Page 41 of Life Or Death

Lucifer doesn’t have such a shining personality. He glares and grunts. No one would say he’s a conversationalist. But in the weeks that he’s been coming to the hospital, I’ve seen a different side of him. One that allows him to speak more than a few words and sometimes even smile.

I like it.

That’s not something I ever thought I’d admit, and it scares me. I keep having to remind myself that I can’t afford to get attached to him. That’s why I need to put an end to it.

Especially if I’m going to be discharged soon.

So, when he arrived a little while ago with dinner, I told him he didn’t have to keep coming by. I figured he’d be happy to be rid of me. That he could go back to doing whatever it is he does as the president of the Fallen Demons, and just forget I ever existed.

Well, until I don’t need his medical coverage anymore.

He’ll, of course, have to deal with me when it comes time for us to divorce, but who the hell knows when that’s gonna be. Just because I’m on the verge of being discharged soon doesn’t mean I’m healed. I still have a long road ahead of me that consists of physical therapy and possibly even more surgeries, but I won’t know about the latter until the scars on my legs mature.

Dr. Patel alerted me that reconstructive surgery might be in play if my scars prohibit my range of motion. Right now, I have limited mobility.

Lucifer turns around, placing his hands on his hips. His dark eyes narrow as he fixes me with a glare.

“What happens when you get discharged? What does a day in your life look like?”

The question catches me off guard. I guess I wasn’t expecting him to care enough to question why I suddenly didn’t want him around. I worry my lower lip between my teeth as I contemplate my answer.

I haven’t thought that far ahead. I’ve been too focused on surviving each day, on enduring the pain, on not crying during physical therapy when Marcus pushes me past what I think I can handle.

“I don’t really know,” I admit. “Marcus is recommending physical therapy five days a week.”

He jerks his chin. “Right, well, you can’t drive yourself to therapy, right?”

The question hangs between us, and I shift uncomfortably in my chair.

“I don’t know. I didn’t ask.”

Lucifer lets out a sharp exhale through his nose, and I can practically see the gears turning behind those dark eyes. “Okay, well, let’s say for argument’s sake, you can’t. What happens then? Are we going to rely on Tori, who is already stretched so thin she can’t manage to visit more than once a week?”

The comment hits me like a slap. “That’s not fair.”

“You’re right, it’s not fair. To her. That’s why you need a fucking plan.”

Heat flares in my chest, defensive and immediate. I want to tell him that I have everything figured out, that there is absolutely no reason for him to question me. That I’m not his fucking problem.

But I don’t have a plan, and that realization sits heavy in my stomach. I’m just too angry to acknowledge.

“I have a plan,” I snap.

He crosses his arms against his chest and widens his stance. “Okay, let’s hear it, baby. What’s your big plan?”

The word baby rolls off his tongue with an ease that doesn’t match the hardness of his expression, and something in my chest does a stupid, traitorous flip.

“Don’t call me that.”

He scoffs, the corner of his mouth twitching. “My apologies. I’m still waiting to hear that plan of yours, though.”

The condescension in his voice makes my blood boil. “I’ll figure it out. Just like I always do. I’m more concerned about where I’m going to work now that I don’t have a job and my bills have been piling up for two months.”

Lucifer’s entire demeanor shifts. His shoulders go rigid, and his eyes widen slightly, as if I’ve said something incomprehensible. “You can’t be serious.”

“I’m dead serious.” I lean forward, ignoring the twinge of pain that shoots up my leg. “Tori’s been floating all our bills. I can’t let her do that. She’s got a daughter to support. I need to work.”

He stares at me for a beat. “What the fuck are they shooting in your veins?”