Page 39 of Intersect
I hear shouting down the hall less than a minute later, and then the door is thrown open. Jeff storms in, freezing at the sight of me sitting beside Quinn. “Why the fuck are you here?” heasks.
I rise. Nothing seems to matter anymore. Not my job, not what happens after this. Only that Quinn walks out of this hospital again. “For the same reason I’ve always been here with her when you’re not. Because I’m the only one of us shewants.”
He lunges. There’s a security button on the wall. I could have back-up here to deal with him in a matter of seconds. But my mind empties. This hatred toward him…it’s been in me since the first night we met. And I want to expel all of it, right here, while I’ve got thechance.
He flies into me with his hands on my throat and the two of us topple to the ground. Within seconds, though, my fist makes impact, and I sling him off me, with his back to the floor. I could stop now, but it isn’t enough. When he groans at the second hit and stops fighting back at the third, it is still notenough.
Security rushes through the door. I should have stopped two punches ago, but it’s not until they grab me that I finally allow reason tointervene.
“You okay, Dr. Reilly?” asks one of them. They’re still holding my arms but it’s the way your buddy does when he’s pulling you out of afight.
I give him a stiff nod, breathing heavily more from anger than exertion as Irise.
The other security guard helps Jeff to his feet and starts pulling him away. “You’re dead, motherfucker,” Jeff says, turning back toward me when they reach the door. “I’m reporting you. You hear me? You’re going to lose yourjob.”
The words mean nothing to me. Maybe he’s right, but I’m already back in my seat, my fingers twining through Quinn’s, pleading with her to wakeup.
* * *
“Hey.”The word is raspy and uncertain. My head, resting against her hand, jolts upright. She is heavy-lidded, but there’s a weak smile on herface.
I haven’t cried since my brother died but I have to swallow hard to keep it at bay right now. My jaw clenches as I try to get a grip on this illogical twining of grief and joy. “You scared the shit out ofme.”
“Sorry,” she says. “You may need to get used to it.” Her hand reaches out, brushes my cheekbone. “Is that abruise?”
It’s been hours since the fight with Jeff. I’d almost forgotten. “I had a little scuffle with yourex.”
Her eyes open wide and she tries to sit up, but I gently push her shoulder back to the mattress. “It’s fine. Believe me, he looks a lot worse than I do. How do youfeel?”
“I feel great,” she says dismissively. “Are you okay? What happened withJeff?”
I smile. It’s so like her to regain consciousness worried aboutme. “I told you it was fine. You’re the one who’s in a hospital bed. Let’s focus onyou.”
She looks like she wants to argue but restrains it with a frown. “Did you already do an MRI?” sheasks.
God, I wish she hadn’t asked. Even her best-case scenario at this point is a shitty one, and I know she’ll see that no matter what I tell her. I stare fixedly at the bed rail, gripping her hand tighter. “Your tumor has doubled insize.”
She nods, lips pressed tight, trying to hold it together. “And what does thatmean?”
It means you could be dead in a week, in a day. It means the staff will be shocked you even woke up. God, I can’t tell her any of this. “It’s close to the point where it’s going to impact things—your memory, your gross motor function,” I reply. “I’m surprised it hasn’talready.”
I watch this sink in, and then her fingers tighten around mine. “That’s not how I want you to remember me,” she whispers, “so when it happens I want you to promise you’ll stay away. I’ll go to my mom’s when it gets to thatpoint.”
I sigh. If she thinks I’d ever consider that, she doesn’t know me at all. “I am not fucking leavingyou.”
“But—”
“Ask me a thousand times and the answer will still beno.”
“Such dedication,” she begins, brushing at her eyes, trying to make light of it. “It really must be true—” She stops herself, flushing at the conversation she’s opening up. A conversation she thinks would be ridiculous this early on. Except it isn’t ridiculous at all. I’ve been dying to say it forweeks.
“Love,” I reply, completing the sentence. My eyes hold hers. “Yeah. Itis.”
18
QUINN
Nick stays with me for hours, feeding me water through a straw like I’m an invalid. “I can hold my own cup,” I scold. “Or do all your patients get this level ofservice?”