Page 99 of The Embers That Remain

Jonah: If I say congrats, can I leave? Congrats.

Jonah leaves chat.

Landry adds Jonah back to chat.

Jonah: GIF of man being held hostage.

Lane: Thanks, guys. And for the record, nobody says neckin’ anymore except apparently senior citizens and now all of you.

Forty-Nine

Cali

The ER had finally reached that rare lull between chaos and complete disaster, the kind of quiet that never lasted long but gave everyone just enough time to remember they were tired. I was restocking supplies when I spotted Lacy at the nurses’ station finishing up charting. She looked exhausted despite the smile that was always quick to create dimples in her cheeks and brighten her whole face. Not the exhaustion that came from a long shift. This was deeper. The kind that burrowed deep beneath the skin and dulled the light behind someone’s eyes. The bruise near her wrist was gone, but my mind still caught on it every time she reached for something. I couldn’t stop seeing the way she flinched whenever her phone chimed or how her entire expression changed after certain patients left.

I grabbed two cups of coffee from the break room and slid one across the counter toward her—two sugars and enough cream that it barely qualified as coffee anymore. “You look like you could use this.”

A tired smile crossed her face. “You’re my favorite person today.”

“I’ll take it.”

She wrapped both hands around the cup and took a sip. For a moment, the two of us let the quiet exist between us. I decided to risk it. My thumb tapped against my coffee cup before I spoke. I’d learned the hard way there were no perfect words for moments like this. But I knew what it felt like when someone noticed and chose to show they cared.

“Have you ever heard of The Hope Center?”

Lacy glanced over. “The building by the library?”

I nodded. “Yeah.”

“Sure. Everybody’s heard of it.”

I leaned against the counter. “They’ve started offering free self-defense classes.”

One eyebrow lifted. “Self-defense?”

“Yep.”

“They teach you how to punch people?”

A laugh slipped out. “Probably. I haven’t taken one, but I was thinking about it.”

“Huh.” She took another sip of coffee, her eyes fixed on the cup while I watched interest flicker across her face.

“Apparently they’re really good.” I traced my thumb along the edge of my coffee cup. “If you ever wanted to go . . . I’d go with you.”

Lacy immediately narrowed her eyes. A small smile tugged at her mouth.

“You’re transparent, you know that?”

“I’ve been told.” The smile disappeared almost as quickly as it appeared. I lowered my gaze to my coffee, giving her the space to decide whether she wanted to keep talking. “You don’t have to tell me anything.”

Her shoulders relaxed slightly. “I know.”

Lacy stared into her cup. The quiet stretched long enough for the noise of the ER to fill the space between us—the beeping monitors, the rolling carts, the distant voices.

“He’s not always bad.”

The words were so quiet they almost disappeared. My chest constricted. I hated that sentence. Not because I was judging her. Because I’d heard versions of it before. The careful explanations. The reasons made for the person hurting them were rooted in the good moments, the moments they held onto with the hope that, someday, things would get better.