Total pages in book: 43
Estimated words: 40814 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 204(@200wpm)___ 163(@250wpm)___ 136(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 40814 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 204(@200wpm)___ 163(@250wpm)___ 136(@300wpm)
The absurdity of it strikes me. Is this real? Do I really have birds chirping at my window like I’m in a Disney movie?
“Yeah.” He answers, and I realize I said all that out loud. Logan straightens, a shy grin tugging the corner of his mouth. “I thought it might be nice for you to watch them. I ordered a few different feeders, but haven’t had a chance to install them. Apparently different birds eat different kinds of seeds and—”
I squint at him. “Who are you and what did you do with Logan Wulfe?” Maybe it’s not so surprising that Logan has a huge nurturing streak. He is a doctor. And he’s just… Logan. The man who held me all night long when I grieved for my mother. The man who never pushed me before I was ready and when I was, guided me so carefully every step of the way.
“It’s me, baby.” His white teeth flash and heat streaks through me. It’s weird to feel turned on in a hospital bed, but my body always reacts to Logan this way. I’m sick, not dead. “Are you feeling comfortable?”
I’ve been so busy processing my shock at my new surroundings, I forgot to assess the state of my body. I move my limbs tentatively. Less weakness than before.
“Um, yeah.”
“Good.” He settles into a chair at my side. One of the huge armchairs that’s more of a throne. It’s twin is gone from the usual place by the fireplace. That’s not the only change—there’s no fire lit in the grate, and there’s a new flat screen TV that adorns the wall above the mantle.
Logan follows my gaze to the new flat screen. “I want to make sure you don’t get bored.”
“I can’t believe you did all this. You moved me from the hospital.”
I stare at the screen, still feeling too many emotions. I can’t seem to settle on one before another is swooping in. Gratitude that he moved me. Anxiety. Fear. Love. So much love. Which makes the fear scarier than any I’ve ever felt before.
“No harm done. You slept through it, and through the night. I may have given you an extra dose of painkillers to make sure you didn’t feel the transition.”
“You’re crazy.”
“Yes,” he agrees with no hesitation. “I’m going to get you well, Daphne.”
My eyes start stinging. I blink them rapidly, turning my face away from Logan to hide my expression.
I know what’s ahead of me. Endless tests, needles, charts. Days and nights in this bed where every second feels like a millennium. “I didn’t want you to see me like this. Weak and pathetic.”
I wanted to pretend…that there was a chance it wouldn’t come back. That I’d actually beat this when I was a kid and wouldn’t ever have to fight it again—
“Daphne—” I hear a rustle and then Logan’s there standing by my side, his big hand sliding into my hair, coaxing me to face him. “Look at me.”
My chest is filled with boulders. I want to turn away but he won’t let me.
“Look at me,” he commands, his voice deep and compelling. The timbre of The Master. His heavy brows oversee his stern expression, but his huge hands on my face are gentle. “You are not weak. I won’t allow you to say or think that. Just look at your charts. What you went through, what you survived...and still you’re full of love. Full of life.”
I wet my lips. “I didn’t want the disease to define me.”
“It hasn’t. And it won’t.” He looks so grim and determined, his huge form standing between me and death, I almost believe him.
But I’m done with fairy tales. I have to be. For my sanity. It’s time for cold, hard facts.
“How is this going to work? Am I going to go through treatment—here?”
Logan tucks the blanket around me. “I’m starting you on a new treatment. An immunosuppressant. I think the traditional treatment is the wrong course of action. It assumes the deformed blood cells are the drivers of the disease. I think they’re just a symptom.”
Every blood film I’ve viewed dances in my head. Knowing the shape of diseased cells doesn’t lessen the painful sensation in my body. It makes it worse. “But that’s not the accepted model. My father—”
“Is gone. Maybe it’s time to try a new way.”
I’m blank-faced and blinking, thinking through the implications of what Logan just said. This would change the direction of my father’s research—my research.
Logan leans down and touches his lips to mine, breaking the spell. “Trust me, Daphne.”
But all I can think is—he kissed me. Where he was supposed to, on the lips.
His scent surrounds me, a crisp cocktail of his cologne and the clean delicious smell that’s all him. “I’m going to heal you from this current relapse. And then I’m going to cure you.”