Within These Walls (Within These Walls #1)(20)

“Bit of a poet yourself, Lailah?” His right eyebrow rose to form a sexy arch above his light green eyes.

Sexy arch? Seriously? I need to get a life.

“No, poetry is definitely not my thing. Life is pretty dull around here, so I write.”

“About what?”

“Anything, everything. I babble mostly. I’m good at babbling. I write about my days in and out of the hospital. If I’m having good days, I’ll write. If I’m having bad days, I’ll write. I keep lists,” I said with a grin.

“Lists, huh? That’s not a surprise,” he said, obviously remembering our first conversation when I’d brought up my suspect list. “What kind of lists?”

“All sorts, like types of treatments I’ve had, books I’ve read, books I want to read, and then I have the list.”

“That sounds ominous,” he said with a bit of humor.

“It’s my bucket list, I guess. I call it my Someday list.”

“So, your go-to-Tahiti-and-snorkel-or-skydive list?”

“Yeah, something like that, but mine is a bit different,” I said, opening the drawer next to me and pulling out the black and white notebook where I kept my list.

“Can I see it?” he asked, leaning forward.

“No!” I said with a bit too much enthusiasm.

In defeat, he held his hands out in front of him and pulled back. “Okay, don’t touch the woman’s book. Got it.”

“Sorry.” I laughed. “It’s just…I’ve never showed this to anyone. But I’ll read a few to you, if you’d like.”

He leaned back in his chair and nodded. “Yeah, I’d like that. How many things do you have on this Someday list?”

I quickly flipped through the pages until I reached the last number. It was all for show. I didn’t need to look to know how many were there. I’d spent many hours with this little notebook. “One hundred and forty-three,” I answered.

His eyes scrunched together as he smiled. “What’s number one?”

I shook my head, glancing down at the long list I’d made. “Nope, not telling you that one. Pick a different one.”

“Okay.” He chuckled. “Give me number fourteen.”

“Um…put my toes in the ocean.”

“What?”

“I want to put my toes in the ocean.”

“But you live less than fifteen minutes from the beach,” he reminded me.

I sighed. “Ironic, right? That’s one of the joys of being me and having my mother as a caretaker. I’ve been sick my entire life, which means I’ve had to be cared for since the day I was born. My mother has taken that job very seriously. Walking through sand is hard work. God forbid, I get winded. Therefore, no trips to the beach, and no toes in the water.”

His eyes steadied on mine for a moment as if he were thinking through something.

“Give me another one. How about sixty-two?” he asked.

I followed my finger down as I went through the numbers until I found it. “Make a meal from start to finish.”

“What does your mom have against cooking?”

“I don’t know that she has anything against it per se. She just never lets me do it. If a staff member of the hospital is not waiting on me, then she is serving me. Do you know what it’s like to be taken care of like a child when you’re a grown adult? It’s maddening.”

“You’re not a child,” he said.

The way he looked at me made my cheeks flush with heat.

“Will you share a few with me tomorrow night?” he asked, rising from the seat.

He stretched slightly, and the hem of his shirt rose, revealing a sliver of tanned skin. I should have looked away, but I didn’t. I managed to look up in time to meet his gaze as his arms settled back at his sides.

“Yes, I’ll share some more, but only if you do something for me,” I said, setting down the small notebook on the bed.

“Depends on what it is,” he said, arching his brow again.

Still sexy.

“Bring me more pudding?” I asked, grinning.

He laughed. “You’ve got yourself a deal.”

Eight: Moving Mountains—Jude

SITTING ON THE bench outside of the hospital a few nights ago, I’d been sure of one thing and one thing only. For the foreseeable future, I was going to dedicate my life to making Lailah’s future better.

From my own selfishness, it was my fault that she had perhaps lost the one chance at having a healthy, hospital-free existence. I had to make it up to her.

I’d caused the accident that killed Megan. I’d gone against the wishes of my fiancée and not allowed her organs to be donated. I had yelled and hurt her family in their time of mourning and grief and I’d turned my back on my own family.

I was a terrible human being.

But with the girl sitting up in that hospital bed, I could redeem myself. Somehow, I could make it all right. I wasn’t sure how, but I’d left the hospital that night feeling vindicated and resolved. I’d run home, letting the burn in my lungs reach all the way down to my feet as they hit the pavement, and I knew that somehow I would set things right.

This was what I was meant to do right now.

The next day, when I’d stepped foot in the hospital, dressed in my teal blue scrubs, I’d clocked in, put my name badge on, and realized something.