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Dr. Cruso kicked me out of her “operating room,” which is really a guest bedroom she has fashioned into a kind of field hospital, within the first ten minutes after we arrived. Apparently, I was hovering and making her nervous. So, I’ve been sitting in the waiting area—really, it is the dining room—for three hours, pacing and crying and praying.
After Luka told me he loved me, he drifted into unconsciousness and didn’t wake up at all when we carried him into the house, even when we nearly dropped him going up the stairs. I don’t know what I’ll do if he isn’t okay. If he doesn’t wake up.
I push the thought from my head and wish I had an out-of-date magazine I could read, but this waiting room is nothing more than a few rickety chairs and dust. So, I pace.
I’ve debated whether I should call his father or not to inform them of his condition, but I don’t think I could handle having them here in the waiting room, as well, so I don’t. Besides, Luka is going to wake up, and he would be annoyed if I worried everyone for nothing.
My pacing is interrupted by a phone call. It is Luka’s phone, and I almost don’t answer it, but I’m edgy and desperate for a distraction.
“Hello, Luka Volkov’s phone,” I say, sounding more like his secretary than his wife.
“Gabriel,” the soldier says, identifying himself in as few words as possible. “Tell Luka the O’Neills have been relocated.”
I pause, waiting for him to continue, but he doesn’t. The line is so quiet I wonder if he didn’t hang up on me.
“Hello?” I ask.
He sighs. “Just tell him.”
The line goes dead, and I pull back and look down at the phone. I don’t know what that was, but I make a mental note to remind Luka if—whenhe wakes up.
I pace for another hour. I pace until my feet hurt and my knees ache and my hips feel like they are just two bones rubbing together. I pace to the operating room door, press my ear against the wood, and listen for anything. There is just the sound of metal clattering and the hum of machines. I don’t hear Luka’s voice. So, I pace back to the waiting room.
Then, Luka’s phone rings again, and again, I answer it.
“Luka Volkov’s phone,” I say.
“Who is this?” the male voice on the other end of the line sounds suspicious.
“His wife,” I say, ignoring the flutter in my stomach at the title. “Who is this?”
“Oh, Eve,” the man says. He sounds like he knows me, so I look down at the phone, but the number is private.
“Who is this?” I repeat.
“I’m glad he found you. Tell him my family and I said thank you.” The voice is kind and warm, but before I can ask any more questions, the line is dead.
My best guess is that the second call must have been from one of the O’Neills, and while the calls didn’t make much sense to me, they confirm what I’ve suspected all along: there is more good in Luka than he wants anyone to know.
* * *
When I finally grow weary of pacing, I collapse into a chair, and I’m sitting down for no more than ten minutes when Dr. Cruse finally opens the door and steps into the room. I bolt to my feet and sprint to her so quickly she holds her hands out to keep me back.
“He has regained consciousness,” she says. “He is in a lot of pain and—”
“Is he okay?” I ask, interrupting her. “Is he going to make it?”
“Yes, he’ll make it.”
I nearly collapse with relief. “Can I see him?”
Dr. Cruso grabs my arm. “He needs to take it easy, Eve.Youhave to make sure he takes it easy. I did my best, but I was working with limited equipment. If he tries anything too strenuous, the stitches could give, and he could bleed out all over again. You have to take care of him, okay?”
I nod. “I will.”
It is a promise I’m more than happy to keep. After everything we’ve been through, I might pay someone to place metal shutters over the windows of the mansion and keep us both inside forever. We can be hermits together. Safe hermits.
Dr. Cruso steps aside, looking weary, and I thank her and rush into the room. My eagerness is tempered by the sight of Luka.
