“That’s where you’re wrong. There’s always a choice. You could’ve let Wishard do her job. You could’ve trusted me with what was going on. You didn’t do any of that.”

“You’re right. I didn’t. I guess that’s it then,” Becca said, hating the empty feeling she experienced. She wasn’t sure what she expected, but she could already see what would happen. Christian would go back to his life. Becca to hers.

“I don’t know. We could try being friends. See how that goes.”

Becca couldn’t hide her shock. “I’m sure Joanne will be thrilled.”

Christian laughed. Becca joined in. “She’ll warm up to you eventually. I’ll deny I ever said it if you tell her, but Joanne was quite impressed with your determination. I mean, she also thought what you did was incredibly fucking stupid.”

“She would be right,” Becca said.

“Hold up, Becca Ortiz not arguing? You’re sure your head is okay?” Christian asked. She laughed again. There was no going back, or erasing the past, but Becca could finally let go of all that anger and resentment she’d clung to. It was time to move on.

A week later, Becca and Ash were discharged from the hospital. Becca couldn’t wait to get home, back to Freud, to her own bed, to food that actually tasted like food. Her mother and father arrived to pick them up, cheerfully packing up the mountain of flowers and get-well gifts. Virginia was in her element, bossing all the nurses around and insisting that Becca stop micromanaging.

“I am my mother’s daughter,” Becca teased. Virginia wasn’t amused, directing her attention to the waiting orderly.

“Why don’t you take my daughter downstairs. I’m going to get Ash and we’ll meet you there.”

Becca tried to walk out on her own. The no-nonsense nurse wasn’t having it. “Sorry, Dr. Ortiz. Hospital policy dictates all patients leave in a wheelchair. Even hotshot heroes like yourself.”

Becca fought the urge to explain that she wasn’t a hero. All those stories were simply exaggerated to sell papers. Instead she sat in the chair and allowed the nurse to wheel her outside. She waited at the curb, scanning the parking lot for her father’s Mercedes.

“Please tell me that blow to the head knocked some sense into you.” Becca swiveled around and saw Nina leaning against her father’s SUV, carrying a giant teddy bear, the words “Get well soon” scrawled across its chest. The last time Becca spoke to Nina was that night at the hospital when they fought. Becca wanted to reach out, but she was too embarrassed. Without warning, tears streamed down Becca’s face. Nina held up her hand. “Come on, Ortiz, what’s with the waterworks?” she said.

“It’s a side effect of the injury… it makes me…,” Becca began.

“An even bigger softie,” Nina said.