to think of anything to backpedal his awkwardness, he went back to sipping his coffee. It was cold and if possible even more bitter with each passing swallow. “Sorry. I suck at this.”
“Waiting?” Connor studied his face, and Forest shifted in his chair, uncomfortable under the man’s assessing gaze.
“Small talk,” he mumbled back. “I’m a drummer. I’m used to waiting. All we do is wait while the precious guitarists and lead singers talk about their harmony line and if the lyrics say what they truly mean.”
“Oh, I so know what you mean. I know a couple of musicians. They babble a lot. It’s like listening to two magpies discuss how they’re going to divide up a piece of bread.” Connor’s grin was a flash of bright white in his tanned face. “You’re doing fine at the small talk. It’s shite and a half waiting for the doctor to come out. Worst thing in the world, really. Even if you know someone’s going to be okay, it’s a worry.”
T HE WAIT was over. For someone, anyway. The double doors blocking off access to the surgery ward opened, and a tired-looking Bengali woman in a white coat emerged. Smiling in the general direction of the waiting area, she called out in a softly accented voice, “Who is here for Jules Desmond?”
Forest stood up.
But then so did four other people at the far end of the room, including a brawny young man in old jeans and a faded T-shirt advertising an Irish pub near one of the piers. His eyes were red and a bit swollen, his nose rough from being wiped, but the look on his face—a blend of expectant and fret—slipped into confusion when he spotted Forest responding to Jules’s name.
“Wait, who the hell are you?” the man snapped, stepping closer to Forest.
He was surprised to see other people waiting for Jules—people he’d assumed belonged to one of the other victims. It shouldn’t have been a shock—Jules spoke endlessly about her boyfriend, Randy, and how he loved her or about what she did with her friends on her days off. His mind knew these people existed, but apparently it refused to believe people weren’t as alone in the world as he was. With Franklin gone, he didn’t really have anyone left in his life, other than a few loose friendships and the coffee shop’s staff.
A response to the man was forming in the back of his brain when Connor moved in between them, blocking the way.
“He’s her boss. From the shop.” Connor caught Randy’s growl and threw it back at him, forcing the man to take a step back.
“Oh, Forest, right?” The man’s attention shifted between the doctor and Forest. “Sorry, it was really nice of you to come. Really. Most bosses wouldn’t have. It means a lot. Things have just been—”
“Shit,” Forest supplied. “Yeah, I get it. It’s all good—”
“Yeah. Really. I’m sorry. Things are just a bit tense.” He waved at the doctor. “Let me see what she’s got to say, and I’ll be right back.”
Forest stood there, rooted in place as he sifted through his emotions. Everything came at him too hard, too fast, and he swallowed, needing to look away from Randy’s head bending slightly so he could hear the much shorter doctor while they spoke. Randy’s smile nearly wrapped around his ears, and as the doctor disappeared back into the depths of the surgical ward, he turned to the cluster of waiting people and enveloped as many of them as he could in a fierce group hug.
Their elated voices drowned out the murmur of the hospital, stealing away the power of beeps and shushing noises coming from the air-conditioning units. Even the faint whoop of a siren creeping through a bank of double-paned windows drowned under the sound of Jules’s friends celebrating her prognosis—while Forest stood and watched.
“I’ve got to get out of here.” Forest turned, blindly searching for an exit out of the room—hell, he’d want an exit out of the city if it meant he didn’t have to examine why the edges of
“Waiting?” Connor studied his face, and Forest shifted in his chair, uncomfortable under the man’s assessing gaze.
“Small talk,” he mumbled back. “I’m a drummer. I’m used to waiting. All we do is wait while the precious guitarists and lead singers talk about their harmony line and if the lyrics say what they truly mean.”
“Oh, I so know what you mean. I know a couple of musicians. They babble a lot. It’s like listening to two magpies discuss how they’re going to divide up a piece of bread.” Connor’s grin was a flash of bright white in his tanned face. “You’re doing fine at the small talk. It’s shite and a half waiting for the doctor to come out. Worst thing in the world, really. Even if you know someone’s going to be okay, it’s a worry.”
T HE WAIT was over. For someone, anyway. The double doors blocking off access to the surgery ward opened, and a tired-looking Bengali woman in a white coat emerged. Smiling in the general direction of the waiting area, she called out in a softly accented voice, “Who is here for Jules Desmond?”
Forest stood up.
But then so did four other people at the far end of the room, including a brawny young man in old jeans and a faded T-shirt advertising an Irish pub near one of the piers. His eyes were red and a bit swollen, his nose rough from being wiped, but the look on his face—a blend of expectant and fret—slipped into confusion when he spotted Forest responding to Jules’s name.
“Wait, who the hell are you?” the man snapped, stepping closer to Forest.
He was surprised to see other people waiting for Jules—people he’d assumed belonged to one of the other victims. It shouldn’t have been a shock—Jules spoke endlessly about her boyfriend, Randy, and how he loved her or about what she did with her friends on her days off. His mind knew these people existed, but apparently it refused to believe people weren’t as alone in the world as he was. With Franklin gone, he didn’t really have anyone left in his life, other than a few loose friendships and the coffee shop’s staff.
A response to the man was forming in the back of his brain when Connor moved in between them, blocking the way.
“He’s her boss. From the shop.” Connor caught Randy’s growl and threw it back at him, forcing the man to take a step back.
“Oh, Forest, right?” The man’s attention shifted between the doctor and Forest. “Sorry, it was really nice of you to come. Really. Most bosses wouldn’t have. It means a lot. Things have just been—”
“Shit,” Forest supplied. “Yeah, I get it. It’s all good—”
“Yeah. Really. I’m sorry. Things are just a bit tense.” He waved at the doctor. “Let me see what she’s got to say, and I’ll be right back.”
Forest stood there, rooted in place as he sifted through his emotions. Everything came at him too hard, too fast, and he swallowed, needing to look away from Randy’s head bending slightly so he could hear the much shorter doctor while they spoke. Randy’s smile nearly wrapped around his ears, and as the doctor disappeared back into the depths of the surgical ward, he turned to the cluster of waiting people and enveloped as many of them as he could in a fierce group hug.
Their elated voices drowned out the murmur of the hospital, stealing away the power of beeps and shushing noises coming from the air-conditioning units. Even the faint whoop of a siren creeping through a bank of double-paned windows drowned under the sound of Jules’s friends celebrating her prognosis—while Forest stood and watched.
“I’ve got to get out of here.” Forest turned, blindly searching for an exit out of the room—hell, he’d want an exit out of the city if it meant he didn’t have to examine why the edges of
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