Page 97 of Savage Saint

“No reason.” Again, my answer comes too quickly, and she gives me this look that says: You’re hiding something, and I will find out.

Ignoring her nosiness, I pull out the tissue paper, and I find a new phone case with my name stitched across the back. No card slot, and this confirms it was him. His club.

Inside it, there’s a handwritten note, too.

Money has been added to the hospital meal account under your name. Use it.

The code is 3636.

Now you have no reason to buy another useless phone case.

Diosito, that man. He can be sweet and knows the code to my door.

Also kind of adorable how Santos seems to abhor the cases with pockets. Like they personally offend him

There’s still more inside, and I pull out a velvet case next. It’s larger than I expect, and when I open it, my chest tightens. Nestled atop a cushion is a silver stethoscope pin with a small tag attached to a bell. There’s an inscription on it, and I choke up.

This person saves lives.

For a moment, I can only stare as another part of me is healed.

Because he didn’t just use me; he apologized and made up for it with actions.

“Did you see the card?” Katia asks, smiling as she reads my button-pin. “Oh, that’s pretty. Wonder why a stethoscope, though. That’s usually given to doctors, not nurses.”

“Don’t know.” A lie, but this is private. For now, at least. Next, I pull out the card and open it, only to find different signatures. All road names; some I know, and others I don’t.

There are thank-yous. Mostly just names.

And at the center, written in neat penmanship, is one line and name that matter.

Thank you, Pocket Doc.

My throat burns. I run my thumb over the message before closing the card and tucking everything back inside the bag. Everything but my earned pin. That, I’ll be wearing with pride.

After everything is put away, I walk out, pinning the button with the little stethoscope to my badge and follow Katia out.

It catches the light when I move.

I smile every time I notice it.

Shift change is already underway by the time we step back onto the floor. Katia heads toward the nurses’ station to start handoff with the outgoing team, while I take care of the less glamorous part of coming back after a week off—checking and restocking the supply room, updating myself on current patients, and sending the head nurse a thank-you text because my cookies were safe and waiting for me as promised. I caught sight of them by the ceramic mugs; she knows I’ll be using every coffee machine before the end of the night to test-run them.

Forty minutes later and right on cue, Dr. Alvin Rodriguez strolls around the corner. “Buenas tardes,” he calls out in greeting, but pauses when he sees me behind the desk. “You’re back.”

“I am.”

“Anything interesting happen lately?” he asks, but his eyes keep dropping to my pin. Doesn’t mention it, but he knows. And I know he has to know that Doc spilled the beans.

“Would you like a coffee?” That’s my response. Why? I have no clue, and I surprise us both with the generous offer. I’m going to blame it all on Santos. He got to me.

For his part, Dr. Rodriguez just stares at me. “From your lounge?”

“Of course.” Should’ve said from one of the visitor vending machines across the hospital.

“That’s very kind, Genesis. Thank you.” I stand as Katia watches me with a look of abject horror, like I’ll poison the man. Which might not be that far off, because I barely walk past the desk when he ruins it. “Can you add a couple of cookies, too? Cari brought those in yesterday and wouldn’t let anyone touch them. Actually warned me not to.”

My head turns in slow motion. “Don’t ruin the moment.”