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only now, closer to the actual cut. I flinch when she touches it directly.
    â€œSorry. It’s tender, I know.” She goes back to dabbing the edges. “The good news is it’s small. Two or three stitches should do it. We’ll get you fixed up and out of here in no time.”
    â€œOkay.” I nod again, trying to stay calm, even though a quiet panic starts to rise in me. I’ve never had stitches before. Never broken a bone, never had anything more involved than a shot. I feel shaky all of a sudden, weak at the thought of a needle threading in and out of my lip.
    She must see the fear on my face, because she puts her hand on mine and squeezes. “It’s okay, sweetie. You won’t feel anything after we numb it up. And it’s right on the edge of your lip, so you’ll barely be able to see the scar, if there even is one.” I feel my eyes start to water, and she sees that too. “You want me to go get him for you? Colton? Sometimes it helps to have someone in here with you, and he’s an old pro at well . . . everything.”
    It surprises me how much I want to say yes despite the fact that he’s almost as much of a stranger to me as she is. But after seeing how uncomfortable he was out in the waiting room, I shake my head and lie for what feels like the hundredth time today. “No thanks, I’m okay.”
    â€œYou sure?”
    I take a deep breath, nodding on the exhale.
    â€œAll right then.” She stands and peels off her gloves, folding them into themselves and then each other. “Someone will be in shortly to get you ready, and then we’ll get you all patched up and on your way back out.”
    â€œThank you.”
    â€œYou bet.” She smiles at me again and pats my hand. “You just promise me one thing.”
    I sit up on my elbows. “What’s that?”
    I’m expecting that she’ll say that I need to be brave, or that I need to be more careful, but she doesn’t. She looks at me with eyes that are kind but firm, and she says, “You promise me that as Colton’s . . . friend, you’ll be careful with that heart of his. It’s strong, but it’s fragile too.” She purses her lips together for a second. “Just be good to him, okay?”
    A lump rises in the back of my throat, and I bite the inside of my cheek.
    â€œI will. I promise,” I manage. Barely. My voice sounds small, scared, but she doesn’t seem to notice. Or maybe she thinks it’s still nerves about the stitches. She has no idea how careless I’ve already been, or that I know that heart of his maybe even better than he does.
    She nods like we’ve got an agreement and pulls the curtain shut, and I lie there alone on the table, staring up at the holes in the ceiling tiles. They go blurry in an instant. I think of Colton, of how much time he spent sick. Waitingfor a heart. Wondering if it would ever come, and knowing what would happen if it didn’t. Knowing he would die before he really got to live.
    When Trent died, I thought the worst part was that I never saw it coming. That I had no way to know we’d already had our last kiss, or that we’d said our final words, or touched each other for the very last time. I spent the first few months under the full weight of those regrets, thinking of a thousand different things I would’ve done differently had I known they were going to be the last.
    But now I think of the way Colton changed when we walked through the hospital doors. How it must’ve all come rushing back at him, and I think I get it. Knowing what was coming would have been much worse.
    For a moment I almost understand him not wanting any contact with Trent’s family. Or with me, after I wrote him. Maybe I wouldn’t want it either if I were him. Maybe I’d want to leave that whole part of my life behind too so I could get on with living the one I didn’t think I was going to