Chapter 6: Next Time It's For Me

By Saturday night the photograph had four thousand likes and a hundred and forty comments.

I had read every one of them twice.

Half the city thought I was a hero.

The other half thought I was a mess in a man's shirt.

Theda called at nine from the ER break room.

"Nobody's going to remember it by Monday," she said. "Everybody's cheering for you. Promise me you won't read the comments."

"I read all of them."

"El."

"The top one says, 'She finished the R before she scraped it.' I don't know what that means, but I like him."

She laughed, and I laughed, and then I hung up and the room was very quiet.

The envelope of cash still sat on the sill downstairs, and I hadn't touched it.

I listened to Maddox sand something below me, a long soft rasp, over and over.

At eleven I put on his flannel again, because it was the warmest thing in the loft.

I unlocked the deadbolt and went down the stairs in my socks.

The shop was dark except for one work light clamped to the bench.

Maddox stood under it with a sanding block, working the edge of a cherry tabletop.

He had taken his shirt off in the heat of the lamp.

His back was broad and freckled and gold with dust.

He heard the stairs and turned around.

"Everything okay?"

"No," I said. "Yes. I don't know."

I crossed the sawdust and stopped in front of him.

"Today a man stood in a doorway and told me I couldn't be anyone without him."

"I heard."

"I would like to be someone who picks."

He set the sanding block down slowly.

"Picks what?"

"You." My heart was going so hard I could hear it.

"This isn't for him. He doesn't know I'm here, and nobody's watching."

I took his hand, the one with the missing fingertip, and put it flat against my stomach.

"It's for me."

He looked at me for a long moment.

"Say it again," he said, rough.

"It's for me, Maddox."

"Okay."

I kissed him.

This time I wasn't acting, and it showed.

I went up on my toes with my fists in his belt loops and kissed him hard, mouth open.

He made a low sound in his chest.

Then he picked me up.

My legs went around his waist.

He carried me three steps and sat me on the edge of the workbench, in the pool of lamp light.

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