“It’s not a problem.”

“You look like Selene.” He smiled, sadness in his voice. “You have her gentle heart, as well.”

“I’m not her,” I said, firmly. “My name is Briseis.”

His eyes widened. “Like the Greek myth.”

I nodded. “I’ll get you the comfrey if you promise not to sneak around the house anymore. It’s not safe.” Not for him, anyway, and not only because of the plants. Mom and Mo might put his ass back in the hospital if he showed up again.

He lifted his right hand. The sores on his forearm were open and oozing. “Scout’s honor.”

“Come by when you’re better.”

I exited Mr. Morris’s room. The officer had retaken his seat outside and whipped his head toward me.

“How’d you get in there?”

“Sorry, it—it was the wrong room.”

He narrowed his eyes at me as I rushed down the hall and made a quick turn into the waiting area. Karter sat there in a chair facing the nurse’s station, his ankle propped on a coffee table, a bag of ice strapped to it with an ACE bandage. He held his phone to his ear.

“It’s a sprain. It’s not bad. It’s not gonna mess anything up.” He slumped in the seat.

I stuck out my hand. He had to be talking to his mom. “Let me talk to her. This is my fault.”

He shook his head. “Mom, I gotta go. I gotta take Briseis home.” She said something and he grunted in return, then hung up.

“I’m so sorry,” I said.

“It’s fine,” Karter said. He got to his feet, testing his weight on his injured ankle. “She’s worried I’m gonna miss my shift at the bookshop. She don’t care about the ankle.”

“What do you mean she doesn’t care? She’s your mom.”

He tilted his head, his brow arched. He opened his mouth to say something, then changed his mind. “Come on.”

Karter limped toward the elevator. I ducked under his arm and slid my hand around his waist so he could put his weight on me.

He smiled. “Thanks.”

“I got you.”

“How’s the guy?” he asked. “Still alive, I’m guessing?”

“He’s a mess but I think he’ll be okay.”

I helped Karter outside and into his truck. “I’d offer to drive, but we’d probably end up right back in the hospital with somethin’ a lot worse than a sprained ankle. I don’t even have a license.”

“I’m good,” Karter said. “Really.”

I climbed in on the passenger side. I felt guilty for dragging him into this. “She was pretty mad, huh? I am so sorry. I didn’t mean to get you in trouble.”

“Like I said, not your fault.”

“I’m the one who asked you to come up here.”