Page 28 of Parallel

“I guess you don’t watch a lot of Teen Titans. She’s the hot one.”

I find myself smiling despite my good intentions. “Do you rank the hotness of all female cartoon characters, or just on select shows?”

He laughs low, under his breath. “I keep an Excel spreadsheet. It’s not as comprehensive as I’d like, but I have a demanding job. So yes or no?”

Every bone in my body screams no, but what am I supposed to say? It’s a dying child’s request. And as long as Nick isn’t there, how much harm could it do? His days start early, so there’s no way he’s staying until six for a patient’s birthday party. “Yes, I’d be happy to.”

“Cool,” he says softly. “I’ll let her know. See you in a few hours.”

Well, shit.

I walk through the lobby of the hospital, trying to convince myself I’m not nervous, not excited. That the girl I see in the mirror as I wait for the elevator—the one with the bright eyes and flushed cheeks—is no different than the one I see each day.

I am here to see Darcy. I am doing a nice thing for a sick child. Nothing more.

I can repeat these words a thousand times, but it doesn’t change the fact that I am moving faster than I should, my feet skittering through the halls at twice their normal speed.

Darcy’s door is open. Before I even set foot inside, I hear Nick’s low, reluctant laugh. It flares deep in my stomach like a hundred votive candles lit at once. My mouth twitches toward a smile against my will and I pin it down by force.

I step into the room and for a moment, he is all I see. His grin, that dimple, the way something changes in his expression when his eyes lock on mine, like a predator who’s spotted what he wants before even he realizes it. His smile doesn’t lessen but simply morphs, becoming a private thing only for me. It’s the smile he had before he flipped me on my back in Paris. I think of that mouth of his sliding over my skin and I can feel it, the way he tugged each nerve ending to the surface.

“Quinn!” shouts Darcy, breaking the spell. She’s in bed, sitting with Nick and a woman I assume is her mother.

My smile for her is flustered and slightly panicked. Why the hell am I thinking rated-R thoughts about a stranger at a party for a dying child?

“Hello, Birthday Girl,” I say, handing her the wrapped gift pressed to my chest.

Her eyes go round as dinner plates. “You didn’t have to get me a present. It’s not my real birthday.”

I grin at her, and for just a moment—thank God—I’m able to forget the man sitting on the other side of her bed. “There’s no reason whole birthdays should get all the fun,” I reply, wondering what the odds are of her making it to age eight. She’s obviously still getting chemo. That must mean there’s some hope left, right?

Nick introduces me to Christy, Darcy’s mom, as Darcy tears the wrapping paper. Acquiring this present in such a short period of time was no small feat, so I hope I chose well.

She inhales sharply as she pulls the purple satin from the box. “Raven’s cape! And face mask!”

I smile wide at her enthusiasm, and as her mother helps her put on the mask, my eyes go to Nick. He is watching me again, neither smiling nor unsmiling. He doesn’t look away when my gaze meets his.

“Thank you!” Darcy cries. She launches across the bed to give me a tight hug, tiny arms wrapping around my neck. The fierceness of the action has me swallowing down a lump in my throat. Have I ever thrown myself that wholeheartedly at anything in my life? I’m not sure I have.

“I don’t know when the nurses are coming in,” says Darcy’s mom, “so maybe we should do cake.”

I move to the chair next to Nick’s while Christy places candles on the cake they’ve somehow procured. “How on earth did you find that cape on such short notice?” he asks quietly.

By calling twenty toy stores and taking a profoundly expensive Uber ride to Silver Spring during my lunch break. I shrug. “Just saw it.”

His gaze is steady, his mouth ticking upward at the side. “Is that right?”

I can’t seem to look away. What the hell is happening between the two of us tonight? I need to make it stop, whatever it is, but I don’t want it to stop.

Christy begins singing “Happy Birthday” and I finally break the connection, joining the song just as the cake is placed on Darcy’s bedside table.

“But that’s eight and a half candles,” says Darcy.

“Seven and a half, plus one to grow on,” says her mom, blinking back tears.

Darcy falters before she gives us a too-wide smile, and I swallow hard. The sight of them, forcing themselves to be brave and cheerful for the other, makes me want to run a thousand miles away.

Christy cuts the cake into massive slices and passes plates to me and Nick. Grief weighs me down. It’s a struggle to move the fork to my mouth.