I’m not much of a praying kind of person, even after all this, but I do hope our baby makes it, if for no other reason than I know it will make Owen the happiest man on planet Earth, with Carter a close second.
And seeing them smile is truly one of my reasons for living.
Especially after what I just survived.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Owen
Where’s a TARDIS when youreallyneed one, huh? I think changing my clothes helped prevent me being recognized. Jeans, a T-shirt, sneakers, and my favorite Lightning baseball cap, one Carter gave to me years ago, when we were still in college.
The entire way over from the States, and then again on my flight from Manila, my right thumb rubs against the blue band on my right ring finger, the Doctor Who ring Carter gave to me the day I was sworn in as governor. My left rubs the band on my left finger, the ring Susa gave me.
Fuck my job.
I’ll give itallup if it means we have Susa back.
Fuck the plan. Fuck everything exceptHer.
As our flight closes in on our destination, I struggle not to nervously tap my foot or do any number of annoying things to burn off my increasingly frantic energy.
A million anxiety-fueled scenarios are racing through my mind. That it turns out it really wasn’t her after all, and somehow, it was a horrible mistake. Or that she’s died while I was in the air, mere minutes before I go running through her hospital room door.
That I don’t get to tell her in person one more time how much I love her.
Fuck the election, fuck everything else—I want my Susa, and I want her in my arms, and not another goddamned thing matters to me right now.
They can quote me on that, if they want. I don’t fucking care.
Goddamned Kevin Markos can point a camera in my face and I’ll happily flip him birds with both hands and tell him to happily fuck himself on a rusty pitchfork.
Without lube.
There are government officials waiting for me when I emerge from the plane after flight attendants make sure I disembark first, and they hurry me through customs and into an awaiting SUV for the drive with a police escort.
I can’t even be bothered to pay attention to what is, admittedly, a beautiful country.
Nothing matters until I put eyes and lips and hands and every other body part possible onHer.
Carter is awaiting me when the hospital’s elevator door opens on her floor, and it takes every ounce of strength I have not to burst into relieved tears to see him. He grabs me in a quick, wordless hug, then takes my hand and rushes with me down a couple of corridors, leading me to a private room, where he closes the door behind us.
The blinds are already drawn on the corridor windows, and we’re alone. Susa looks at me at the sound of our entrance, and she’s sunburned, her face swollen, her hair a wreck—but it’sHer.
This is when I burst into tears and check out for a little while as I climb into bed with her, sobbing as I hold her and she whispers to me, and I tell her over and over again how much I love her, all while Carter leans in from behind me to hold both of us.
I unabashedly weep. Even if I had a thousand cameras pointed in my face I couldn’t stop myself right now.
She.
Is.
Alive.
I’m lying there with her frail, gaunt frame tucked against me and her head in the crook of my arm when Carter finally speaks.
“We need to talk, buddy.”
“Why?”
