Total pages in book: 43
Estimated words: 40814 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 204(@200wpm)___ 163(@250wpm)___ 136(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 40814 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 204(@200wpm)___ 163(@250wpm)___ 136(@300wpm)
I was worried about the slightest noise waking her earlier, but when I storm into her room, Daphne’s all but dead to the world. It takes half a minute to rouse her.
The doctors hover anxiously in the background as I gently cup her face. “Want to go home, kitten?”
She nods, though it looks like it takes all her energy to do so. “Anywhere but here,” she breathes out before her eyes flicker closed again.
It’s enough for me and apparently it’s enough consent for the doctors, too. They let me wheel her out to a private ambulance I arrange so I can take my beautiful Daphne home where she belongs.
Three
Daphne
The scent of roses is my first clue. And then there’s the fresh air that tickles my nose, filling my lungs with sweetness. Outside birds are singing, the sound so loud, a window must be open.
Fresh air. Birdsong. Roses.
The hospital would never allow a window to open. So that means—
I’m not in a hospital anymore.
I open my eyes. The familiar sight of my castle bedroom greets me. For a moment, a burst of happiness rushes me.
Home. I’m home.
Until I realize that the room is only mostly familiar. There’s no antique four poster bed. Instead, I’m in a hospital bed heaped with white pillows and surrounded by medical equipment, including an IV pole standing by.
It wasn’t all a terrible nightmare. Battleman’s is really back.
But as I blink more, I take in the Persian rug covering the floor that’s always been there. The same bright sunlight, filtered through the same huge windows I’ve always loved. One of the windows is open at the bottom and birds hop on the sill just beyond the screen. No wonder I can hear them so well. I’m at the castle and the birds are singing.
A shadow falls across my bed and I startle.
“Daphne,” Logan looms over me. He looks a thousand times better than when I last saw him kneeling by the hospital bed. He’s clean-shaven and dressed in a crisp white shirt tailored to his wide shoulders. His voice is deep and soothing. “You’re awake.”
“Logan?”
“Shhh,” he rubs salve on my lips. I can’t stop myself from licking them—the salve tastes horrible but my lips are all healed. Logan tsks and reapplies the balm. “Are you cold? It got a little stuffy in here, so I opened a window. Spring’s come early.”
I blink at him, waiting for my thoughts to catch up. “You moved me?”
If I really think hard, I think I remember something about all the doctors gathered around and Logan telling me he was bringing me home. But it seems like a distant dream. I didn’t necessarily think it was real at the time. I hate nothing more than hospitals, though, so I’m glad to be out of there.
And I’m with Logan and I love him and he loves me and we’re home finally. Maybe it’ll be different this time.
Maybe it’s true what they say, and anything is possible as long as you have true love. I look at his beloved face, vulnerable and free of that terrible mask he used to wear.
We’ve come through so much. Can we make it through this, too?
“Mhhmm.” He picks up a blood pressure cuff, fastens it around my arm, and takes my blood pressure like it’s the most normal thing in the world for us to do together. I frown and my blood goes cold in a way that has nothing to do with my illness.
How many times did I witness this exact same scene play out? My father bent over my mother’s hospital bed, set up in their bedroom? Taking her blood pressure, her temperature, or drawing blood. I’ve seen what it looks like when what was once love becomes clinical. How a series of triumphs and failures with every lab test can become an entire marriage.
Still, out of habit, I count the seconds along with him as the blood pressure cuff releases pressure.
When he finishes, he nods, removes the cuff, and leans in to kiss the top of my head—the top of my head mind you, not my lips—before going to the medical stand to enter the results on the computer. Then again, why would he want to kiss my lips when I’ve got this gross tasting salve on them? I can’t even describe the despair that hits me at that thought. Because I can only imagine how terrible the rest of me looks.
From what I can see of the screen, all my medical records are there.
Logan moved me from the hospital. Permanently. Holy shit.
“Um, Logan...why did you move me?”
“The hospital and I had a difference of opinion on your course of treatment.”
“A difference of opinion,” I repeat.
“Yes. You know what? It’s a little too breezy in here. I’m going to shut the window.”
And he strolls away. Before he shuts the lower section, he picks up a scoop from a big birdseed bag, opens the screen and empties the scoop on the sill. Then he removes the screen and closes the window. The sound of birds is muffled, but I see them fluttering to the sill to eat the seed.