Tous les chapitres de : Chapitre 61 - Chapitre 70

Anna was already running the possibilities in her head before the gurney burst through the ER doors.Blunt abdominal trauma. The way the paramedic’s voice had clipped over the radio told her enough. Bleeding that didn’t want to announce itself—the kind that hid, pooled and waited. A nicked vessel, maybe. A ruptured spleen. Liver. Something vital touched in just the wrong way. Too much blood lost before anyone realized how bad it was.The patient didn’t look older than eighteen. That struck her harder than it should have, even as her hands were already gloving up. Young faces always did this to her—made everything sharper, more urgent. All that living ahead of them, all those small, careless plans that assumed time was guaranteed.She wouldn’t let it end here. Not if there was anything left to be done.“Trauma bay two,” someone called.“I’ve got it,” Anna said, already moving.The doors flew open and the gurney rolled in, wheels squealing faintly against the floor. Blood streaked the

Anna knew—if she said it out loud, all of it, there would be no going back. It was easier to pretend when you were only lying to yourself; once you brought someone else into the lie, it shatters around you. But Leah wasn't someone else—if there was anyone she could bring into this, it was her. Besides, Leah was being, well… polished Leah. No slangy words. No innuendos. No craziness—at least not completely—knowing Leah, that would slip in eventually. She didn’t answer the question outright; she never did when something mattered too much.She cradled the glass in both hands, watching the wine catch candlelight, swirl, then settle. Leah didn’t rush her—she leaned back against the vanity, ankle crossed over knee, expression neutral but attentive—the kind of listening that made space without demanding confession.“It wasn’t supposed to be anything,” Anna said finally. Her voice came out steady, almost clinical.Leah hummed, urging her on. “I mean it,” Anna continued, as if she needed to

Anna wasn't answering his calls and he hated not knowing whether that meant she was avoiding him or just... indifferent. Hated wondering if it was a good or bad thing. It'd been days since they last saw each other; the last time they did, he had left her apartment like the world would come crashing down if he didn't. The world—or at least, his world? He didn't know anymore. Neither did he know what had made that day feel so… different. When he was near her, his mind wandered. His breath caught in moments he didn't expect. He was aware of her too much, even in silence. Something in him clamped down when she walked into the room, and not just in a physical sense, but in a way that made him feel… tethered to her, like he had no choice but to pay attention. Which was absolutely absurd. Even more absurd than the fact he'd handed her that sweater not because of the cold, but because Ethan was in the room. That wasn’t just defensiveness; it felt like something else. Something… unnecessar

Anna buried her face into Pierce's chest, her lips pressed into a hard line to hold back the sobs threatening to slip from them. The rounds sheet in her hand clattered to the floor but she didn't move. Pierce rubbed slow circles over her back. It did little to help. She found herself wishing Jason was here—what she felt wouldn't magically disappear in his arms, but it'd make her feel less alone in the undertow. Even that thought sent another wave of guilt through her. How could she seek comfort when… when his cold body lay in the morgue? How could she seek comfort when his family had none? She pulled away from Pierce, quickly wiping the tears from her face. He gave her a concerned look. “Are you okay?” Anna glanced around to find the small crowd had dispersed. “I don't deserve to be,” she muttered, then stooped to pick up the rounds sheet. Pierce beat her to it, snatching it up before she could. “What do you mean you don't deserve to be—you did the best you could,” he said shar

Anna's back hit the wall beside the console table with a low thud. A groan left her lips. Jason didn't stop. He broke the kiss and dragged the t-shirt over her head. Her movements were slow, weighted, almost resistant—but when he pulled her naked body back into his arms, she clung to him anyway. He kissed her once more, bit her lower lip as he pulled away. The low hiss sent a thread of satisfaction through him. He stripped quickly, flinging his clothes aside. Anna leaned against the wall, watching him with shadowed eyes that seemed to hold secrets he would never be privy to. Her hands slid up his chest, tentative, learning, and something in him locked. He caught her wrists and pushed them above her without looking at her, the motion sharp enough to feel corrective. He didn’t need her touching him—didn’t want the slow, searching familiarity of it. Touch made things mutual. It suggested permission, invitation, a claim. This wasn’t that. He’d let her once before, and that had been a