Page 162 of The Sweetest Obsession

The slow zigzags tracking cardiac activity, and suddenly that flurry of motion around her turns quieter, gentler, settling her into place.

Closing up her hospital gown over the subtle burn marks on her skin from the shock paddles, a small sacrifice to keep her alive.

Her eyes are closed, her lips slack.

But her chest rises and falls while that slow beep echoes over the room.

I go down limply against Grant. My knees won’t hold me up any longer.

I don’t know if I’m sobbing with relief or if I’m still petrified and pre-mourning. I can’t decide.

I just know it feels like the medical staff bought me a little more time to say goodbye.

19

ONE MORE TIME (GRANT)

Ican’t remember the last time I’ve seen Ophelia Sanderson this exhausted and drained to the bone.

No, actually, I can.

The last time her mother went through this, and Ophelia was right there with her, every step of the way.

She was much younger then.

And she almost feels like that younger version of herself now when she’s unconscious in my arms, so weightless it’s like she’s barely there.

Like her very essence bled out with her grief.

She refused to leave the medical center, even after the staff settled her mother and drifted away. Hours in a chair at her mother’s bedside, holding Angela’s fragile hand.

When Ophelia finally passed out, I carried her to my car and took her home.

She doesn’t even stir as I settle her in my bed and pull her shoes off before tucking her in, adjusting the pillows under her tangled gold hair.

Flaky lines of tears linger on her cheeks in glistening tracks I gently brush away, lingering on the hollows under her eyes.

“Wish there was something I could do for your ma, Butterfly,” I whisper. “Anything. I’d do any goddamned thing to bring her back for you, safe and sound.”

Ophelia’s only answer is a sigh, turning subtly toward me in her sleep.

I sigh, too.

I can’t work miracles. There’s nothing I can truly do for Angela when she’s waging a lonely war.

On the other hand, I can do something for Ophelia. For Ros.

That means getting to the bottom of this shit show with Mason Law.

My resolve hardens into granite.

I dig around in my pocket till I find the little notepad I use to write down case notes and scrawl out a quick note just in case Ophelia wakes up and worries where I am. I leave it on the nightstand.

Gone upto the big house to follow up on a few leads. Be back soon.

Don’t you worry about dinner tonight. I’m cooking. My folks got Nell and I’ll grab her when the timing’s right, too.

Just rest, Butterfly.

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