Total pages in book: 105
Estimated words: 100561 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 503(@200wpm)___ 402(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100561 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 503(@200wpm)___ 402(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
Pastina abandoned, I’m thrilled when Luca wakes long enough to drink a glass of water and eat a peanut butter sandwich.
“How are you feeling?” I ask softly, reaching up to brush his hair off his forehead.
“Tired,” he says. “And hungry.” His words trail off like he’s been drugged, which… he has. Not only is he taking a narcotic for pain, but his body is also working overtime to heal. I prop him up while he eats half the sandwich with his eyes mostly open, the second half with his eyes drifting closed, and only the bottom crust remains when he’s out again, slumped against my shoulder. I know I need to lay him down, but my heart is so full it’s ready to burst, so I give myself just one more moment of physical contact. Carefully, I massage his hands, his forearms—to aid his circulation, I tell myself—and then settle his limbs onto the mattress. I tentatively brush my fingers through his hair and thank the universe for letting me have him back, whispering a hundred promises about how I’ll never lie to him again. He doesn’t hear a single one.
12 EMERY
As the sky brightens Monday morning, I begrudgingly admit that I need to get to the lab. I can’t stand the thought of leaving Luca at all, especially before he’s even awake. That said, Robert Pattinson does a diagnostic sweep of all security systems every seventy-two hours. If I’m lucky, I can wipe the log of our activity before he reports an anomaly that will draw any attention. And if I leave soon, I can be in and out of the building before anyone is there for the day.
But about twenty minutes later, Annie lets herself in and finds me still standing over Luca like I’m leaving for war.
“He probably won’t even know you left,” she says from the doorway. “If he just had his meds he’ll be out for at least another four hours.”
“I know,” I say, but don’t move.
She crosses the room and stops beside me. “He’ll be okay, Em.” She looks down to Luca’s chart in her hands. “His vitals are blowing me away. I wish we could get him in the BioVIVE again and compare today’s scans to Friday’s. Imagine what’s going on in there.” She shuffles through my notes. “The way he’s bounced back is just—I’ve never seen anything like this.”
“It’s crazy, right? The thigh injury looks weeks old, not days. His vitals don’t show any signs of stress at all.” Glancing at my watch, I sigh. “I guess if I’m going, I need to get on with it.”
“I’d do it but I don’t have your clearance.”
“You’ve done enough.” I pull her into a tight hug. “Take care of him for me, and call me if anything happens?” Honey jumps off the bed and comes over to press her head against my leg. “You, too,” I tell her, and she looks up at me and yawns.
Annie laughs. “We will.”
Every step toward the door is like trying to force magnets apart, but with a final look at him over my shoulder, I whisper, “Bye, sweetie,” and head out.
* * *
Get in. Wipe the data. Get out.
This is my mantra as I park and walk toward the SurgOptix building. It’s extremely rare for me to be here this early on a Monday, or any day, really. On a normal day, I’d be in bed at least a few more hours, or at the very least, wired on copious levels of caffeine. I was too anxious for coffee before I left—something I have never once said. Then again, I’ve never brought my husband back from the dead only to have him not remember a thing about his life, either. As my nana always said, “An interesting life is never stress-free.” No shit, Nana.
It takes five pairs of facial muscles to create a smile, and I’m forcing each one of them into action as I wave at the morning security guard, Felix, and make my way to the elevator.
“You’re early today, Dr. Martín,” he says.
“Yeah, trying something new,” I say with a forced laugh. He gives me a thumbs-up as I try to not aggressively jab at the elevator button.
Get in. Wipe the data. Get out, I think on repeat, waiting for the lift to open, and then open again on the other side. Get in. Wipe the data. Get out.
The secret doors slide apart, and I step into the empty hallway. I swipe my card and move through security on autopilot. In the lab, I’m greeted by the machine of the hour with a steady “Good morning, Dr. Martín. Would you like your schedule for the day?”
“No thank you, Rob,” I say, heading directly to my office. “But would you log into the admin system on my desktop?”