Page 86 of When the Smoke Clears

“I’m a registered nurse,” she says, straightening, shoulders squaring with the letters she’s earned. “Critical care and pediatrics.”

He nods once, a decision instant. “I don’t care how aggressive it is. I want him out of this place. I’ll make it happen.”

“I’m coming home,” I murmur to Isla, giving her a wink I hope looks braver than I feel.

“I’ll go speak to the staff,” she says, already halfway to the door, her voice shifting to professional—clear, warm, in charge. “And to your dad. We’ll get what we need.”

Eden glances at her watch. “I should get back to the bakery. I have a delivery.”

She tucks the cookie into the giant box it arrived in and sets it on the side table. “Call me if you need more therapy.”

“Wait up, Sunshine,” Sav says, before leaning down and kissing my cheek. “I’ll check in later. Don’t be stubborn.”

She pins Gabe with a look. “Watch him.”

“Always,” Gabe says, and for once I don’t argue.

When the door closes behind them, I fight the bed to sit higher. The transfusion has done more than put color back in the world. I feel almost human again, if human means my shoulder is a hornet’s nest and my head is wrapped in a slow, cotton storm.

“You ready to come home?” Gabe asks, pushing off the wall.

“More than ready.”

“Good. Because your father’s money and Isla’s credentials are a terrifying combo.”

I grimace. “Did you set everything up?”

“We did.” He grins. “And by ‘we’ I mean Isla cleaned like a Navy inspection, and I pretended to be useful.”

“I hope she’s okay playing nurse.” The admission comes out smaller than I intended.

“The only thing that woman wants is to be near you,” Gabe says. No tease, just truth. “Don’t overcomplicate this.”

“It’s complicated.”

He spreads his hands. “Find me one relationship that isn’t. The only thing in your way is the two of you.”

“And possibly a person who wants us dead.”

He flicks imaginary dust off his sleeve. “Details.”

I stare at the ceiling tiles, counting the faint flecks in the paint until my heartbeat stops trying to kick its way out. “I’ll talk to her when⁠—”

“Don’t wait too long,” he cuts in, voice gone level. “Trust me. Good women don’t wait forever.”

The door opens again. My father returns with Isla on his heels. Her cheeks flush pink from whatever battlefield she just crossed, but her eyes are clear.

“We’re all set,” she says, professional sliding into tender. “Discharge in a few hours.”

“The doctor agreed?” I ask.

“In the end, he saw it my way,” my father says, smoothing his tie. “Though it wouldn’t have mattered.”

“Can I leave it to you to get him home?” he asks Gabe, already halfway turned. “Your mother took a sleeping pill and missed this entire fiasco. She’ll want me home when she wakes.”

She’s going to kill him. I almost smile. “Thanks, Dad.”

He nods, and for the briefest moment, something like relief loosens his jaw before he disappears.