Page 47 of A Long Way Home

I laugh harshly. “Like I got hit by a bus.”

She giggles. “That’s a fair assessment.”

She puts the end of the stethoscope on my chest, just dipping beneath the edge of my vest. The metal is cool against my skin. Closing her eyes in concentration, she listens before moving the stethoscope over to my back to repeat the process. Finally, she nods, smiling.

“Lungs sound great. Very healthy. You must do a lot of cardio.”

My cheeks heat as thoughts of Luca peal through my mind. Naughty thoughts of our -ahem- more physical relationship.

Idroppedhim, and here I am back in his arms, using him for comfort, and yet pining after another man.

Shame fills me. I shuffle away from Luca, putting as much distance between us as this little bed allows. The movement forces his hand to drop from my side of the stretcher.

Callie is either oblivious to the tension brewing as she continues rambling on about taking blood, or she’swell practiced in reading the room and keeping clear of the drama.

“Make sure you’re drinking lots of fluids and getting a lot of bed rest.” She continues as she packs her implements back into her duffel bag.

She is tucking her stethoscope away when I reach out to grab her arm.

“How is Chelenko?” I swallow. “Did he make it?”

“You should be focusing on yourself. You were subjected to the atmosphere of space. Which may be a vacuum, but it certainly isn't sterile.”

“Please.” I implore her, clutching tighter to her the sleeve of her flight suit.

She takes a deep breath and smiles. “He’s stable–”

“He’s not dead.” I gasp.

“Oh no. Very much alive, although not through lack of trying. Definitely one of the hairier situations I’ve been put through.”

“Can I talk to him?” I ask.

Perhaps I’m foolish, but I feel like nearly dying together brought us closer, like maybe we’re friends now. Or, at least, he’s an older, annoying brother with some grumpy yet worldly wisdom to impart.I could really do with some worldly wisdom right now.

Callie’s eyes drop, she worries her bottom lip before speaking. “He hasn’t woken up yet.”

Oh.

She squeezes my arm gently, reassuringly. “His body was struggling. I had to put him in a medically induced coma. Don’t worry, I'm monitoring him closely. He’s slowly improving.”

I nod numbly.

Wait…Every two hours?

“Oh, right. Sixteen hours.”

“Approximately,” Callie says.

No wonder my throat feels like the Sahara, and my stomach growls like a sabretooth. I rub at the sting in my left arm, a bandage keeping me from scratching at the source.

“Before I forget, antiseptic wash for the cut. Make sure you clean your arm with it twice a day. Use it until it runs out.” She snaps shut the lid of her bag. “And, if you’re feeling up to it, the crew is waiting in the mess if you want to come say hi.” She leans in closer, “A certain someone especially has been waiting not so patiently to see you.”

Matze. Obviously, she means Matze.

I still don’t know what to say to him, but maybe he’ll be happy to wait til we're back on solid ground.

“Oh, there's something else you should know.” Callie starts.

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