Page 82 of Falcon’s Forever

It's the first time I've smiled since the surgeon came out. It lasts only a few seconds, but it counts.

Footsteps approach from the end of the corridor, and Ice Pick turns before any of us do. Rook appears carrying two bags and enough drink holders to open a coffee shop.

"Harrier?" Ice Pick asks, taking one bag off him.

"Who else. Threatened to disown me twice if I spilled anything."

Frankie sits up. "Coffee?"

"Apparently that's what Falcon was told you wanted." Rook sets the bags on the low table. "There’s sandwiches, fruit, water, coffee, and whatever this is."

Frankie opens the container, and her entire face brightens. “Brownies.”

“He told me Harrier packed hospital food,” Ice Pick says, sounding personally betrayed.

“Brownies are hospital food,” Frankie insists.

Ice looks at her. “According to who?”

“Women,” she answers as if that settles the matter.

I accept the coffee Rook offers because refusing it feels ridiculous at this point.

“Did Falcon send all this?” I ask, hating how much I want to know.

Rook chooses his words carefully. “He asked what you needed. Ice Pick sent the list, and Harrier handled the food.”

I curl both hands around the coffee cup. “Falcon isn’t coming?”

“No,” Rook confirms quietly.

Something twists in my chest, and I can't tell if it's relief or disappointment. Both, probably.

"He's at the compound," Ice Pick says. "On the fence line, Rook's got him on rotation."

Good, that’s exactly where he should be. I told him I needed space, and he's giving it to me, but apparently getting exactly what you ask for can still hurt.

Sarah's already found something in the second bag, pulling out a black hoodie. "This mine?"

Rook checks his phone. "Medium?"

"Yes." She turns it over. There's a Saint’s Outlaws patch stitched on the front, and her fingers still on it for a second.

"We can get a different one," Rook says quickly.

"No, this is fine." She pulls it over her head. It's too big for her, but she smiles anyway, and nobody gave her that patch, nobody claimed her, it's just a hoodie, except the distinction between those two things mean more than it should.

Rook looks at Sarah. “It looks better on you.”

Ice Pick turns toward him. “Was that flirting?”

“With Sarah?” Rook looks horrified. “She’s young enough to be my daughter.”

“You don’t have a daughter,” Ice points out.

“That isn’t relevant,” Rook replies.

Sarah laughs, and the sound carries down the corridor far enough that a nurse glances over, and all four men in the room drop their voices at once without being asked to.