Until We Fly (Beautifully Broken 4)

“I just wanted to check on you,” Nora tells me now hesitantly. “I feel responsible and I wanted to help. So I told them they might want to call your mother. You didn’t have any contacts listed in your wallet, and your phone was password protected.”

My mother? I stopped listening to her words as soon as she mentioned my mother.

“Why would they call my mother?” I ask stupidly. Nora shakes her head in confusion.

“Because you were here alone. I didn’t know who else to call. I thought you might want a family member…” her voice trails off as she stares at my face. “I see now that I was wrong. I’m so sorry. I was just trying to help.”

She was. I’m sure of that.

But calling my mother was the furthest possible thing from helping.

“Did she even bother to come?” I ask tiredly. I’d driven twelve hours to get here because she summoned me, and I doubt my mother even bothered to come to the hospital.

Nora shakes her head hesitantly. “She told the nurse that she’d come pick you up when you were released.”

Yet I’d gone into surgery with a nicked artery. For all she knew, I could’ve died on the table and she still didn’t come.

Why does that surprise me? She didn’t bother to call and check on me when I was on the battlefields in Afghanistan, either.

Nausea rolls through my stomach and I swallow hard.

“Well, that’s not a surprise. Thank you for trying to help, Ms. Greene. I appreciate it. I know you must be tired. You don’t need to stay with me.”

She lifts her blue eyes. “Call me Nora.”

I nod. “Okay. Thanks for checking on me, Nora. I’m glad you’re all right.”

Her eyes soften, glistening with something I can’t name. “Thank you for making me okay. You pulled me out, Brand. If it weren’t for you…”

I interrupt. “If I hadn’t pulled you out, someone else would’ve.”

She shrugs. “Maybe. But either way, thank you. I’m going to check on you again tomorrow.”

Something soft lives in her eyes, but then she hides it. I should tell her not to come, I should tell her to not even bother. But the soft look in her eyes, that fleeting expression, kills the words on my tongue. She seems like a person who doesn’t let that softness shine through often.

Instead, I nod. “I’m sure I’ll still be here.”

I glance down at my leg and sigh heavily. Nora almost flinches.

“I hope you get some rest,” she says as she walks out. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

She walks toward the open door, and I watch her hips gently sway until she abruptly stops in the doorway. She turns and looks at me, her gaze meeting mine. Electricity jolts between us, between her soft gaze and my own.

Hers holds a promise. I’ll be back.

For some reason, I like that. Maybe because I’m from a world where there were never any promises, where tomorrow was never expected or hoped for, where parents don’t even show up at the hospital.

Whatever.

I shouldn’t encourage her. I’m not going to be here for long.

So I look away, breaking our gaze.

I know she walks away because I can feel the absence of her stare. I glance back, and sure enough, she’s gone.

Oddly, I feel alone now.

I don’t really even know her, but now that she’s gone, I feel alone.