I panic. I didn’t think we’d need to use the code word, but there’s no better time than now.
“Turtle pancakes!” I shout.
The kids come screaming around the corner like feral warriors.
“Chaaarge!”
Beckett barely has time to blink before he’s covered in Silly String.
Levi has both cans, Sasha is hollering war cries, and I’m suddenly free. His arms drop as he instinctively shields himself.
“Oh my God,” I shout, yanking Levi back with one hand and Sasha with the other. “Run!”
“Why is it in my ear?” Beckett yells behind us.
We sprint and don’t stop until we’re safely back inside my apartment, giggles echoing off the walls.
My heart is still racing.
“That,” Sasha gasps, “was the greatest moment of my life.”
“Same,” Levi wheezes.
I nod, still catching my breath. “I can’t feel my legs.”
Sasha beams. “Best. Babysitter. Ever.”
I try to answer, but I can’t quite find the words. Mostly because I’m replaying the look in Beckett’s eyes when he caught me and the feel of his arm around my waist.
My stomach does a weird flutter. I look down at it in betrayal.
Goddammit!
Fifteen
Beckett
A month after the accident, Dan Morales looks like a man who’s finally won a small but meaningful victory over the reaper.
He’s sitting up in bed when I walk in, and there’s color back in his face. His wife, Elena, is perched on the edge of the mattress beside him, her hand wrapped around his.
They’re laughing together. It’s a good sound. In this wing, I never take it for granted.
“Well,” I say, stepping fully into the room. “This is a promising start. I half expected to find you doingpush-ups.”
Dan grins. “You’re interrupting my wife, who’s reminding me I’m not allowed to do anything remotely stupid for the rest of my life.”
Elena doesn’t look apologetic. “You fell three stories from scaffolding. You’ve lost your unsupervised privileges.”
Dan rolls his eyes. “See? This is what I’m dealing with.”
I move closer, checking the monitors and scanning his chart. Multiple fractures and internal injuries that would have leveled most men. It’s a miracle he made it out of the operating room, let alone that he’s sitting here joking.
“How’s the pain?” I ask, clicking my pen.
“Manageable,” he says. “Better every day.”
“And the dizziness?”
