The dry-erase board on the wall spelled out BRYCE HARRISON in blocky purple letters, followed by the nurse's name, vitals schedule, and a list of meds that already made my stomach turn.

Bryce was tucked under a pale blue blanket, hoodie still on, the hood pulled up. His IV beeped once. He didn't flinch.

Kathy paced the room in tight circles, her heels clicking across the linoleum. "I just don't understand why they don't provide better pillows. Or warmer socks. I mean, how is anyone supposed to heal in these conditions?"

"Maybe sit down," Kayla muttered from the visitor's couch, where she was typing furiously on her laptop. "You're giving me anxiety just watching you."

Kathy huffed but didn't stop pacing.

I stood by the edge of the bed, backpack slung over one shoulder, trying to work up the courage to leave.

"I've got two lectures and a shift at the hospital," I said quietly. "But I'll be back by dinner."

"You should go," Bryce said. His voice was soft. "It's okay."

The door swung open before I could answer, and Clayton stepped inside, baseball cap pulled low, clearly not in class.

"Don't ask," he said, waving off the unspoken question. "I'm not going back until this part sucks less."

Kayla glanced up from her screen. "You're skipping class?"

"I'm auditing Oncology 101 in real-time. I'm good."

Kathy gasped, clearly taken aback by his attempt at humor. "Clayton Johnson!"

Clayton just rolled his eyes, dropping into one of the hard, plastic chairs. "Kathy Harrison."

She reached over, tussling his hair. "You've always had a mouth on you."

"You love me for it."

Bryce let out a soft laugh, and I felt my chest ease just a little.

Clayton glanced at me. "You leaving?"

"Just for a few hours."

Bryce reached for my hand, squeezing it once. "Send pictures of Dawson?"

"Of course," I said. "I'll make sure he's fed, watered, and chases all the squirrels his heart desires at the dog park."

"You're the love of my life," he whispered, lips curving faintly.

I leaned down and kissed his forehead.

Kayla looked up then, her voice gentler than before. "Go do your life, Sophie. He's got three neurotic people staring at him now. We'll keep him conscious and hydrated."

"Thank you," I said. And meant it.

Bryce let me borrow his car to go to class, stating that I could temporary custody of it as long as I promised to treat her right.

I'd never had my own car before. It was a taste of the freedom everyone else seemed to take for granted.

Rows of students filtered in around me, unbothered, chattering about deadlines and dining hall food and how awful the anatomy quiz had been.

I slid into my usual seat in the third row. Mechanical. Like my body knew what to do even if my brain didn't. I pulled out my notebook. Clicked my pen. Opened the slide deck on my laptop.

Peripheral blood disorders.

Of course.

The irony wasn't even funny anymore.

Dr. Richter started the lecture. His voice echoed calmly across the room, outlining the differences between myeloid and lymphoid malignancies. The types of leukemia. B-cell lineage. T-cell abnormalities. Bone marrow failure. Chemotherapy protocols.

My pen hovered over the paper.

I couldn't write a single word.

The girl next to me was texting under her desk. The guy on the other side was eating peanut butter crackers like the world wasn't currently crumbling around me.

I blinked in a rapid fire.

But it didn't stop the sting behind my eyes.

I thought I could do this. Sit in class. Take notes. Be a good student. Be the supportive girlfriend. Be normal.

But I couldn't.

Not when I'd just left my boyfriend in a hospital bed.

Not when his mom was spiraling and his sister was practically cross-examining the oncology team.

Not when the words on the screen felt like a death sentence.

I quickly packed my things and left before Dr. Richter even made it to the second slide of his lecture.

The hallway was quieter, a chance to clear my head for just a moment. To breathe.

I didn't cry loudly. It wasn't a sob. Silent tears streamed down my face as I fought to remain in control, to keep it all together.

My phone buzzed.

THE THREESOME – CLAYTON

Update.

Your boyfriend has decided jello isn't real food.

He's bothering the nurses.

THE THREESOME – BRYCE

I wanted chocolate pudding.

And I got it.

It was something so mundane, but seeing the two of them argue over pudding in the group chat called THE THREESOME was enough. I broke down into laughter, sending my response

THE THREESOME – SOPHIE

Pic or it didn't happen.

Bryce sent me a blurry photo of him holding a chocolate pudding cup with a thumbs up. And it was exactly what I needed.

I wiped my face and took a deep breath.

And then I stood up, grabbing my stuff and making my way back into the lecture.

I could do this. One step at a time.

~*~

I'd walked through the front doors of Shands Hospital a dozen times over the past year. But today felt different.

Because Bryce was here too.

Different floor. Different department. But here.

He was tucked somewhere in a room with an IV line in his arm and a tired smile for anyone who dared look too worried.

And I was supposed to be a student. A professional. A shadow on the wall.

But every time I passed an elevator, I had to force myself not to press the button and head up to Hem-Onc.

"Sophie, you still with us?" Dr. Mejia glanced over her shoulder, pausing outside the next patient room. "You're charting today."

"Yes. Sorry. Got it."

I followed her and the residents inside, mentally shifting into the script. It was a respiratory case. COPD. Ex-smoker. On O2 at night. I jotted down notes with mechanical efficiency, nodding when prompted. Smiling politely. Asking one appropriate, clinical question.

My hands didn't even shake.

But when we stepped back out into the hallway, I caught a glimpse of a transport nurse pushing an empty wheelchair down the corridor.

And for a split second, my stomach twisted.

It looked just like the one they'd wheeled Bryce around in yesterday, doing his pre-chemo labs after labeling him a Fall Risk due to his dizziness and fatigue.

Focus.

I took a deep breath and followed the team to the next room.

A child this time. Maybe seven or eight. Post-op from an appendectomy. Bright-eyed and already asking for Cheetos.

I asked him what color the hospital socks should've been if he got to pick.

"Rainbow," he said. "With sharks."

I grinned. "Excellent call."

His mom smiled up at me, and for a moment, it felt normal.

But after we stepped out, I checked my phone the second I hit the hallway again.

No new texts.

"Hey," a soft voice said beside me.

Amy, holding two cups of coffee. She offered one out to me.

"Tough day?" she questioned, her knowing eyes glancing over me.

"To put it lightly," I said, as I took the extra coffee. "Thank you."

"Brad's up there with him now," she said. "We'll get through this. Together."

I blinked back tears, my eyes swimming as I stared down at my charts.

"Tell me about your next patient," Amy said, nudging my side. "Let's get this show on the road."

I clicked open my notes, detaching myself once again from the weight of the situation at hand.

And tried to remember that I was here to learn how to help people like Bryce.

Even if today, all I wanted was to sneak away and sit at his bedside.

Bryce is inpatient. Sophie is trying to carry on. And Clayton is texting in a group chat called The Threesome. How're we feeling about it all?

Teaser: a Post-It notes war & the last calm scene before the storm

This book will update again on Thursday.