Faker - Sarah Smith Page 0,42

should be home resting. You don’t want to end up in the room next to me, do you?” I wink, and she lets out an exasperated sigh. “As soon as I get out of surgery, Tate will text or call you.”

“You are too stubborn, you know that? You’re lucky I love you.”

“And I love you. Thanks for checking on me.”

She leans down to give me a kiss on the cheek. She waves bye and stops at the door, smiling at an unseen person before walking out. Tate walks in the moment she’s gone.

“She’s nice,” he says before sipping his coffee.

“She is. She’s the best.”

He scoots his chair closer to the bed.

“Why did you make her leave?”

“I didn’t need her to stay. It’s not necessary.” I close my eyes. “Also, thanks for eavesdropping, by the way. Good call hanging right by the open door like that.”

“I wasn’t eavesdropping.”

“You’re quite good at it during work hours. Why not do it at the hospital too?” I keep my eyes shut, thinking back to when Tate overheard me flirting with Jamie.

“I guess I deserved that.” He sighs heavily, then gulps. “I gotta know, why do you do that?”

“Do what?”

“Pretend like you’re fine when you’re not? Like you don’t need anyone’s help even though you do? Like you’re some tough-as-nails warrior who is above other people helping you? You do it at work. You did it at the worksite. You did it with Kaitlin just now.” He’s not accusatory. He sounds more curious than anything.

I open my eyes. The dull ache creeps back to my side. I press the morphine button before it has a chance to grow into full-fledged pain.

“Because I’m full of shit.”

“No, you’re not.”

I shrug.

“Then explain why. I don’t get it at all.”

This gentle back-and-forth is new. We’re not arguing. Things aren’t tense between us. We’re simply having a casual conversation about the root cause of my behavior. I don’t know how much longer I’ll last, though. I’m dead tired and aching. I’m sliding back and forth between normal reality and the slow-motion one that takes over whenever another dose of morphine glides through my veins.

“Of course it would be nice if Kaitlin stayed longer, but she’s not feeling well and her baby’s sick. What kind of a jerk best friend would I be if I made her stay with me when she’s dealing with all that?”

I let my eyes wander over him. His head is drooped slightly, and he’s staring at the coffee cup in his hand.

“And as far as work goes, come on. You couldn’t fathom why I would try to be tough and unfeeling in a workplace staffed by mostly gruff men? I have to be that way. If I were myself, I wouldn’t survive.”

“No ‘try.’ You are strong and tough. Give yourself some credit.”

I think he’s trying to coax personal information out of me by being nice. It’s working.

“It’s pretty damn cute, though. Your face, the way you reset it before you respond to people sometimes. Like your natural expression happens first, then you have to remind yourself to act hard.” He follows with the hint of a smile. It’s gone after a second.

I have to look away, I’m so flustered. I had no idea that he even noticed. I wonder when he picked up on it. And I wonder if other people notice too.

“It must be exhausting, doing that all the time.”

I sigh but say nothing. It used to be. I used to have to jog after work or chat with Addy or Kaitlin to crawl back to my real self. Now, it’s like slipping into a second skin.

“You have me figured out. Congrats.” I attempt to sound bored, like I couldn’t care less that he’s noticed this telling habit of mine, but I’d bet anything he can decipher my real tone.

I try to scoot out of bed, but Tate leads me gently back against the pillows. “What are you doing?”

“I have to pee.”

He squints at me.

“I do.”

He helps me out of bed and to the bathroom. Behind the door, I breathe deeply to steady myself. It’s my go-to boss-bitch exercise, but I need it to work now. I can’t afford to freak out. I need to keep my heartbeat and breathing under control. Going into surgery with an off-the-charts heart rate while hyperventilating can’t be good. When I crawl back into bed, I press the button to my morphine drip for the millionth time.

“You’re doing it again,” Tate says.

“Doing what?”

“Breathing slowly, resetting, trying to mask your