Within These Walls (Within These Walls #1)(11)

She started babbling again,

“I normally use a spoon. Like a normal person. I mean, who licks pudding off their fingers? Gross. And my hands were clean. Like, really clean!” she squeaked.

“It’s not like anyone was watching.”

I lifted an eyebrow and I watched her head fall to her lap.

“Well, apparently, you were watching. How embarrassing!” she laughed.

“Hey, it’s not a big deal, Lailah. We all have our weird habits. I’m sure I have mine. Some people eat peanut butter and pickle sandwiches or dip their chips in ice cream. We’re all a little crazy in our own little way.”

“I’m pretty sure those examples you just said only pertain to pregnant women,” she pointed out.

“What?”

“I really don’t think anyone who isn’t carrying another person in their uterus would be able to stomach peanut butter and pickles together. That’s just gross. And for the record again, I always use a spoon—except for that one time.”

“Okay, sure,” I answered, letting the disbelief in my voice bleed out.

She huffed in frustration. I couldn’t help but chuckle slightly when I rose from the chair.

The sound of my own laugh registered in my ears, and I suddenly felt conflicted. I didn’t remember the last time I’d heard anything remotely close to a laugh burst from my lungs. I wasn’t sure how I felt about it.

“I’d better get back to work. You need anything else before I go?” I asked quickly, looking around and briefly checking her hep-lock and pulse-ox monitor.

“Oh, um…nope, I’m good.”

In reaction to my clinical-sounding tone, she immediately retreated back to the shy and timid girl I’d met days before.

“Okay, well, I’ll see you around.”

“Okay.”

This time, I’d pulled the door halfway open before her lyrical voice once again halted me to a stop.

“Jude?” she called out.

Hearing my name on her lips for the first time made something tighten in my chest. It was something foreign and so long-ago forgotten that I didn’t even recognize it.

I turned to face her. “Yeah?”

“Is it all right for me to call you that?” she asked hesitantly, her bright blue eyes looking across the room at the badge that hung around my neck.

I nodded, pulling the plastic ID into my hand. “It’s my name.”

“Next time, do you think you could maybe come a bit earlier and stay a while?”

A grin I couldn’t contain spread across my face, and I found myself nodding. “Sure. See you then.”

Five: No Other Option—Lailah

JUDE IS MY secret admirer.

My secret admirer is Jude.

Can I call him that? What do I call the person who has brought me chocolate dessert snacks late at night? Is there a name for that?

I like secret admirer, so I’ll go with that.

Jude.

Chocolate.

I sighed.

“Lailah? Have you heard a word I’ve said?”

“Huh?” I blurted out, pulling myself out of the ridiculous wheel of girlish thoughts spinning uncontrollably through my head.

“Are you feeling all right? You’ve been a little absentminded today.”

“I feel fine. Just a little tired.”

After my late-night visit, I’d been wide-awake, my head full of questions, thoughts, and possibilities. My first and foremost question had been, Why is he doing it? What is his motivation? Is he just being nice, or is it something more?

I’d quickly dismissed anything having to do with something more and concluded that he was just being nice. That man could easily have any woman he wanted. He could probably snap his fingers and groupies with bedazzled We Love Jude scrubs would show up, ready to play naughty nurse. He definitely didn’t need to deliver desserts to patients in the hospital to help his game.

Even if in some alternate universe, he could possibly see me as someone more than a patient, I couldn’t go down that road—ever. My life was too stressful and emotionally turbulent to share with someone else. Asking someone to step into my world would be like asking him to sign away his own life to take care of mine. I could never do that.

Love wasn’t an option for me.

I did, however, like the idea of having another friend. Outside of Grace, I didn’t know anyone around my age. Carrying on conversations with Dr. Marcus and Abigail were entertaining, but sometimes, I really wanted to connect with someone on equal footing.

“Well, I need you to pay attention,” my mother said, bringing me back to the conversation I was supposed to be engaged in. “I talked to Marcus earlier this morning.”

“Why didn’t he talk to me?” I hated that she still treated me like a child.

“He was going to, but I asked if I could speak with you privately first. He’ll be here in a few minutes.”

That doesn’t sound good.

“He’s been reviewing your test results over the last week and comparing them to the couple of weeks prior,” she said, hesitating.

Her eyes turned away from mine, but I saw a single tear trickling down her cheek. Her blonde hair masked her expression, but I knew it was bad.

“Yeah? And what did he find out? What is it, Mom?”

“He thinks your heart is getting worse.”