Every Wrong Reason(77)

I argued with my emotions. They were overly sensitive because of the crisis. These things were not true. They couldn’t be.

I pulled back completely and slunk back into one of the waiting room chairs. The hard plastic dug into my spine and the backs of my thighs. I shifted, frustrated with the discomfort. “Did you come from work?”

Nick took the seat next to me and turned his whole body to face me. “Yeah.”

“I’m sorry I made you leave.”

“You didn’t,” he said immediately. “I wanted to come.”

“Can you leave whenever you want? Or, uh, um, tell me about your new job.”

His stare unsettled me, it was too intense, too absorbed in me. When his tongue dragged over his lower lip in concentration, I had to remind myself to swallow.

“I have set office hours, but if I need to leave, like today, I can. My boss is pretty cool with stuff like this.”

“And the scouting stuff? Is that part of your office hours?”

His smile was brief, but for a second it was there. “Yes, in a way. They’re considered mandatory, but nobody at the studio would turn them down. The shows I check out are in addition to what we do during the day, though.”

“That sounds busy. Does it ever get exhausting? Do you get tired of music?”

He leaned forward. “Come on, you know me better than that.”

I felt my lips tip up in a small smile. “Yeah, but how many shows do you have to go to a week? They can’t all be ready to sign.”

This time he chuckled and the waiting room suddenly seemed yellowed and dingy compared to his blinding brightness. “They’re not. So far I’ve only brought one band into the studio that I’ve thought could have some potential. And I’ve seen a lot of bands over the last few months. But we try not to do more than two shows a week. There’s a handful of scouts so we try to spread it around some. We have bands that we track down ourselves, but then there are some that request for us to come out and some that are brought to us through recommendation. Those we can pick and choose from.”

“Very cool.”

His eyes narrowed and his smile disappeared. “You don’t sound convinced.”

“I am! Really. I’m just tired from…” I gestured at the waiting room. “Seriously, Nick, I’m so happy for you. This sounds like the coolest job for you.”

“It is.” His palms spread out on his thighs and he pushed them down his jeans, reaching his knees with nervous energy. “It’s like a dream job, seriously.”

“Really? But what happened to the band?”

He canted his head thoughtfully. “I’m too old, I think.”

“You are not. Oh, my god. You’re thirty. That’s hardly ancient.”

“Thirty-one,” he corrected.

I swallowed, remembering his birthday too late. It had been last month. Valentine’s Day. I had never had a problem remembering in the past, but this year I had been too wrapped up in feeling alone and pathetic to think of anyone else.

Did it matter that I forgot his birthday? Was I supposed to remember? No, right?

We weren’t together anymore. His birthday happiness wasn’t one of my obligations anymore.

I glanced at the door that led back to the operating room and wondered what was taking them so long. Fix her, damn it.

Nick’s voice pulled me back to our conversation. “I just think… I honestly think I’m better at this. It’s like I found myself. I thought I knew who I was or what I wanted before, but it wasn’t until I stepped into the studio that I really figured it all out. I belong there. I’ve always belonged with music, but this is the how and why of it.”

“Nick, that’s amazing.” My words came out in a breathless whisper and I knew I was close to crying again. I blinked away hot tears and struggled to hold myself together. I hated that this bothered me, that he’d found this huge thing, discovered parts of him he hadn’t known, while he was away from me. I hated that I had nothing to do with it. “I’m so happy for you.”

His smile was small, nervous. His thumb and first finger tugged on his earlobe. “Kate, I-”

But I would never know what he wanted to say. Dr. Miller, the second, younger, female Dr. Miller, pushed through the swinging door and stepped into the waiting room. “She’s going to be okay,” she announced and I nearly crumpled to the floor after just standing to hear the news.

Nick caught me by the waist and anchored me in place. Dr. Miller smiled sympathetically at me and gestured for us to sit down again.

She walked over to us, her stubby heels clicking against the tiled floor. “She has two broken ribs and a broken toe. We had to give her stitches over her eye and on her side, but she’s going to make it.”

I mumbled something unintelligible so Nick took over and thanked her for us.

“We’ll need to keep her overnight for observation, but we might be able to send her home tomorrow. We’ll call you in the morning after we know more.”

Nick’s hand landed on my shoulder, squeezing it. “Can we see her?” he asked. “Just for a minute?”

“She’s still asleep from surgery,” Dr. Miller warned. “But you can see for yourself that she’s still alive. I know how scary losing a loved one is.”