had had the decency to fill us in after we’d risked our necks.
We finished surgery in just under eighteen hours, which in truth was quicker than I’d expected. Dawn was beginning to edge through the high windows of the surgeons’ locker room as I peeled off my cap and tossed it into the bio waste bin.
My ponytail was half falling out and my eyes felt like sandpaper. I didn’t care.
I plunked down on the bench between the rows of lockers and just sat.
There was a time I thought I could beat this war—that the things I did to make the prophecies come true would make a difference. Now, I didn’t know.
I’d worked so hard, bled soul-deep to help bring about that cease-fire. And for what? It was hard to see if it had been a true time of peace or simply a delay of the inevitable. War, suffering, death. I didn’t know how to escape it. Or if we even could.
I shoved to my feet.
Marc hadn’t even wanted to hear about the bronze dagger, as if that would make it go away.
It galled me, the way he refused to acknowledge what we were dealing with.
He was too cynical. This war had hardened him as well.
I shucked off my surgical gown. Oh, who was I kidding? There was a time when I’d felt the same way. Like I could be logical, practical, and all of this would go away.
Ha. I wadded the gown and tossed it into the biohazard bin.
Now I felt too deeply, for people and things I shouldn’t feel for at all. I didn’t want to dive back into that mess, but trying to handle everything on my own sucked.
No matter how hard I tried not to admit it to myself, I knew Galen would understand about the dagger.
I yanked open my locker and pulled out a PowerBar and a half-full bottle of water.
He’d wanted to protect me when the knife had first started showing up in places it shouldn’t. Galen had insight, answers—even if they were based on an insane faith in me and my abilities.
Maybe I didn’t miss him so much after all.
I tore through my PowerBar without tasting it. It was fuel, nothing more. And if I slowed down, I might fall over. That was the problem with marathon surgery—my body wanted to crash, but my brain was still going a hundred and eighty miles an hour.
There was no way I was going to sleep. And anyway, I needed to check on Galen. No telling who had walked in on him during the chaos of the last eighteen hours.
Grabbing a clean mask, I took the shortcut through surgery, half expecting to be called over to assist. But there were no more patients waiting and the only surgeons left out on the floor—Kosta and Rodger—had eyes only for their patients.
When I pushed through the double doors to the ICU, a new nurse sat at the desk.
“I’m here to see Jane and John Doe.”
She finished making a notation in a chart and slid her pen behind her ear. “They’re in quarantine.”
Nice touch.
She checked her list. “Beds 2Q and 3Q.”
Quarantine. So they’d been separated then. “Thanks.” My heart pounded and my palms began to sweat.
Don’t think of the dream.
Or sex.
Or the way our bodies slid together so perfectly.
It hadn’t been so long ago that I’d lived that dream. I’d had Galen in my bed every night. I remembered every kiss, every touch. Vividly.
Lord have mercy.
I took the back exit out of recovery, to the flat strip of land before the rise of the hill where we landed our evac helicopters. Six small red tents stretched out in a row, with the requisite ten feet between them.
Each was big enough for one patient, and me when I crouched over.
This was so dumb, but I did it anyway. “Knock, knock,” I said, easing inside 3Q before I lost my nerve.
Galen’s eyes flew open and he was up in an instant, sword in hand.
“Whoa, hey!” He was keeping a short sword under his pillow? That blade was at least two feet long. I held up my hands. “It’s me.”
At least he was wearing boxers. That and nothing else. The walls of the tiny tent closed in around us.
He’d been lying on his side,
We finished surgery in just under eighteen hours, which in truth was quicker than I’d expected. Dawn was beginning to edge through the high windows of the surgeons’ locker room as I peeled off my cap and tossed it into the bio waste bin.
My ponytail was half falling out and my eyes felt like sandpaper. I didn’t care.
I plunked down on the bench between the rows of lockers and just sat.
There was a time I thought I could beat this war—that the things I did to make the prophecies come true would make a difference. Now, I didn’t know.
I’d worked so hard, bled soul-deep to help bring about that cease-fire. And for what? It was hard to see if it had been a true time of peace or simply a delay of the inevitable. War, suffering, death. I didn’t know how to escape it. Or if we even could.
I shoved to my feet.
Marc hadn’t even wanted to hear about the bronze dagger, as if that would make it go away.
It galled me, the way he refused to acknowledge what we were dealing with.
He was too cynical. This war had hardened him as well.
I shucked off my surgical gown. Oh, who was I kidding? There was a time when I’d felt the same way. Like I could be logical, practical, and all of this would go away.
Ha. I wadded the gown and tossed it into the biohazard bin.
Now I felt too deeply, for people and things I shouldn’t feel for at all. I didn’t want to dive back into that mess, but trying to handle everything on my own sucked.
No matter how hard I tried not to admit it to myself, I knew Galen would understand about the dagger.
I yanked open my locker and pulled out a PowerBar and a half-full bottle of water.
He’d wanted to protect me when the knife had first started showing up in places it shouldn’t. Galen had insight, answers—even if they were based on an insane faith in me and my abilities.
Maybe I didn’t miss him so much after all.
I tore through my PowerBar without tasting it. It was fuel, nothing more. And if I slowed down, I might fall over. That was the problem with marathon surgery—my body wanted to crash, but my brain was still going a hundred and eighty miles an hour.
There was no way I was going to sleep. And anyway, I needed to check on Galen. No telling who had walked in on him during the chaos of the last eighteen hours.
Grabbing a clean mask, I took the shortcut through surgery, half expecting to be called over to assist. But there were no more patients waiting and the only surgeons left out on the floor—Kosta and Rodger—had eyes only for their patients.
When I pushed through the double doors to the ICU, a new nurse sat at the desk.
“I’m here to see Jane and John Doe.”
She finished making a notation in a chart and slid her pen behind her ear. “They’re in quarantine.”
Nice touch.
She checked her list. “Beds 2Q and 3Q.”
Quarantine. So they’d been separated then. “Thanks.” My heart pounded and my palms began to sweat.
Don’t think of the dream.
Or sex.
Or the way our bodies slid together so perfectly.
It hadn’t been so long ago that I’d lived that dream. I’d had Galen in my bed every night. I remembered every kiss, every touch. Vividly.
Lord have mercy.
I took the back exit out of recovery, to the flat strip of land before the rise of the hill where we landed our evac helicopters. Six small red tents stretched out in a row, with the requisite ten feet between them.
Each was big enough for one patient, and me when I crouched over.
This was so dumb, but I did it anyway. “Knock, knock,” I said, easing inside 3Q before I lost my nerve.
Galen’s eyes flew open and he was up in an instant, sword in hand.
“Whoa, hey!” He was keeping a short sword under his pillow? That blade was at least two feet long. I held up my hands. “It’s me.”
At least he was wearing boxers. That and nothing else. The walls of the tiny tent closed in around us.
He’d been lying on his side,
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