Series: Silver Spoon MC Series by Nichole Rose
Total pages in book: 43
Estimated words: 38632 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 193(@200wpm)___ 155(@250wpm)___ 129(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 38632 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 193(@200wpm)___ 155(@250wpm)___ 129(@300wpm)
"I…"
My warning growl quickly silences whatever lie she was going to tell.
She shakes her head instead, silently agreeing with me.
The elevator shudders to a stop on the top floor. The doors slide open.
Samara startles like a frightened doe.
"Easy, angel," I croon, running a hand down her side. "Easy."
"Easy for you to say," she sniffs, glaring at me. "You didn't just step out of your life and into the Twilight Zone."
I chuckle, taking a step back and holding out my hand. "This isn't the Twilight Zone. This is your life now that I'm in it. I guess Gage didn't tell you everything about me, did he?"
"I guess not," she mutters, reluctantly letting me pull her from the elevator. "He certainly left out the parts about you being overgrown and bossy."
"Nah, angel. I'm not bossy. I'm the boss."
She snorts, shaking her head as a small smile plays at her lips. "Whatever you say, bossy," she says. And then she stops walking and does a double take, gaping at the apartment around us. "Holy crap, Tate. This place is amazing."
I cast a critical eye around, trying to see what she does. The walls are all glass, looking out over the Medical Center to the south and west, and Rice University to the north. Automatic blinds black out the windows with the touch of a button, turning the apartment into a fortress. Thick rugs cover the porcelain floors. Expensive bowls and vases rest on equally as expensive tables. But the furniture is soft and plush, made for comfort more than style.
The truth is, I don't give a shit about impressing anyone when I'm here. I care about sleeping so I'm not useless to the patients fighting for their lives across the street. If I'm not at the top of my game, I'm no use to them. I didn't pick the penthouse because it screams money. I picked it because it's completely soundproofed. Nothing intrudes, allowing me to sleep like the dead.
"It's better than a chair in the waiting room," I murmur. "You'll be able to rest here. And sharing a bathroom with me is a hell of a lot better than sharing it with fifteen random strangers. I clean up after myself, and I have fluffy towels."
"Sh-sharing with you?" She blinks wide eyes at me.
"Mmhmm. There's only one bedroom." I wink at her. "Don't worry though, baby. I won't tell anyone how much you like to cuddle at night."
Her mouth pops open.
I close it with a finger beneath her chin and then brush my thumb over her bottom lip. It's so damn soft. Christ, I can't wait to taste it. "I'm teasing, Samara," I say quietly. "I'll keep my hands to myself until you're ready for me to put them all over that beautiful body of yours."
"I'm killing Gage," she whispers.
"You can't." I tap her on her nose, smiling. "Scout needs you."
"Fine," she huffs. "I'll kill him when she's eighteen."
"Hey, ladybug," Samara whispers, running her palm gently over Scout's head. "I brought a special visitor for you tonight. He's bossy, but he's a doctor, so I guess he can't help it."
I smile at her comment, amused. She's been calling me bossy all evening. I don't mind. She can call me whatever she wants. It doesn't change the facts. I know what I want and what I want is her.
Scout's resting comfortably in her crib, her tiny lips slightly parted. Her skin is ashen and a pale blue from lack of oxygen. It's common with her condition. Because there's only one vessel instead of two, oxygen-rich blood and oxygen-poor blood mix on the way out of the heart, meaning not enough of the former gets to the lungs. Her condition hasn't deteriorated enough for her to require a ventilator just yet but it's close. Without surgery, her health will continue to decline. In a matter of weeks, her lungs simply won't be able to keep up. They'll fail. Eventually, her heart will too.
Congenital defects are a particularly cruel twist of genetics. They form long before science even has a hope of stopping them. By the time most parents even know something is wrong, the course is already set. In Scout's case, even if Siobhan had been tested during pregnancy, the outcome wouldn't have changed. Scout would have been in the operating room sooner, but there is no unraveling a congenital defect.
It seems like she rests a little easier with Samara crooning to her. Her heart rate slows, her tiny body sinking a little deeper into sedation. She's a beautiful little girl, a dark-haired angel like her aunt. My heart pulses with emotion as I watch Samara with her. She's a natural, the fierce love she feels for the tiny baby pouring out of her. It pulses in the air around her, shining as bright as the sun.