corner of his mouth lifts. “He’s persistent.”
“He says it builds character,” I add.
His smile deepens, and the tightness in my chest eases even further.
“Of course he does.”
He slips his arms into his coat, but his eyes don’t leave mine. Not like they’ve avoided me before.
“I wanted to say …” He stops, his jaw tightening, like he’s choosing his words carefully. “You did good work yesterday.”
The compliment catches me off guard.
We both close our lockers and walk out of the room together before moving down the hall.
“Thank you,” I reply softly. “I was just doing my job.”
He shakes his head. “You were doing more than that.”
Heat creeps up my neck, and I glance up at him. His eyes must catch my reaction to his compliment, as they focus intently on where I feel warm and flush.
“Frank makes it easy,” Ifinally reply.
His throat bobs as he swallows, and then he looks forward. “Still,” he says, “not everyone knows how to meet patients where they are.”
“You do,” I state, the words slipping out before I can stop them.
His expression shifts. A flicker passes through his eyes—closer to recognition than anything else.
“That comes with time.”
“And loss,” I add quietly.
He stops and holds my gaze for a moment that feels like time has stopped. “Yes,” he says, “it does.”
A beat passes, and then he stands up straight.
“Ready?” he asks, gesturing toward the door.
I nod. “Yeah.”
We both walk into Frank’s room, him leading in front of me. Frank looks up the second we enter, eyes bright despite the lines fatigue has carved into his face.
“Well, if it isn’t my two favorite people,” he says. “And before you ask … yes, the pain is still winning.”
I sigh, already moving to his IV pole. “Good morning to you too, Frank.”
“Morning, sunshine,” he says easily. “You’re looking suspiciously cheerful for a place that smells like antiseptic and broken dreams.”
Colton shakes his head. “You’ve been awake for five minutes.”
“And I’ve hated all of them,” he fires back.
I bite my lip, trying not to laugh as I check his line. “Your vitals are stable. Pain meds are working.”
“Working is generous,” he says. “I’d say mildly inconveniencing the pain.”
Colton steps closer to the bed, scanning his chart. “You’re maxed out on what I’m comfortable increasing right now.”