She’d said so, after all, or at least she’d said as much. Last year, that’s when she’d moved in.

So it couldn’t be clearer, obviously.

It could not be her.

It was only that . . . there had been something about her. Something about her voice when she’d said Hey, something about the sound of her laugh, something about the ponytail that had slipped over her shoulder as they’d talked. Something about the way she’d looked up there on that balcony, no matter that she’d been far away, no matter that it’d been dark. Something about the way his heart had moved when he’d seen her, like a hiccup in his chest.

But he could not let himself think about that.

“Could I, uh—?”

A voice interrupted, and Will blinked up to see the familiar barista he’d given his order to reaching gently for the travel mug he held in one hand. She gave him an understanding smile, used to seeing staff from all corners of the hospital space out in front of her while they waited for their next fix, while they recovered from whatever made them require it.

“Yeah, sorry, Janine,” Will said, handing it over. “I’ll take an IV bag of the same, if you’ve got it,” he added, which was a bad joke, the coffee shop equivalent of Hot enough for ya?, but it was the best he could do under the circumstances, and the circumstances were that he’d been up since three o’clock in the morning, he’d seen about twenty patients since he’d shown up here four hours ago, and he also could not stop thinking about the woman on the balcony.

No, not the woman. He could not stand around thinking about the woman.

He would think about the apartment.

He moved down the counter to wait for his order, willing himself to focus his attention on where it should be, at least for however many minutes he had until he got paged again.

The apartment, okay. He had to unload it. As soon as possible.

Which was in twelve months.

Fucking Donny.

It was a phrase he’d been repeating to himself with a fair bit of regularity since he’d gotten the attorney’s call last week. Donny had apparently already been gone for several days by then, and Will had tried to take the news of his death in the only spirit his uncle really deserved: neutrally, and with the detachment of a person who dealt with death on a fairly regular basis. What did it have to do with him, after all, that Donny was dead? Exactly nothing, that’s what, which is what he’d tried to politely tell the attorney.