Maya tried to answer and couldn’t.
The next minutes were blurred again by motion. Someone calling for help. A chair brought. A cloth against the back of her neck. The ballroom door opening and closing. Taylor appearing so fast it was almost frightening, kneeling in front of her in immaculate formalwear as if none of the surrounding eyes existed.
“Maya.”
“I’m okay.”
“That’s a lie.”
“I’m sitting upright.”
His hand found her wrist. “You’re shaking.”
At the hospital—again, though a different wing this time—Dr. Lee met them wearing a dry expression Maya had come to dread.
“You two really know how to date,” she said.
Taylor laughed in sheer relief because she was calm enough to make a joke.
The tests took hours. Longer because fear distorts clocks. Taylor sat with Maya the whole time, hand over his mouth, leg bouncing once under the chair until she told him to stop before he drilled through the floor.
