Chapter 13: The On-Call Room

"You don't get to want that," I said. "Not with this on your desk."

"I know."

"Two days, Jonas. I sat across from you at breakfast."

"I know."

He did not defend himself again.

That made it harder to stay angry, and I hated him a little for it.

I closed the folder and held it flat against my chest.

"I'm taking this," I said.

"It's yours."

"I'm going to work."

He went very still.

"Tonight?" he said. "You're off tonight."

"I'll take a shift. They always need one."

"Jillian."

"I'm not leaving, Jonas. I'm going to work."

I heard myself say it, and I knew it was a coward's sentence.

He knew it too.

He could have used his rule.

He could have said, *That is leaving, say it to my face.*

He took a breath, and I watched him decide not to.

"Take the car," he said. "And take the man who held my coat at City Hall."

"I don't need a guard."

"Your ex-fiancé called the police on you at three in the morning," Jonas said. "Humor me."

I packed one bag, in the other wing, with his shirt still on under my coat.

He stood at the front door while I went down the steps.

He did not touch me, and he did not ask me to stay.

I looked back once from the car.

He was standing in the light with his hands in his pockets.

Three years ago he had woken in a hospital bed to find me gone.

I looked away and told the driver to go.

The ER was full, because Saturday nights always are.

A motorcyclist came in with a shattered wrist, and a roofer with a nail through his boot.

I put my hands to work, and for four hours I did not think about a ditch.

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