She did look better, with a little more color in her face and a new and clean beanie on her head to keep her adequately warm with how she’d lost her hair from treatments and chemo.
The most beautiful of all was the smile that transformed her face upon seeing me again.
“I feel like I need to pinch myself,” she admitted. “That this is a dream.”
I shook my head. “It’s not. But I know what you mean. It does feel surreal.”
Mikhail and Claire arranged for her to have a private room, something much better than what I’d been independently planning for her. They claimed that a private suite would be more ideal for security purposes, and I supposed that was true. Because she had her own room, we could talk more freely, but I was overjoyed to hear her explain how she could go and be near other patients in the open area. Depriving her of socialization was one of the cruelest things my uncle had done to her.
“From a nightmare to a dream,” she said.
“The nightmare is ending tonight,” I replied.
“Godspeed to your baby daddy,” she said, a sly smile on her lips.
I grinned, giddy to be able to share that news with her.
“You know, when I told you to live life to the fullest, I didn’t mean for him tofillyou with a new life.”
I laughed at her raunchiness, loving that she could be more of her old self. It was still a shell, with her prognosis unchangeable. But her spirit was unbreakable, even with all she’d gone through.
“I look forward to meeting him and congratulating him myself,” she said.
“You can tomorrow, at our wedding.”
She coughed on the sip of water she took. “What?”
“Or maybe it’s not called a wedding if we’re just eloping. But you’ll be there.”
We talked some more, mostly about Andre and how I wanted to believe that I had honest-to-God happiness within reach. I asked more about how she was doing too, and she didn’t hold back from telling the truth. She also shared her opinions about Anya and Claire, who’d come to the hospice to make sure things were going smoothly.
She hung up with me, citing her fatigue as a reason for us to video call later. Her yawns became more frequent, and while I hated to end this call with her, I knew I could see her soon.
Just after we ended the call, the front door opened.
I shot to my feet and spun, watching Andre enter the apartment.
“Andre!”
I ran to him, knowing that it probably looked worse than it actually was. He’d gone to war for me. He’d willingly entered a fight for us. He wouldn’t look well-rested and fresh.
Staggering in and wincing, he clutched his shoulder and seemed to look for a place to sit. “I’m sorry, sweetheart,” he said gruffly.
“What?” I reached him, letting him lean on me.
He strained, clenching his jaw as I guided him to the couch. “He wasn’t there. Fucking coward. They opened fire and weren’t planning to do anything but try to kill me.”
“I’m not surprised,” I replied, trying to stay level-headed and focused.
He was wounded, clearly shot with how he held a blood-stained hand to his shoulder. “Oh, Andre. That’s the same side…”
He nodded, dropping onto the couch. “We didn’t lose anyone. But now I have to wait again to…” Closing his eyes, he cringed and caught his breath.
“My God.” I ran to get a first-aid kit—because I was that kind of a worry-wart and wanted to know where it was as soon as we came here—and returned to him to help with the injury. All the stitches I’d given him months ago were long gone, but the scar tissue was a mess, cut up again with a bullet embedded in him.
“How could they let you stay like this and…” I scowled as I watched him wince and moan in pain.
“I knew you’d be here. My little nurse. My love.” His hand found mine and he squeezed. “Oleg was taken to the clinic. He was shot too.”
