Page 254 of The Night Shift
“Hi, baby,” I whisper, lips against her temple. My heart’s pounding so loud I’m afraid she’ll hear it.
I feel her heartbeat hammering through her ribs and into mine. Her scent — daffodils paired with a hint of vanilla — crashes into me like memory and I feel like all my broken bones are mending. My chest burns with the need to keep her close always.
She pulls back to look at me. Her lashes are soaked. Her cheeks are blotchy and flushed. Her good hand slips frombeneath my neck and hovers above my face. “Pupils equal and reactive?” she asks before clicking her penlight and checking. “No anisocoria. That’s good.”
She presses two fingers to my wrist, counting silently. “Heart rate’s up, but that’s expected post-op. Any chest pain? Trouble breathing?”
“Around you? Always.”
“Be serious,” she scolds. “Any nausea? Visual disturbances? Photophobia? Headache?”
“Holly.” My voice is rough. “I’m fine.”
“You had an emergency thoracotomy and lost over two liters of blood. You’ve been out for the past two days. You are not fine.”
I cup her face gently and press a soft kiss to her lips. “I am now.”
She still looks unconvinced. “Is there anywhere that it doesn’t hurt?”
“My head,” I tell her somewhat untruthfully.
She nods, contemplating something. Then smacks the back of my skull.
“Ow— Holly, what the hell!”
“You fucking asshole! Do you even know how scared I was? You almost died, Theo!”
A slow, loopy grin spreads across my face, courtesy of morphine and Holly. Mostly Holly. She’s so fucking adorable. My deranged little killer. “I’m sorry, my love. Next time, I’ll be sure to succeed.”
Her glare turns arctic. “Don’t joke.”
“Don’t hit me, then.”
She shakes her head, then buries her face in my neck again. Her body molds against mine like it was always meant to be here. “You’re such a fucking prick.”
I wrap my good arm around her and stroke her hair. “I missed you too, my love.”
I edge over on the bed with some difficulty and she climbs in without a word, snuggling close. Her nose brushes my jaw, and I swear, I would’ve bled out years ago if it meant getting this moment.
I glance at her sling over her shoulder. “Want to tell me why you’ve decided to copy my style?”
She frowns, lifting her head. “What do you mean?”
I touch her shoulder, as gently as I can. “Your shoulder. It looks like an anterior dislocation.”
“It’s not important,” she says.
“It is to me.”
She closes her eyes. “Please, just not right now. I just want to be with you for five more minutes.” Her eyes flick open again. Big, glassy, pleading.
There’s no winning against those eyes. I hold her tighter, letting her press herself into the crook of my side.
“What did you tell April and Parker?” I ask, my fingers curling protectively around her hip.
“That you got jumped by a mugger.”
“And they bought it?”
