“No, nothing happened. I, uh, couldn’t sleep and was wondering when you took your lunch break, or whatever you call it when you eat in the middle of the night.”
Kennedy and I both laughed. “Sorry, when you’re an ER nurse, you eat when you can, not at a designated time.”
“Doesn’t seem like you guys are very—”
“No!”
“Don’t say it!” we screamed at the same time.
Jonah’s eyes widened at our outburst. “I can take my break now. Let’s go,” I said and headed for the break room.
“What was that about?” he asked.
“I’ll explain it when I’m not working,” I said and grabbed my salad out of the fridge. When I stabbed some lettuce with my fork and shoved it into my mouth, I looked up to find Jonah staring at me. “What?”
“Did you already put dressing on that?” he asked.
“I don’t ever put dressing on my salad,” I explained and continued to shovel food into my mouth.
“And you like it like that?” he asked skeptically.
“No, but I like being fat even less.”
“You’re not anywhere close to being fat.”
“Not anymore,” I said and pointed to the salad with my fork. “And this is why. I’m not this size by sheer luck.”
“River—” he started but I didn’t want to hear it.
“Please, don’t. I was a fat kid; I’m not now. There’s really no need to discuss it,” I said firmly.
“I was going to ask how you got your protein,” he said carefully.
“Sorry,” I said and pointed my fork at my drink. “I don’t like fish, and I’m not a huge fan of poultry, so I have one or two shakes a day. I also get most of my vitamins from the shakes, so two birds, one stone.”
We sat in silence while I finished eating, which wasn’t long because I inhaled my food when I was working as most, if not all, nurses did. When I finished my shake and wiped my mouth, I noticed Jonah was staring at his clasped hands.
“Hey, you okay?” I asked, wondering if he’d come down for another reason and not because he simply couldn’t sleep.
He cleared his throat and looked up. “Yeah, I’m just, I guess I’m a little worried about tomorrow and how things are going to go. I can’t lose her, too.”
I stood from my seat and moved to sit beside him. “When did you lose your dad?”
He put his arm around my shoulders and pulled me close. “When I was fifteen.”
“May I ask what happened?”
“You don’t know?” he asked sounding surprised.
“I don’t think so.”
“My father was Jonas Jackson, the sheriff who was killed during the high-speed chase that ended on Main Street in Devil Springs.”
I gasped as realization dawned. “I remember when that happened. He pulled out in front of the car they were chasing to stop it from crashing into the elementary school’s playground.”
Jonah swallowed thickly. “Yeah, he saved a lot of kids’ lives that day.”
“But that didn’t make it any easier for you,” I observed.