An hour later, they proclaimed us fiddle-fit and released us. Jeff had driven to the hospital, and so he dropped us all off at our homes, me, very much on purpose, last.
“I know what it looks like,” he said.
“That you left me burning on the stage?”
He grimaced. “I had a good reason.”
“Potty break?”
We were still sitting in the car. I wanted to hug him. I wanted to slug him. It had been a traumatic day. I lost my job. I almost lost my life. I’d been rescued by a man I was just about to break up with, even though we weren’t dating. I was wondering if my hospital stay could be considered billable hours. What would Arthur say when he got that invoice?
“I knew you weren’t hurt,” he said.
“I was on fire, dude. Seriously. Fi…er.”
He grinned. “Remember when we took that trip up to Oregon,
