Page 27 of What We Become

“I’ll stay,” Eli says before Micah or Knox can volunteer. “You two go. You need rest too.”

Micah and Knox don’t argue. Micah squeezes my hand. “I’ll bring you that raspberry Danish later, baby girl.” He presses his mouth to my temple. “Be good for the doctor.”

“Doc McStuffins,” I say, making him smile.

“That’s one.”

Knox is next. He stands over me for a moment, taking my hand between both of his, his warm brown eyes steady on mine.

“I won’t go far,” he says, brushing his lips over my knuckles.

“I know.”

He sets my hand down gently, pats it lightly. Then walks to the door and stops. He doesn’t turn around, but his hand grips the frame hard.

“Eli,” Knox says.

“Yeah.”

“Take care of her.”

“I will.”

Knox nods once. The door closes behind him.

And then it’s just me and Eli and Dr. Shahid, who is already pulling on his gloves.

EIGHT

ELI

Dr. Shahid works in silence. Vitals. Lungs. The dressings on her wrists. The chemical burns streaking her legs. I stand by the window and try not to catalog every mark on Sage’s body as evidence of something I failed to prevent.

I catalog them anyway.

“Looking good overall,” Shahid says, replacing the last dressing with clean gauze. “Her lungs are clearer than I expected. The steroids are doing their job, and her oxygen saturation is holding steady.” He makes a note on his clipboard. “I want to keep her another few days for observation. The pulmonary edema risk doesn’t fully clear for forty-eight to seventy-two hours, but I’m cautiously optimistic.”

“Can I shower?” Sage asks. “I still smell like a chemical plant and my hair feels awful.”

“Showering is fine. The rib’s the one that’ll argue with you. Support it when you cough, don’t lift anything, and don’t be brave about the pain—brave gets you a lung infection. Keep the wrist dressings on. I’ll replace them afterward.” He glances at me. “Take the oxygen off for the shower, but put it back on immediately after. No longer than fifteen minutes.”

“I can breathe on my own for longer than fifteen minutes,” Sage argues.

Shahid’s brows lift to his hairline. “You can barely sit upright, Miss Adams.”

She glares at him over the oxygen mask.

Shahid’s mouth twitches. “I can get you a nurse to assist, or⁠—”

“I’ve got her.”

He looks at me. Then Sage.

She nods.

“If she becomes dizzy, short of breath, or her color changes, press the call button immediately.” He disconnects the monitor leads and IV line, caps the port, then tapes it against the back of her hand. “The emergency button is beside the shower rail.”

“Understood.”