At the hospital, I had to be a daughter, a caretaker. I had to be on point there, around everyone else. Here, in the cab of his truck, I could just be. I didn’t have to be Teddy the daughter or the caretaker or the best friend or the flirt. Here, with him, I could just be Teddy. I sighed. God, I was so tired. I closed my eyes. I heard Gus get out of the truck, but I stayed. I couldn’t move. After a few seconds, my door opened, and the warm air of the summer morning hit my face. I didn’t open my eyes until I felt Gus’s arms—one slid under my knees and the other behind my shoulder blades—and he
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