He gapes at me, wounded—but amused, too. “I’ve never frothed. Let’s see your dad. I have a surprise for you.”
“Surprise?” My eyes widen in alarm.
“Come.” Christian takes my hand, and we push open the double doors of the ICU.
Standing at the end of Ray’s bed is Grace, deep in discussion with Crowe and a second doctor, a woman I’ve not seen before. Seeing us, Grace grins.
Oh, thank heavens.
“Christian.” She kisses his cheek, then turns to me and folds me in her warm embrace.
“Ana. How are you holding up?”
“I’m fine. It’s my father I’m worried about.”
“He’s in good hands. Doctor Sluder is an expert in her field. We trained together at Yale.”
Oh . . .
“Mrs. Grey,” Dr. Sluder greets me very formally. She’s short-haired and elfin with a shy smile and a soft southern accent. “As the lead physician for your father, I’m pleased to tell you that all is on track. His vital signs are stable and strong. We have every faith that he’ll make a complete recovery. The brain swelling has stopped, and shows signs of decreasing. This is very encouraging after such a short time.”
“That’s good news,” I murmur.
She smiles warmly at me. “It is, Mrs. Grey. We’re taking real good care of him.”
“Great to see you again, Grace.”
Grace smiles. “Likewise, Lorraina.”
“Dr. Crowe, let’s leave these good people to visit with Mr. Steele.” Crowe follows in Dr. Sluder’s wake to the exit.
I glance over at Ray, and for the first time since his accident, I feel more hopeful. Dr. Sluder and Grace’s kind words have rekindled my hope.
Grace takes my hand and squeezes gently. “Ana, sweetheart, sit with him.
Talk to him. It’s all good. I’ll visit with Christian in the waiting room.” I nod. Christian smiles his reassurance, and he and his mother leave me with my beloved father sleeping peacefully to the gentle lullaby of his ventilator and heart monitor.
354/551
I slip Christian’s white T-shirt on and get into bed.
“You seem brighter,” Christian says cautiously as he pulls on his pajamas.
“Yes. I think talking to Dr. Sluder and your mom made a big difference. Did you ask Grace to come here?”
Christian slides into bed and pulls me into his arms, turning me to face away from him.
“No. She wanted to come and check on your dad herself.”
“How did she know?”
“I called her this morning.”
Oh.
“Baby, you’re exhausted. You should sleep.”
“Hmm,” I murmur in agreement. He’s right. I’m so tired. It’s been an emotional day. I crane my head around and gaze at him a beat. We’re not going to make love? And I’m relieved. In fact, he’s had a totally hands-off approach with me all day. I wonder if I should be alarmed by this turn of events, but since my inner goddess has left the building and taken my libido with her, I’ll think about it in the morning. I turn over and snuggle against Christian, wrapping my leg over his.
“Promise me something,” he says softly.
“Hmm?” It’s a question that I am too tired to articulate.
“Promise me you’ll eat something tomorrow. I can just about tolerate you wearing another man’s jacket without frothing at the mouth, but, Ana . . . you must eat. Please.”
“Hmm,” I acquiesce. He kisses my hair. “Thank you for being here,” I mumble and sleepily kiss his chest.
“Where else would I be? I want to be wherever you are, Ana. Being here makes me think of how far we’ve come. And the night I first slept with you. What a night that was. I watched you for hours. You were just . . . yar,” he breathes. I smile against his chest.
“Sleep,” he murmurs, and it’s a command. I close my eyes and drift.
I stir, opening my eyes to a bright September morning. Warm and comfortable between clean, crisp sheets, I take a moment to orientate myself and am overwhelmed by a sense of déja vu. Of course, I’m at the Heathman.
“Shit! Daddy!” I gasp out loud, recalling with a gut-wrenching surge of apprehension that twists my heart and starts it pounding why I’m in Portland.
“Hey.” Christian is sitting on the edge of the bed. He strokes my cheek with his knuckles, instantly calming me. “I called the ICU this morning. Ray had a good night. It’s all good,” he says reassuringly.
“Oh, good. Thank you,” I mutter, sitting up.
356/551
He leans in and presses his lips to my forehead. “Good morning, Ana,” he whispers and kisses my temple.
“Hi,” I mutter. He’s up and dressed in a black T-shirt and blue jeans.
“Hi,” he replies, his eyes soft and warm. “I want to wish you happy birthday.
Is that okay?”