DINNER & DIATRIBES. . . JACKSON AVERY!

chapter sixteen: with you I'm born again

"What the fuck do I have to do to get cleared for surgery!?" Briar shouts, throwing her hands in the air as she paces around her room. Around and around and around. Alex is lounging on her bed, watching her in amusement as he eats through a box of cereal.

"Hmm, what'd he say this time?" He asks her, and she huffs loudly, twisting around to scowl at him.

"That I was being too upfront about what happened. That I'm not actually feeling it! I felt it! I–I'm only just starting to have less concussion symptoms! How is that not feeling it?"

"Is he worried about you working with a concussion?" Alex asks, before tossing a handful of cereal in her direction. "Oops. You were supposed to catch that."

"Thanks for the heads up," Briar snorts, rolling her eyes at him before bending down to scoop up the cereal and throw it in the trash. "Not . . . necessarily. Kind of. I don't know! He talks in circles!"

Briar hates therapy.

"Come on, what'd the shrink say is wrong with you?" Alex asks, desperate for details. He's probably trying to forget about his own appointments with the guy, all of them involved in the shooting trying their hardest to get cleared for surgery. Kepner got cleared before Briar did, and she's taking that personally.

"He talked some BS about how . . . uh, it's 'unhealthy' for me to push aside my health to help other people." Briar says, scoffing as she repeats his words. Honestly, the guy's an idiot. "And he didn't like it when I gave him the definition of triage, but, like, G.S.W. to the chest trumps nose bleed! Everyone knows that!"

"Fair enough."

"And, like, how is stopping me from performing surgery helping anyone? We already need all the staff we can get, but they want to sideline me? Because I worked through a bloody nose? It's. All. Bullshit."

Briar finally drops down to the bed with her best friend, turning to grin at him. Even though she's upset, it's hard to feel that way when he's next to her. Alive. Breathing. Eating his way, very loudly, through a box of cereal–maybe she can be upset with him.

"When's your next appointment?" Alex asks with his mouth full. Briar barely resists the urge to shove him off the bed, reminding herself that he did get shot recently.

"1 o'clock," Briar sighs out, glaring at her alarm clock reading 10:36. She doesn't want to go speak to him again. He's exhausting. "You?"

"2, although you could do me a favor and really take up all of his time." He suggests, making Briar laugh in his face.

"Yeah right. I'm thinking of skipping."

"That'll get you cleared. Great plan!"

"Shut up." Briar laughs, dropping her head down onto his left shoulder and smiling when he wraps his arm around her, pulling her closer. "Ooh, maybe I can say I had a mental breakdown! That's feeling my emotions!"

"That's a one way ticket to psych, ask Lex."

Briar laughs loudly at that, shaking her head before twisting around and propping herself up on one hand, squinting up at Alex.

"Maybe I should try that . . . go to psych for a few days, cry in his office about my sad, sad feelings, and then bam! Surgery!" She does jazz hands at the last word, making Alex cackle, and she grins as she slowly drops them.

"Maybe . . ." He starts, before hesitating for a second. "I don't know, maybe talk to him as if you're talking to me. That might help."

Briar starts to shake her head–in no world is she capable of pretending that the shrink is Alex–before her face lights up and she shakes his arm in excitement.