Page 264 of Pucking Feral: Part Two

She recognizes me instantly.

"Wraith!" She pushes her glasses up, smiling. "Oh my gods, hi! I heard you guys were visiting the kids today. How are you feeling?"

I give her a thumbs-up.

"Are the nerve flare-ups still bad? You never came back for your follow-up."

I hold my hand out flat and rock it back and forth. So-so.

She tuts. "You big guys are always the worst patients. I swear."

I manage a huff of a laugh. She isn't wrong. I've seen—and heard—Whiskey get a flu shot.

"What's bringing you up here?" she asks me, her eyes already flicking to one of the rooms.

Must be Wade's.

I start signing, but even slowly and fingerspelling, I can tell she isn't fully picking up on what I'm trying to say.

I hold up one finger. Wait.

She watches as I pull a pen from the nurses' station cup and flip over a Post-it note. My handwriting is garbage but I write as carefully as I can.

I NEED TO TALK TO WADE KELLY.

JUST TALK. PROMISE.

DOOR OPEN.

YOU CAN WATCH ME.

Actually. Need to add what always works on me.

PLEASE.

Maria reads it, then looks up at me over her glasses.

"Just talking?"

I nod.

She looks toward the room again, then sighs. "Okay. Five minutes. And I do mean five." She points her finger at me. "And only because I know firsthand you're a big softie, no matter what anyone says, and you won't get me in trouble."

I sign thank you and smile at her with my eyes.

"Yeah, yeah. Don't mention it. Room 288."

The door to Wade's room is already slightly ajar when I reach it. Through the gap, I hear the low drone of a television.

I push through the door, nudging the flat rubber doorstop into place with my boot to keep the door propped open, as promised.

Wade's eyes snap open from his bed.

For a moment, he just looks at me, confused, the way anyone would look at a giant masked shadow filling their hospital room doorway.

Then his brain catches up with his eyes and the color drains out of his face so fast it's almost medical.

"What the fuck?"