The hospital doors hissed shut behind us like they were glad to be rid of me. Mateo kept one arm around my waist—loose, but there. His fingers drummed against my hip, restless. Every time we passed a nurse or a gurney, his eyes flicked over me like I might shatter. I have a medical degree for Pete's sake. Does he know that about me?

He didn’t ask about Tony.

Not once.

When I told him the receptionist’s name, he blinked. “Who?”

“Tony. Fifth floor. You hired him.”

He shrugged. “Doesn’t ring a bell.”

I stopped walking. “He almost bled out. And you don’t even know his name?”

Mateo’s jaw tightened....