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“Dad… I saw Mom.” I want to tell him, because I have this feeling he’d want to know. “She looks good.”
“Ryan…” His smile fades and he steps back.
What? What am I forgetting? What the hell am I doing here, on a bed? And why does my chest hurt?
“Dr. Jensen wanted to talk to you,” he says, and I blink at the ceiling, my hands twisting in the covers.
Dr. Jensen. A hospital.
Memory rushes back so suddenly I flinch.
Mind-blowing sex, a pretty girl, a handsome guy, kissing, fucking, bodies moving together. Pain in my chest. Fear. The diagnosis. Surgery.
I had surgery.
Fuck. I lift a hand to touch my chest and grunt when the IV needle lodged in my arm is jostled.
“Ryan.” Dr. Jensen appears at my side, smiling her professional, tight smile. “How are you feeling?”
Peachy. Awesome. Like I could run a marathon.
…not.
“I have good news.” Her smile brightens. “The surgery went even better than I expected. We fixed the problem and found no other issues when we opened you up. You’re good to go, or will be, soon. With some medication and taking good care of yourself like you’re doing now, well…” She glances at where I guess my father is standing and then back to me. “I expect you to live a long and good life.”
“And sex?” I ask.
“Sex… is fine,” the doc says. “As long as you don’t overdo it, all exercise is good.”
My father makes a strange wheezing noise.
Was it something I said?
Oh. Looks like my mouth is pretty much disconnected from my brain. Come to think of it, my chest doesn’t hurt too bad, which means I’m probably stoned out of my mind.
Thank you, drugs.
Why am I asking about sex?
There was a girl, and a guy… standing by my bed.
They… I know them.
“Brylee,” I whisper. “Riddick.”
She keeps talking, but I tune her out. Slowly, in degrees, one thing is becoming clear.
I’m alive.
And likely to remain so. For years. Many years.
Which means there is a future.
Holy shit.
Holy fucking shit.
“Ryan, are you listening to me?” she says patiently.
