desertion

63

LYDIA

The morning sun streamed weakly through the hospital blinds as I lay back in my bed, my fingers absently playing with the hem of my blanket. My head was pounding, and I still felt drained, but my heart was heavy for a different reason—my Dad.

A soft knock on the door pulled my attention, and my doctor stepped inside, a warm but professional smile on his face. "Good morning, Lydia," he said, flipping through my chart. "I've got some good news for you. You're cleared for discharge today."

I blinked, my heart sinking. Discharge? But.. my dad. "I don't think I should leave yet," I murmured, my voice quieter than I'd intended. "I need to stay."

Miles, who had been sitting beside my bed, looked over sharply. "Lydia," he said, his voice firm but gentle. "You're going home. You need to rest and recover properly, and you're not doing that here."

I turned my head, glaring at him, every fiber of my being wanting to argue. But the determined look in his eyes stopped me. Instead, I let out a resigned sigh and swung my legs over the side of the bed. "Fine," I murmured.

The doctor smiled, clearly relieved there wouldn't be a fight. "Good choice. But I want to see you back here in a few weeks for a follow-up, just to make sure everything's okay."

I nodded, barely listening as Miles moved around the room, grabbing my things and packing them into a small duffle bag. My focus was elsewhere.

The doctor cleared his throat, his tone shifting slightly. "By the way," he began, "I noticed your father's fire station is here. Were you planning to visit him?"

My brows furrowed. "What do you mean?" I asked, confusion lacing my tone, Dad was still listed as no visitors.

The doctor hesitated before saying, "I wasn't sure if you'd heard, but... the station captain, Bobby Nash, was also brought in. He was shot."

The words hit me like a freight train. My mouth dropped open, and Miles froze mid-movement, his hands still gripping the strap of my bag.

"What?" I managed to choke out, my voice trembling.

"I'm afraid I don't have details," the doctor said quickly. "I can't access the chart. But the fire station is in the waiting room. I'm sure they'll be able to fill you in." He gave me a reassuring smile, pulling a set of papers from his clipboard. "Here are your discharge instructions, and.." he paused, his smile softening. "Happy birthday, Lydia."

I barely nodded, my thoughts swirling as the doctor exited the room.

Miles broke the silence first, his voice quiet. "I have a present for you in the car," he said, trying to lighten the mood.

I glanced at him, managing a faint smile. "Thanks," I whispered, helping him pack the rest of my things.

Once we finished, Miles carried my bag while I trailed behind him. We loaded the car quickly, but neither of us lingered—we both knew where we needed to be.

Back inside, we walked briskly toward the waiting room, the tension in the air thick. My head pounded as we approached the familiar faces of the 118.

Buck was the first to notice me. "What are you doing out of your room?" He asked, standing up and crossing his arms.

"I was discharged," I replied flatly, my eyes scanning the group.

Hen gave me a small nod. "Good," she said, her voice clipped.

The room fell silent after that, and I could feel the weight of unspoken worries pressing down on everyone. I broke the quiet. "How's he doing?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

Buck blinked, clearly misunderstanding. "Your dad's doing good," he began, but I shook my head.

"Not my dad," I said, my tone sharper. "Bobby. How's Bobby?"

Chimney stepped forward, his expression softening. "They said he's going to be fine," he reassured me. "He's recovering well from surgery."

I exhaled slowly, the tension in my shoulders easing just a little. "When... when did this happen?"

"Last night," Buck answered. His voice was calm, but I could see the worry etched on his face.

Sighing, I lowered myself into the chair beside him, the exhaustion from the morning catching up with me. Miles took a seat next to me, holding my hand tightly as I leaned my head against his shoulder.

For a moment, there were no words. Just the quiet hum of the hospital and the unspoken relief that, despite everything, we were still here, still fighting.