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She still had a will to live then, but the one-sided exchange I saw between her and Valentino makes me think she knows something that I don’t.
“Sloane, if you can hear me, I’m going to patch you back together. If you can hear me through the drugs, remember you have so much to fight for. Valentino is going to wake up looking for you, so you better come through this.” My voice breaks, but I won’t let it stop me from convincing her to fight for her life.
As I work, I talk. She’s told me countless times she loves my voice, so I talk. I talk about any and everything. Nothing is too inane. From childhood memories to what we ate for breakfast this morning as we waited to hear from Ghost Six to each procedure I work on as I save her life. My mouth and hands are in constant motion. The calm belies my internal turmoil.
All that comes to a halt when the blood pressure machine’s lights start blinking. Her pressure is dropping which means I’ve missed something. What can it be? I search while running lists through my mind. Then my heart nearly stops. There’s a new hemorrhage, unrelated to the bullets I’ve removed or the wounds I’ve closed. On closer inspection, a new dread unfurls in my chest while her blood fills a mountain’s worth of gauzes.
She’s lost a lot of blood already. There’s no time to process what this means, but my mind whirls with questions and my heart hurts from the unknown.
“Quédate conmigo. Do you hear me? Whatever you do, stay with me.” I fly to retrieve more blood for the transfusion she will need and prepare her for a dilation and curettage.
Did she know? Was she waiting to tell us?
No, I can’t make myself believe that she prioritized vengeance over the new life inside her. I swallow my anguish, my tears, and my words while I widen her cervix. She does not need to know what I’m taking from her. Granted, we should have anticipated this since we never used protection, but she never exhibited signs that she was pregnant. No fatigue, no sensitivity, no dizziness…nothing.
The truth will kill her.
And Valentino.
I begin scraping her uterine lining, trying to block out this reality I’m living in, that my hands are the ones extracting our baby’s remains. My throat works overtime as I hold back my rage and heartbreak. There is a reason doctors aren’t supposed to operate on their loved ones, but who better to respect the life I’m trying to save and the one who will only live on in my memory?
I blink furiously to clear my vision, belatedly realizing the wetness on my cheeks is from a constant flow of tears I didn’t know I was crying. If only…No, there’s no time for regrets when Sloane’s life could slip away at any moment.
I will shoulder this burden despite agreeing to never keep secrets. After all, the best-kept secret is the one where only one person knows what happened. In this small way, I can protect her and Valentino because they will never forgive themselves if they discover the truth.
Her blood slows, thanks to the procedure. Thank God I won’t have to perform a hysterectomy. I whisper my fervent thanks. I wouldn’t be able to hide the truth if things got worse. The remaining operations go smoothly. She doesn’t crash like she did a few months ago. Her stats are all stable and her chance for survival is much higher than it was when her blood pressure tanked.
With her outcome looking positive, I wash up and rush to Valentino’s operating room. “How is Vale—”
My words die in my throat as I watch Cooper press a defibrillator to Valentino’s chest and yell, “Clear!”
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Sloane
Everything feels heavy like someone has attached a thirty pound weight to everything; my arms, my legs, even my eyelids. I fight through the fog to blink open my eyes.
Where am I?
There’s a darkened doorway to my left. The room is in deep shadows but it looks like the same one Valentino and Tácito put me in to recover from my last run-in with Ghost Six. That’s right!
“Valentino. Tácito,” I croak through parched lips and a dry throat. I try again, louder this time. “Valentino! Tácito! Val—”
“We’re here,” Tácito sponges water on my dry lips. “He hasn’t woken up yet, but you’re both going to be fine.” Fatigue lines his face.
He’s aged in…
“How long has it been?”
“Since you almost died on me for the millionth time? Yesterday afternoon.” He peers into my eyes like he’s searching for the answer to a riddle.
“What? Why are you looking at me like that?” My question causes him to look away, but not for long.
“How much of yesterday’s events do you remember?” His voice is too restrained, meaning he’s holding back some strong emotions. He moves to my feet where I register the vibrating furnace pressing against me.
The poor kitty probably thinks I’m fragile with the number of times she’s comforted me in the hospital wing.
As Tácito pets Cielo, I ask, “Is there something specific you want me to remember?”
