It’s hours past when her shift should’ve ended. The adrenaline’s gone, but her body hasn’t caught on. She’s still running on fumes and muscle memory when she pushes open the staff lounge door.
Jack’s inside, feet kicked up on a table that definitely wasn’t designed for that, sipping what is probably the worst coffee in the building. He glances over when she enters, one brow ticking up.
“Huh. You waited. Either I’m flattered or you’ve got a concussion.”
She doesn’t bother answering, just leans against the wall and lets her eyes close for a second too long.
“You said to come find you at the end of the day,” she mutters.
“I also say things like, ‘I’m gonna take up yoga’ and ‘I believe in the Cubs this season.’ Don’t take me so seriously.”
She snorts, which makes his smirk twitch a little wider. But then he looks at her again—really looks. The humor fades just enough to make space for concern.
“You good?”
She pauses. Considers lying. It’d be easier. But something about Jack, the way he asks like he already knows the answer and won’t judge her for it, makes her tell the truth.
“No. Not really.”
He nods once. Not surprised.
They both fall into silence for a moment. It’s not comfortable, but it’s real.
Finally, he breaks it.
“Sit,” he says, nudging the chair next to him with his foot. “Before you pass out and I have to explain to Robby why one of his golden children is drooling on the linoleum.”
She sits.
He slides his coffee toward her without looking.
“Don’t say I never gave you anything.”