“I’m not going anywhere,” he said, using his thumb to wipe my tears.
My mind flashed back to the crash, feeling his hand in mine. “You’ve said that before … after the accident.”
Josh thought for a moment and then breathed out a small laugh. “See? I meant it.”
“Even if you didn’t know it at the time.”
“I meant it then.” He bent down to kiss my lips. “And I mean it now.”
I smiled. “Wouldn’t be the first time someone promised to stick around. Sometimes you have to let go, whether you want to or not.”
“Not me.” He gestured toward the frame on my nightstand. “Why don’t you ever talk about them? Why don’t they call?”
I thought carefully about my answer. Giving away that part of me was a bigger step than key rings or cars. “My dad was driving my mom and me to dinner after high school graduation. We were laughing, making plans. All I remember after that was flashing lights.”
His eyebrows turned in, and he swallowed. “How bad were you hurt?”
“Concussion. I was unconscious for twenty or so minutes.” The news bothered him. I touched his face. “What?”
He shook his head. “The thought of you being hurt and alone in the car with your … your parents.”
I looked away. “They were ejected. Mom died instantly. Dad went quickly. I didn’t see them until the firefighters cut me out of the car.”
“I won’t say you were lucky, but …”
“Good. Don’t. I hate it when people say that.”
He kissed my forehead. “Okay. Then I’ll say I’m lucky. You survived. Twice. And now you’re here.”
I bit my lip. “You don’t have to keep saying all of these perfect things. All you have to do is stay.”
He scanned my face, staring down at me like he wanted to pick up every broken piece anyone had ever left behind. “I’ll do both.”
“Happy birthday to you,” Deb sang, handing me a cupcake with pink icing.
I sniffed. “Strawberry shortcake?”
“You know it.” She winked.
“Thank you, Deb.”
I stopped in the center of the hallway, mid-step, closing my eyes tight. “Damn it.”
“What?” Deb said, frozen.
“I’m either going to have to wear a pad or start bringing a change of panties.”
“Was that Josh’s present to you?” Her nose wrinkled. “Maybe you should stop being a cum dumpster.”
“Actually, it was breakfast in bed, a scarf, and a heart key ring, and four months ago, you were begging me for details!” I said, offended.
“Four months ago, I wasn’t getting laid. I have my own dirty sexcapades to get me through the day now, thank you very much.”
I pointed at her. “You and Quinn? Since when?”
“Since I fucked him that one time.”
“That one time,” I deadpanned.
“Do you feel that?” she asked.
“Feel what?”
“The jealousy you’re feeling for my amazing and very regular sex life. No, it’s okay. Keep at it. It feels nice.”
“I’m, um … going to the fourth floor.”
Deb shot me a look of disgust. “For someone who hates babies, you sure like hanging out in the maternity ward.”
“I don’t hate them. The newborns are actually kind of calming. I make up stories about what kind of lives they’ll lead and what they’ll do when they grow up.”
“You’re freakin’ weird,” she said, and then headed for the waiting room.
I stopped at the elevator and pressed the up button. Dr. Rosenberg was already inside, holding a tall Yeti mug full of coffee. Steam puffed from the spout, and he waved it away with the thin stack of papers in his other hand. He was immediately uncomfortable, and he stepped aside, giving me plenty of room.
“Doctor,” I said.
He nodded, pretending to look over the papers in his hands.
“Everything okay?” I asked.