Once there, he had to identify himself for a third time that day. The heightened security didn’t bother him—he was glad for it, knowing those he cared about had extra protection. He stopped before entering Monica’s room and drew a deep breath, preparing himself for what awaited him on the other side.
The sight of her motionless body made him flinch. He blinked, convinced an allergen had invaded the sterile environment and made his eyes water. Countless tubes and wires slung from devices to various parts of Monica’s body. White gauze covered her head, and her swollen face was hardly recognizable.
Every breath in his body left him, and by supernatural force, his feet moved him toward the bed. He lifted her hand, able to breathe again with that connection established. “Give me a sign, sweetheart. Let me know you’re still in there.”
Only the drone of the machines replied, a steady legato offering a false sense of calm.
He brushed his free hand against her face, gentle and light. Silent words he couldn’t speak floated upward to heaven. He closed his eyes and continued to pray as he never had before. God could heal Monica, but would He?
ChapterThree
Restlessness ate at Monica, and she tossed and turned. After a month long stay at the hospital, she’d spent the last three months at her parents’ house in Pennsylvania. At first, she’d enjoyed the slower pace. She hadn’t been home for an extended stay in years, and her body needed the recovery time.
After twelve weeks, she was ready to move on. If she had her way, she’d return to work, but her boss wouldn’t allow her to come back for another month—at minimum. She couldn’t stay here another thirty days. As much as she loved her family, she couldn’t take the smothering. She appreciated her mom’s efforts, really, she did, but she needed space. She had to feel useful and productive, something her mother wouldn’t allow.
On the nightstand, her phone vibrated with an incoming call. She rolled over to see who on earth would be calling her at three in the morning.
Rex.
Her fingers shook as she picked up the phone. Should she answer? She hadn’t spoken to him since that day at the motel. Regret washed over her. How’d she wanted to stay and give him the answer he’d wanted, but fear had stopped her.
She tapped the screen to answer and barely whispered a greeting. “Hello.”
“Monica, it’s you.” His words came out slurred. “Why are you answering your phone this early?”
“Because you called me, and I was awake.” She sat up, leaned against the headboard. “Have you been drinking?”
“Maybe.”
“Go to bed, Rex. If you want to talk, call me in the morning. Sober.”
“I miss you, Mon-Mon.”
If she wasn’t so annoyed, she might have laughed at the ridiculous moniker—they weren’t pet name people. “You’re drunk.”
“Doesn’t matter…”
She couldn’t decipher the rest of his sentence. “I’m hanging up now. If you want to talk, call me tomorrow like normal people.”
“I-”
The rest of his sentence cut off with a final tap on the screen. She slammed the phone on her nightstand. He was the most exasperating, frustrating, maddening, and attractive man she’d ever had the displeasure of meeting.
Why had she even answered his call?Nothing good happens after two a.m. and that surely includes phone calls. She rolled over, tried to fall back asleep, but memories of the good times she’d had with Rex haunted her. No one could make her laugh like he could. Apart, they were two workaholics dedicated to their careers, but together, they lowered their guard and allowed themselves to relax.
Sighing, she gave up and rolled out of bed after two hours of mental torture. Five in the morning wasn’t all that early for her working routine, but since being on a forced vacation, eight had become her normal alarm.
She slid on a pair of slippers and quietly went downstairs, careful not to wake her mother. She’d known coming home to Pennsylvania would be a mistake, but even she had underestimated how bad it would be. For two months her mom had coddled her until the suffocation pressed Monica’s last nerve.
Ten years—an entire decade had passed since she’d lived at her parents. The day she turned eighteen she’d moved into a dorm at her college in Washington D.C. and never looked back. Sure, she’d made a point to come visit often for her parents’ and her sister Carrie’s sake, but never for more than several days at a time.
This sleepy town held little for her. She craved the excitement her career offered, always living on the brink of danger and seeing new places. She thrived on adrenaline rushes, often taking part in activities most didn’t dare, even in their dreams. She had no intentions of settling down anytime soon, especially not with someone like Rex Fontenot.
Her coffee finished brewing, and she poured herself a cup before sinking into the oversized recliner in the living room with a view out of the large picture window of a glorious sunrise topping the rolling hills holding a grove of apple trees. Long-forgotten memories of a harvest season eleven years ago surfaced. Senior year had begun a few weeks earlier, and she’d been dating Matt Russell. Late one Saturday evening, she’d returned from a date with him.
Carrie had been sitting on the porch, reading a book with her flashlight in hand. The scene was so typically Carrie, it made Monica smile even now as she remembered it. When Carrie saw her tears, she set her book down and immediately came to her. Carrie’s wide eyes registered alarm to see her stoic, unemotional sister crying. They walked leisurely to their favorite tree and climbed the branches to their usual spot which reserved for the most serious of conversations.
“We broke up.” By now, Monica had returned to her usual calm self with only an occasional sniffle alluding to the previous distress.
