Chapter 11
Anna
Everything happens too fast. When the ambulance doors open, the medical team's already waiting. I watch helplessly as they wheel her away on the stretcher while her eyes remain closed. The blood has soaked through the temporary bandage they put on her, and my heart stops each time I see that huge red stain.
“You need to stay in the waiting room,” a nurse says when I try to follow them to the operating room.
“She's my girlfriend, I can't leave her alone,” I plead, surprising myself at how natural that statement feels.
“I promise she's in good hands. We'll notify you as soon as the surgery's over.”
I collapse into one of the waiting room chairs. The words of the doctor who treated her at the auditorium echo in my mind. “The upside is it looks like a pretty clean wound. Blood loss is normal in that area, but it doesn't seem serious.” Still, Dakota lost consciousness in the ambulance and there's so much blood…
“How is she?” Marcus asks, sitting beside me and handing me a coffee.
“This is all my fault,” I sigh.
“Don't be ridiculous. She did her job, I told you she was the best.”
“Her job?” I interrupt, raising my voice more than necessary and drawing attention from several people. “Her job doesn't include dying so I can live.”
“She's not going to die. She's tough as nails. She's survived real hell.”
“You know what she told me before losing consciousness in the ambulance? That she was sorry she wore a sheer bra,” I remember with a bitter laugh.
“That's typical of her. She wouldn't want you to worry.”
“I'm going crazy, Marcus. What if the bullet hit an artery? There was so much blood. What if there are complications?”
“The doctors say she'll be fine.”
“But…”
“Anna,” my head of security cuts in. “Dakota's strong. Forgive me for being so direct, but I think this goes beyond concern for your bodyguard.”
I slowly raise my eyes, surprised by his comment.
“I don't know what's real anymore and what isn't,” I confess, lowering my voice to a whisper. “We were supposed to pretend to be a couple so she could protect me better, but…” I stop, unable to continue.
“But?”
“Matters of the heart are complicated. When I saw her fall, when I saw all that blood… Marcus, I can't lose her,” I sob again, folding my legs and hugging my knees as if that could comfort me.
My head of security, always so stoic, just smiles and awkwardly pats my back.
“You don't need to say it out loud. It shows in your eyes.”
“Is it that obvious?”
“Pretty much. And if it helps, she looks at you the same way. Like you're the only thing that exists in the world.”
The hours pass with maddening slowness, as if time has turned lazy. Every time someone opens the waiting room doors, my heart leaps expecting news that doesn't come. Marcus forces me to eat something, though I can barely take a couple bites of the sandwich he brought me.
I think about the last few days with her. How everything seemed perfect. I remember how she makes me laugh even when I'm stressed. Her stolen kisses when no one's watching. The way she holds me at night before sleep, making me feel safe.
“Family of Dakota Martinez,” a doctor announces, and I jump up.
“I'm her girlfriend.”
“The operation was successful. The bullet didn't hit any vital organs, and we were able to extract it without complications. She lost quite a bit of blood, but she's stable now. You can see her once she's moved to a room.”
I collapse with relief into Marcus's arms, not even bothering to wipe away the tears rolling down my cheeks while he holds me.
“I told you she'd be okay, boss,” he murmurs.
“I need to see her.”
“I know. They'll move her to a room soon, and you can.”
When they finally let me into her room, Dakota sleeps peacefully, still sedated. She's pale, but her breathing is steady. I sit by her bed and intertwine our fingers, careful not to disturb the IV line.
“Don't scare me like this again, please,” I whisper, kissing her forehead. “I need you by my side. Not just to protect me. I need you because I've fallen in love with you like an idiot.”
Her fingers move slightly in mine and a small smile forms on her lips.
“Then we're both idiots,” she murmurs in a hoarse voice, slowly opening her eyes. “Because I've fallen in love with you too.”
***
The week following Dakota's medical release becomes a delicate dance between concern and tenderness. I've introduced some changes to my routine to stay with her. Besides, no one expects me to work right after someone tried to murder me in front of a packed auditorium.
“Ouch,” she protests.
“Did I hurt you?” I ask frightened, aware of how clumsy I am changing bandages or cleaning the wound when the nurse isn't here.
“Just kidding, silly. I just like seeing that worried little face you make. You're doing great,” she assures me. “Though it's weird seeing you so nervous, you always seem to have everything under control. Did you know some of your employees swear you're a cyborg?”
“A cyborg?”
“Yeah, because you don't blink.”
“I do blink, dummy, I just do it less when I'm really focused. It's happened since I was a kid, my parents even worried and took me to the doctor. It's called hypo-focus, like an extreme flow state. My mind enters a kind of hyper-concentration and I blink less because my brain prioritizes attention on what's most relevant. That's why I always carry artificial tears. My eyes get really dry afterward. But I do blink, smartass.”
Dakota insists she can live normally, but despite being in a crucial phase for the prototype, I love these quieter days with her: bringing breakfast to bed, watching her take her medications with a grimace of disgust. Helping her shower or drying her hair.
It's strange seeing her like this, more vulnerable, letting herself be cared for. But there's something beautiful in these moments of calm that make me wish our life could be like this forever.
“You should be resting,” I remind her when I see her standing watching the sunset.
“I'm bored of lying in bed all day, even if you're subscribed to every TV channel in the world,” she admits without turning around.
I approach her from behind and hug her carefully. Dakota relaxes against my body, letting out a long sigh.
“You know? No one's ever taken care of me like this,” she confesses quietly.
“Your other girlfriends didn't pamper you?” I tease.
“Guess I never had much luck in love,” she admits in a whisper.
“Someday you'll have to tell me the stories behind all these scars,” I hiss, kissing her neck.
I can see how she gets turned on with each kiss, or when I slide my hand along her collarbone, down to her breasts to play with her nipples. Still, a sudden gesture of pain reminds me we need to wait a few more days.
“Sorry,” she jokes. “Maybe if we're careful, and I don't move much we could…”
“Dance with me,” I suggest.
“Is this a substitute for sex?”
“No, but it would be nice. I'll be careful,” I promise.
And when we start moving slowly to the music's rhythm, the room fills with golden sunset tones. Dakota rests her cheek against mine and I can feel her smile.
“Reminds me of when we pretended to be a couple at that gala,” she murmurs.
“We won't have to pretend anymore,” I assure her, kissing her temple.
“No, not anymore.”
We continue swaying gently. Her fingers tracing small circles on my back while mine tangle in her hair and the world seems to stop as if this moment could last forever.
“You know what's funny?” she asks suddenly.
“What?”
“That I started falling in love with you on day one, when you got so prickly with me in Marcus's office.”
“Hate to tell you I thought you were unbearably arrogant,” I confess. “Though terribly sexy.”
“Just terribly?”
“Well, consider I'd gone a long time without sex, so maybe my assessment wasn't very accurate,” I joke.
“You're still prickly,” she whispers before kissing my lips.