Page 17 of Faron (The Golden Team #8)

Blue

I t was after midnight when I stitched the last wound and handed out the final juice box to a kid too tired to cry and too tough to admit it hurt.

He limped out with a crooked smile and a muttered, "Thanks, Doc. If I die, it’s on you."

I locked the door behind him, turned off the flickering lights, and limped back to the tiny bungalow behind the clinic.

My legs ached like I’d been hit by a truck.

My hands smelled like iodine, sweat, and desperation.

My throat burned from the smoke that clung to my patients like cologne.

I asked them not to smoke inside. They never listened.

But Bear was there.

He was stretched out on my sagging couch like he owned it. He lifted his head, tail giving one slow thump, the way you’d nod to someone you loved even when you were too tired to stand.

“Hey, traitor,” I whispered, dropping my bag with a grunt.

Bear huffed like, Took you long enough.

I dropped to the floor, cross-legged in the middle of the room like a worn-out soldier surrendering to gravity.

My scrub top was wrinkled and stained. My hair was falling out of a bun that had eaten three pens and half my sanity.

And Bear — the ever- patient saint that he was — flopped into my lap like I was still worthy of being someone’s safe place.

I buried my face in his fur and let the silence eat the noise of the day.

“It’s just you and me, huh?”

His tail thumped across my ankle.

I gave a watery laugh. It cracked in the middle like something breaking loose. “I hate him, Bear. I hate that stupid face. Those damn eyes. The way he looks at me like I’m not broken. Like I’m still that girl who believed she could save the world with a first aid kit and hope.”

Bear sneezed. You’re still her.

I leaned in and whispered, “I can’t do it again. I can’t love him and lose him. I can’t watch him walk into my mess and take a bullet that was never meant for him.”

He licked my wrist — soft, slow, like he forgave me for all the damage I’d done to myself.

“I want him,” I whispered. “God, I want him so bad it hurts. Just to shut the world out and crawl inside him for one night. Pretend none of this exists. No bullet wounds, no broken kids, no gangs. Just us.”

Bear let out a long sigh. One night is never enough, dummy.

I laughed again, face buried in fur. “Yeah. I know. That’s the problem.”

We sat there until the clock ticked into morning, until my chest didn’t feel like it was caving in.

And for just a moment, I let myself believe I was still worth loving.

Eventually, I stood up. Walked to the bedroom like someone climbing out of grief. Stripped off everything I’d carried all day — clothes, worry, guilt.

I stepped into the shower, letting hot water scald the tired from my bones.

And then he joined me.

Faron didn’t speak. He just wrapped his arms around me from behind, hands splayed on my stomach, forehead pressed to my shoulder.

And I didn’t cry.

I just leaned back and let the man who ruined me for anyone else hold me like I was still whole.