Page 80 of Raise Me Up

Iris waggles her brows at me. “Dating two men wearing you out?”

With a soft laugh, I roll my eyes. “Don’t know that we’re dating.”

“Well,why the hell not?”

“We’re…figuring things out. No pressure.”

She narrows her eyes at me. “How can I leave this place without certainty that you won’t slip back into your hermit ways?”

I purse my lips. “My hermit ways?”

“You didn’t have plans before these hot men came into your life.”

Technically, Liam’s always been in my life, but I won’t argue that fact with her.

“Maybe I never told you about my plans.”

“You didn’t have any, dear.” Iris pats my arm.

I let out a laugh. “You are something else.”

“Andyouare something special. Don’t you ever forget it.”

The hollow ache of loss expands in my chest. What am I going to do without Iris in my life? Yeah, she’s my patient, but she’s also become a friend. Agoodone. A supportive one.

“I’m going to miss harassing you about your love life,” Iris says.

It’s my turn to reach out and pat her hand. “My love life really shouldn’t be the highlight of your day.”

She makes a show of looking around the room. “You see any flowers in here? Any cards or visitors lined up at the door?”

I scrunch up my nose. I haven’t actually, and that makes me sad. I wasn’t on shift when Iris was wheeled in, but I haven’t noticed a single visitor in the weeks I’ve been working with her.

Eyes itchy and throat tight, I ask, “Where will you go when your time here is done?”

“Back to assisted living with the rest of the forgotten old farts.”

Her bony fingers smooth over the sheets of her bed as she pretends not to care.

“Would it be overstepping if I came to visit you there?” I ask.

She wiggles into a more comfortable position on her bed and shuts her eyes. “I’ll take it personally if you don’t.”

Giving her hand one more little squeeze, I fetch her a cup of ice water and turn on her westerns.

As I’m logging notes and reviewing charts at the shared workstation, my phone buzzes with a message. I debate not checking it—I have a growing number of voicemails from both of my parents I refuse to listen to. I made the mistake of playing one of them a few days ago in which I was being lumped in with Hail as a sinner if I supported his “gayness.”

Technically, he’s bi. And technically, they’re ignorant assholes who would disown me in a heartbeat if they knew I was dating two bisexual men.

It’s an inevitability I’ll have to face, but right now I’m playing the avoidance game.

After I skipped out on a recent family cookout, Max, my older brother, texted me to make sure I still had a heartbeat—a very uncharacteristic thing for him to do.

However, there are people Idowant to hear from, so I give in to the persistent buzzing of my phone.

I break into a smile at the photo of Beau in the studio, his hair piled atop his head from running a hand through it and his dimples out to play. Liam’s visible in the background, leaned over his digital mixer, attention focused on whatever track he’s perfecting.

Sleepover at Liam’s tonight?