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“Black hair. Short bangs,” Charlie said, staring at the woman behind the plastic window.

“That was Lottie. She’s one of our nurses.”

“She had me fill out the paperwork.” She pointed at the clipboard.

“Have a seat and we’ll get to you soon.” The woman slid the window closed leaving Charlie standing in the room alone.

Charlie tapped her fingers absently on the arm of the chair, the rhythmic motion doing little to settle the gnawing unease that had been building up inside her. The sound of the TV was muted, leaving only the faint hum of the overhead lights to fill the space. She squinted at the screen where the Mystery Inc. gang was chasing down a ghost in an old, haunted mansion. The familiar cartoon antics—Scooby and Shaggy hiding behind furniture, Velma losing her glasses—were supposed to be comforting. But today, it just felt... off.

Her fingers paused mid-tap. She hated this place. Hated how everything about it screamed “waiting”: waiting for bad news, waiting for results, waiting for life to change. The sterile smell of antiseptics, the way the chairs were spaced just far enough apart so you couldn’t talk to anyone, even if you wanted to. And the cold. Always the cold. She shivered slightly, wrapping her arms around herself tighter.

The sound of footsteps echoing through the hall made her heart skip with a burst of hope rising before she reminded herself no one came out of those doors with good news. They didn’t. Not here. Not in places like this. When the sound faded, Charlie forced her eyes back to the muted TV screen, trying to distract herself. But her thoughts kept spiraling, each one darker than the last.?

Scooby and Shaggy ran from a groaning ghost, and Charlie couldn’t help but wonder if the two of them were any better off than she was—chasing ghosts, too scared to stop long enough to face them.

With a sigh, she leaned back in the chair and closed her eyes. The ghost on the screen was unconvincing, but the one inside her chest. Far too real.

“Charlie Cote.”

Her name being called had her opening her eyes. Scratching her nose, Charlie got up and walked to the counter. “Yes.”

“I need your ID and insurance information.”

“I don’t have insurance.” Pointing to the clipboard she smiled at the woman. “It says that on the form.”

The receptionist slammed her hands onto her hips. “Young lady you don’t have to be smart with me.”

Done with the woman’s attitude, Charlie shook her head. “I’ve changed my mind. I don’t need to be seen.”

Hemlock walked around the corner and caught a glimpse of the woman at the counter. “Charlie?”

Shit.“Hey.”

“Carmen, I’ll take Miss Cote back to an exam room,” Hemlock told the receptionist. The woman who was normally pleasant seemed to be having an off night. He’d speak with her later about the attitude.

“Thanks, Emile,” the receptionist said while giving Hemlock a sweet smile.

Hemlock opened the door where Charlie could come to the back. Once she was standing in front of him, he brushed her hair back and saw the bruising. His jaw clinched. “Follow me.”

He led her into an exam room and closed the door. “Have a seat,” he said as he walked to the computer cart. “Carmen hasn’t put your information into the system. Can you give me the rundown?”

“Yes.” Charlie gave Hemlock everything he needed to know. She closed her eyes momentarily as the throbbing of her cheek got worse.

“Charlie.”

Opening her eyes, she stared at the guy she’d almost killed with her lip gloss kisses. She knew what he wanted to know, and shedidn’t have the energy to get into it. “It’s a long story. One I’d rather not get into.”

“With me?” he asked.

Charlie blinked and tried to focus on Hemlock and not on the throbbing pain in her face. “What?”

“You’d rather not get into it with me,” Hemlock stated.

Sighing, Charlie decided why not tell him. “Don’t judge me,” she started off with. “My ex-boyfriend and ex-best friend live in an apartment that’s in my name. I went to pay the rent and ran into them. It turned into an argument, and Ashley punched me in the face.”

He wasn’t one to judge anyone. Hemlock was curious about why she was paying for an apartment she wasn’t living in. “Why?”

She knew what he was asking, and she had no real answer other than she couldn’t get the ex out without going to court. Which she couldn’t afford. “There’s a law that states if someone brings so much as a toothbrush into your home, they live there. To get him evicted, I’d have to go to court.”