Faker - Sarah Smith Page 0,47
me.”
“But you don’t—”
“It’s true, and you know it. I fake like it doesn’t hurt my feelings when it does. I pretend like I don’t want to be your best work buddy, but I do.”
It’s cathartic to finally admit this to him. I wait for him to let go of my hand, but he holds on.
“It’s all fine. I can pretend like I don’t care.” When I admit it out loud, I want to cry. But I can’t. Not here in front of him, not now when I’m desperately grasping for my bearings in this postsurgery haze.
His fingers trace my cheek. My pain isn’t physical anymore. I need something more powerful than painkillers to ease it.
He takes my hand in both of his. My eyes are slits at this point, but I catch a glimpse of his head lowering down to the bed. His velvety lips press against the back of my hand, giving me the softest, most gentle kiss in the world. Instantly, I melt.
“Things could be different if we start being ourselves.” His gaze turns tender. He kisses my hand again.
I shake my head. “Maybe, but too much has happened. We’ve been jerks to each other for too long.”
“It doesn’t have to stay that way,” he says.
“We don’t know how to be anything else to each other.”
“That’s not true. Right here, right now, we’re not at all like we are at work. We’ve been so much better.”
He’s right. In this hospital, we’ve been so good to each other. But in a few hours it will end, and all I’ll have is a morphine-induced memory of him touching my hair, holding my hand, kissing my cheek, cuddling me to sleep. I should be thankful I’ve gotten this much.
I pinpoint him with drowsy eyes. “We’re in a vacuum. We can say and do whatever we want here in this hospital, but it’s not reality. How could we make this work in our normal lives?”
When he doesn’t say anything, I know I’m right. Even though I ache for him to tell me that I’m wrong, that he can be this kind person forever no matter where we are, it’s not possible. He can’t be something he’s not.
I close my eyes and let the silence bury me.
Tate’s husky voice cuts through to me. “Let’s stay here, then.”
“Ha.” I moan. “Impossible. My insurance won’t cover it.”
“Then let’s go away and start over. Fix ourselves, make things right, and then come back. We can be just like this, how we are now. How does that sound?”
I gaze up at him. I want it more than he knows. If we could figure out a way to be our kind selves in front of each other always, I would say yes in a heartbeat.
Tears brim behind my eyelids. I keep them closed until I know they won’t fall.
“More drugs, please,” I say.
“I’m serious.” His tone is impatient.
“I’m serious too.” My eyes are barely open.
His sigh is heavy, but still he holds my hand. Somehow no tears fall. I inhale with relief.
A getaway, a do-over with Tate so we can be friends or maybe even something more. If only it were that easy.
Closing my eyes, I turn my face to him and manage a whisper. “I’m in. Let’s do it.”
Tense silence fills the space between us. Despite my words, the anxiety bubble in my chest is about to burst. I can’t bear to sit in the same room with him anymore, staring at him until I’m discharged. I’ve said too much, he knows all my dirt, and I am officially exposed.
I clear my throat. “You don’t have to stay here. I’m not getting discharged until tomorrow morning anyway.”
He lets go of my hand and skims the railing. “It’s fine. I want to.”
“I can call Kaitlin or someone else to take me home.”
“That’s not necessary. I brought you here. I’ll drive you home.” He sounds surprised that I would suggest such an idea.
“Don’t you want to go home and rest? Aren’t you hungry? I haven’t seen you eat since you’ve been at the hospital.”
“I’m okay.” He shrugs. When he leans back against the wall, he lets out a tired sigh. Even in the trenches of exhaustion, he’s exquisitely handsome.
“Go get something to eat. Please.” I try for a gentle tone. “And after that, feel free to go home and shower or whatever.”
His face falls. “Okay, then.” He walks out of the room.
I let out a breath, thankful to be alone again, but I’m itching to get the hell out