“Sasha Vaughn.” She shot to her feet, the clipboard clutched to her chest. I put my hand on the small of her back as we walked across the space to the nurse. Sasha glanced over her shoulder to where my thumb was drawing circles on her black sweater. If she wanted me to stop touching her, well . . . tough. There was something anchoring about having a hand on her. It was a reminder that we were figuring this out together. A reminder that if I lost my shit, she’d fall apart. And I wasn’t going to let that happen.
