Page 94 of Her Ex-Husband's Brother
Sometimes six, because the room tilts.
There’s a knock, and the door opens before I answer.
A tech stands in the gap. Marcus. He’s one of the better ones. He doesn’t talk to me like I’m five or like he’s trying to coax a rabid dog out from under a porch.
“August?”
I stop pacing. The floor takes another half second to stop moving.
“What?”
“Someone’s here to see you.”
My heart punches hard against my ribs.
Lennon.
It has to be Lennon.
She found me. She figured out where they took me. Maybe she got someone to listen. Maybe she brought a lawyer, or proof, or Owen, though no, she wouldn’t bring Owen here. She’d never let him see me like this.
Still, the thought comes bright and huge.
Lennon. Bright angel in the darkness.
“Am I leaving?”
Marcus hesitates.
That hesitation should tell me everything.
Instead, hope floods through the medicated sludge in my veins.
“There are some things that need to be discussed,” he says. “Your discharge plan. Transportation. Where you’d be staying.”
“I can stay with her.”
“We’ll talk about it out there.”
I look down at myself. Hospital pants. Rubber-soled socks. No belt. No shoelaces. My shirt hangs crooked because I missed one of the buttons.
I’m immediately flushed with embarrassment and feel like half a man.
“Can I have my clothes?”
“Not yet.”
“But I’m leaving.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You said discharge.”
“I said your discharge plan.”
The distinction scratches at something in my brain, but I can’t catch it. My thoughts keep multiplying before I can finish any of them.
Maybe this is the step before leaving.
