Page 104 of Just One Look

This was why she’d rung Marko, too. Because something was wrong. He could still move his hands, his toes. But he couldn’t—what? Couldn’t run? Couldn’t tackle?

No. It couldn’t be true. His career. Hislife.

“What?” she said. “No. Everything went fine. It was a simple procedure. You have extraordinary bone mineral density, by the way. You should heal beautifully.”

The relief punched into him like a dive across the tryline. “Why is something still wrong, then?” he asked. “Or—wait. What did I say, back there?”

Marko said, “I should go.”

Elizabeth wasn’t listening. She said, “When, after surgery? You just … had some dreams, probably, because you did some talking.”

He groaned. “Tell me I didn’t beg.”

She laughed, and that was better. “You were very sweet. You kissed my hand. I liked that.”

“Oh. Not too bad, then.”

“No,” she said. “Not bad at all.” And gave him that smile she almost never showed. The one she hadn’t shown him last night, when she’d been busy bolting from his house.

He said, “You thought about it, and you’re not as scared.”

“I’m not …” she started to say.

“You are,” he said. “And so am I.”

Marko rose and said, “I think this is my cue. Let me know when you’ll be out of here, mate, and I’ll give you a lift home. Available for errands and so forth as well. I’ll be doing them anyway. No trouble to buy a few extra groceries while I’m out. I could have the bub, though, so there’s that. Riding in the car puts her to sleep, and she hasn’t quite worked out day and night yet.”

“I’ll be good,” Luka said.

“Mate,” Marko said. “You won’t. They aren’t going to let you drive for weeks.”

“Could be as little as two weeks,” Elizabeth said, “depending on your rate of recovery and your opioid use, but, yes, it’ll be at least two weeks. You should take Marko up on his offer.”

“Right,” Luka said. “Good to see you, mate,” he decided to say. “We’ll see how I go.”

“Yeh,” Marko said. “Reckon that’s enough baby steps for one day. Thanks, Elizabeth.”

“No problem,” she said, “but remember, I’m not his—”

“Surgeon,” Luka said. “Just here, for some reason.” His heart was floating up, light as air. It was narcotics, or maybe it wasn’t.

“Well, yes,” she said. Her hands were stuck deep into the pockets of her coat, and she had that look again, like she was perched on her toes, ready to bolt.

“I’m off,” Marko said. “Text me tomorrow. If you don’t, I’ll come sit by your bedside and sing to you. Lullabies, possibly.” Luka made a face, and Marko said, “That’s a threat. Remember it.” And left.

* * *

The curtain rattled shutbehind Marko, and Elizabeth asked, “How are you feeling, really?” Reverting to surgeon mode, like it was safer.

“Anesthesia residue,” Luka said. “Which means I’m feeling pretty bloody good right now. Ask me tomorrow. But nah. No worries. It’ll be better than it was, or the surgeon didn’t do his job. From here on out, it’s down to me, and that’s where I like it. Thanks for coming by. For being there when I woke up, too.”

She looked away, took a pen from her breast pocket, clicked it a few times, seemed to realize she was doing it, and put it back. He didn’t say anything. He waited.

She said, “I got scared last night.”

There went his heart again. “I know.”

Another pause, and then, “I don’t trust … feelings.”