She’d finally opened her eyes, half lidded, but she did open them and said, “Tre-vor.”
“Look,it’s not like she wanted Trevor.” Sloane tried to keep a straight face as Doctor Ripley checked over Lucy. Meanwhile, I was brooding and fuming with jealousy so irrationally explosive that I wanted to smash every piece of equipment in sight. I was imagining myself snatching my wife and spiriting her away so she’d never lay eyes on fucking Trevor Hayes again.
Her first word out of the coma, and it had to be that motherfucker’s name.
“She’s right.” Bianca hurried back to me. “Trevor is Lucy’s data guy. Maybe in her coma dreams—wait, do people dream when they’re in a coma? Anyway, maybe it was just a dream.”
That didn’t sound any better and only made my jealousy worse. But even jealousy couldn’t overtake the relief I felt that Lucy was awake. If I had to re-earn her affection, I was damn well going to do it.
Doctor Ripley finished running down his checklist and turned to me. “She’s groggy, which is to be expected after ninedays in a coma. Her brain might be slow to sort information into its right slots, but it’ll be good not to force it,” he warned.
“Of course.” I glanced down at Lucy. Her eyes were closed again.
“She’s out of juice,” the doctor said when I glanced at him questioningly. He closed his clipboard. “But it’s good that we can begin therapy now. Still, try to limit visitors.”
“Oh, I have no problem there,” I assured the doctor while feeling the need to hold Lucy’s hand in mine again.
When he left, I turned to Sloane. “You’re in charge of letting everyone know to space out their visits.”
“You've got it.”
Lucy’s hand tightened in mine, and my gaze dropped to our joined hands and then to her face. Her eyes were half open again, and I could have imagined the curve of a faint smile.
“Hi,” she whispered.
All the feelings. All at once. I finally understood the meaning of a heart exploding with emotions.
“Hi,” I choked, dropping my forehead lightly on hers. “Welcome back, baby.”
Lucy
“How are you feeling, Stellina?”My mother’s tearful gaze hovered over me. She couldn’t help but become emotional every time she visited. I hated having my parents see me this way. Dad broke down the first time he saw me awake. But I had a suspicion he cried every time he came to visit.
When the doctor said the current state of my brain was like file cabinets tipped over and emptied of their contents, he wasn’t kidding.
The first day was a jumbled mess. I had to sort through every piece of information and memory into their respective drawers. I didn’t even want to open my eyes, but maybe my natural gravitation toward chaos eased the process and stress.
Days later, my neurons were firing and landing information better. Walking around the hospital hallways certainly helped. The physical therapist was by my side although I could tell Kirill wanted to take over. He stalked us like a thundercloud.
“Okay.”
I still wasn’t very verbal. I continued to receive speech and writing therapy every day. It was hard to speak the full sentences that were in my thoughts. It was easier to write them. My left arm was in a cast, though from a broken wrist. It was as if there was a disconnect between my mind and my speech. But on day four since coming out of a coma, my recovery was exponential.
“You look better today.” She looked out into the living room where Dad and my husband were finally talking. Apparently, Dad was so angry at Kirill, they never exchanged a word until today. “Your cheeks have color again.”
My mother pulled the chair Kirill had been spending his days in while watching over me. “You know the first thing that occurred to me when I saw you like this? That I would never get the chance to tell you how proud I am of you.”
Really?
“Not because you married a Zahkarov. I knew you could handle it. You’re a Moretti and a De Lucci after all.”
That I am.
“I’m proud of you because you stand for what you believe in.I thought about it a lot. And I was disparaging of your accomplishments because they were opposed to what Ienvisioned for you. But after your dad’s health scare last year, I realized it was unfair to hold you back in how you wanted to live your life. Also, I thought, I’d never tell you how sorry I am for not being the best mother.”
If I could raise my brow, I would. We were doing this now?
“I tried. I know I was selfish and…” She shrugged. “Manipulative. I know I gave your pops a hard time.”
