Page 130 of Aftershock
One last kiss, and he disappears down the hall. As I watch him leave, the heavy feeling from earlier fades.
Now, I can finally focus on digging into the facial recognition apps and figuring out who the man in Alaric’s storage unit is.
Can’t wait.
28
ALARIC
The charting area sits just off trauma.
Inside it, a row of computers lines the wall beneath harsh fluorescent lights. Empty coffee cups crowd the counter. Someone’s pager goes off down the hall before falling silent again.
And then there’s me. Fresh out of a quick shower, hair still damp, I go through patient charts one after another. My fingers move automatically across the keyboard as I review test results, sign notes, and finalize discharges.
To an outsider, it might seem like I’m just doing my job.
On any other day, they’d be right.
Not this evening.
This evening, other than working, I’m waiting for Lilith’s call.
A quiet sense of satisfaction threads through me when my thoughts slide back to earlier.
Between cases, while the rest of our staff gulped down coffee, I ordered her gifts from my phone. But there were things I couldn’t order online. Hence, the short break I took to drop them off at her apartment myself.
Thankfully, when I got to her doorstep, everything else had already been delivered. All I had to do was let myself in with the spare key she’d given me and arrange everything on her kitchen counter exactly the way I pictured it.
Any minute now, she’ll find them there, if she hasn’t already.
The gifts that prove, even on my busiest days, she’s at the forefront of my mind. Tattooed into my head.
Mine.
The selfish part of me wishes I could be there to watch her go through each one. The widening of her eyes, the soft parting of her lips, how her breath will quicken. I want that more than anything.
But these gifts aren’t for me. They’re for her.
She deserves to walk through the door and uncover each one of them on her own, without me hovering. Without my presence shaping her reaction.
For years, her light was dimmed, her spirit silenced. No more.
I refuse to let her worry about thanking me before she opens the boxes and bags.
Next time, I’ll be there. Just not tonight.
So here I am.
Typing, typing, typing. Sipping stale coffee. Typing.
My phone rests beside my mouse.
Face up.
I steal a glance at it, because, dammit. Even though I took a quick shower, she should’ve been home already.
Nothing.
