Nick fidgeted with the top sheet. “The pain’s less but I feel like I could sleep for a week. It’s stupid, because I haven’t done anything to make me tired.”

“Well, you’re in the right place and we’ll get to the bottom of it. The best thing for you is to get some rest. You’re going to be here for a few hours yet.”

Nick nodded and closed his eyes again.

“Will you admit him?” Libby asked the doctor, starting to think of the girls and logistics.

“We’ll keep you informed.”

Libby recognized the code for “it depends on his results.” As the doctor walked away, she sat down again and slid her hand into Nick’s. He didn’t get sick often, but when he did, he was very capable of exhibiting all the symptoms of man-flu. Once, when he’d caught a heavy cold, he’d summoned her to their bedroom multiple times with requests for everything from Tylenol to new batteries for the remote. The ninth time he rang the bell, she’d confiscated it. But today, this quiet, exhausted and withdrawn—almost resigned—version of her husband scared her.

Her phone vibrated again and Jess’s name lit up the screen. Technically, she wasn’t allowed to have her phone turned on back here so she selected the offered text option, Will call you back.

She bent down under the gurney and pulled out the plastic bag containing Nick’s clothes and other possessions. Placing it on her knee, she rummaged through it and the plastic crackled.

Nick’s eyes flew open—the black of his pupils almost obliterating his irises—and he struggled to sit up. “What are you doing?”

“Looking for your phone.”

“It’s not there.”

Nick never went anywhere without his phone—neither of them did. “Where is it then?”

“I dunno.” His voice was agitated. “On my desk, maybe? I used it to order the diesel. No, that was the office phone …”

The pressure cuff on his arm inflated, checking his blood pressure. The numbers on the monitor leaped.

“It’s okay,” Libby tried reassuring him, not wanting to see his blood pressure rise any higher. “It’s no biggie. It will turn up. I just thought I’d check it to see if there were any urgent messages.”

“Unlikely,” he muttered, falling back on the pillow.

“My phone’s full of urgent messages from family and friends. Everyone’s worried about you, especially Jess. I better call her. Do you want to talk—”

“God, Libby! Why the fuck would I want to talk to Jess?”

Libby jerked back. In their nine and a half years together, Nick had never sworn at her—well once on Freedom during a race, but that didn’t count. He’d never sworn at her on land. She realized with a grip in her heart that this must be what fear looked like on him. Nick hated hospitals and the fact he’d allowed Missy to call an ambulance meant he’d been terrified he was dying.