Chapter Seven
Petra
Petra felt ridiculous.
But there had to be something to this.
The response was the same with every person who looked at her face.
As soon as the paramedics wheeled her into the hospital, the nurse turned toward Petra. Without a single word of information from the ambulance crew, the nurse grabbed the phone to send out the code. “Stroke protocol. Stroke protocol.”
Hands helped Petra shift from the gurney to a rolling bed, and that bed speeded down the hall and parked right in the middle of the corridor. “This is where we assess stroke patients. We don’t want to waste time angling you out of a room. When we have to go, we have to go. We’re clearing the imaging room now.”
“What does that mean? Someone was in there, and you’re pulling them out?” Petra was horrified that she was displacing another person in need of help.
“Stroke patients take priority,” came the response. In her distress, Petra wasn’t seeing or remembering faces, just one blue-scrubs-wearing person after another, each efficiently doing the next thing on a list of critical things that needed to be done.
Hawkeye never let go of her hand.
This was real. This was happening. And how strange that she should feel fine, but that her life could change radically. Stroke could lead to all kinds of bad outcomes.
Brain damage. Paralysis. Death.
She could die.
How strange.
It all just felt so normal. And yet, Petra could be dying.
Hawkeye was talking, and Petra forced her attention toward him so she could hear and understand his words. “She was fine when she put on her mask to go to sleep. She slept the whole way here. It could be as much as six hours since a possible event occurred.”
“Could you be pregnant?” the doctor asked.
“Not possible,” Petra said.
“Any medical conditions I need to know about? Prescription drugs that you use on a regular basis?” The doctor read from her tablet.
“I don’t have a chronic condition, no,” Petra said.
“She’s had a TBI,” Hawkeye added.
That’s right, she’d told Hawkeye in passing when they were talking about unhoused people. TBI and neurodivergence, a double whammy. “Blast concussion and shrapnel in my abdomen,” Petra clarified. “That was in Afghanistan a decade ago. Oh, and I was exposed to burn pits while I was over there. I don’t know if that could be at play here. But that’s all historic. Presently, I’m healthy.”
No, that couldn’t be right. Presently, she couldn’t be healthy. Presently, she was on a hospital bed in the middle of a corridor so the nurses could race her to lifesaving care, slicing off every extra second so that she wouldn’t die .
Petra focused on how the doctor received her information. Petra had been a watcher of faces, a studier of nuanced expressions all her life. It was a trait shared by many neurodiverse people as they tried to figure out how to fit in. At this moment, the doctor’s face lost its elasticity. It didn’t change expressions, but the muscles under her skin became rigid, and Petra knew that the woman’s sense of danger had increased. Her body was preparing her for emergency action.
Action to help me, Petra Armstrong .
Wasn’t that surreal?
She didn’t feel strange. She felt so normal for all this to be happening. Was this the effect of adrenaline? Yeah, that could be what was going on, adrenaline masking.
The attendant had Petra go through the same tests Hawkeye had—face and grip were tested for asymmetry.
Petra asked when that all checked out, “Well, that’s a good sign, right?”
The doctor answered with, “This is your husband?”
“Fiancé.” Petra reached for his hand again. “He can stay with me if he’s my fiancé, right?”
Hawkeye had fixed his gaze on her, staring right into her wonky, crazy eyes, and said, “I’m not leaving you, sweetheart.”
The nurse paused while she watched her machine readouts. “It would be good if he stays and holds your hand.”
“Yes, please.” Petra turned to Hawkeye. “Is that possible?”
The nurse tapped the machine. “Whenever he lets go of you, your heart rate spikes.”
Petra looked up to catch Hawkeye’s gaze. “Please don’t let go,” she whispered.
“I won’t. I would never. I’ll hold on to you as long as you want me to.”
Did Petra just make that up? It sounded so sincere, and there was nothing sarcastic about the way he looked at her. Maybe he was play-acting for the medical staff?
In her mind, this seemed like some kind of crazy twist in a rom-com.
No, the hunky hero’s hand didn’t change her blood pressure, her heart rate—whatever.
This was a dream.
And if it was a dream, it was a stupid dream to have.
After the nurse left, Hawkeye twisted around and planted his thigh on the bed so she didn’t have to strain to see him. “Fiancé?” he asked.
“I just met you a couple hours ago. I thought rushing to the altar and calling you my husband was a little too…” She shifted her head back and forth. “Anyway, if you were my husband, you’d have my insurance information. You’d also be my next of kin to pull the plugs if this stroke thing gets out of hand.”
That unsettled him. Angst clouded his gaze. But he seemed to wrestle it down. “I’d never pull the plug on a woman I just met. Besides, Cooper is too enamored of you, and I’m just not up to that conversation with him. But yes, the husband thing would be hard to pull off without rings. Even as your fiancé, they might think it’s odd that I don’t know your last name.”
“Armstong. No ring. You’re not married?”
“I’m not involved with anyone right now. I’m Hawkeye Kesse.”
“Kesse. Like kiss.”
He raised a brow.
“I’m feeling a bit vulnerable, Hawkeye Kesse, and it’s awkward to depend on the kindness of strangers.” She gave him a weak smile. “You can go if you want. You’ve already done so much for me. It was nice of you to do all the things you have. And, of course, it was also nice that you didn’t get scared off by my possibilities.”
He lifted a single brow. “Possibilities?”
“I could be an alien.” She flicked a finger toward her left eye. “My mask might be slipping.”
“Some kind of lizard person with fixed and dilated pupils?”
“Exactly. But you should know, we don’t use them for seeing – not like you humans do. I can absorb particles and analyze them in real-time.”
He squinted. “Particles of what exactly?”
“Words, emotions, sensations, tastes.”
“Tastes?” A reluctant smile slid across his face.
“Yes. You, for example, taste like black coffee and an airplane cookie.”
He grinned.
Two nurses hustled around the corner.
Hawkeye jumped to his feet.
One nurse kicked the brakes off her bed while the other swung around behind Petra’s head. “We’ve cleared the imaging room. Sir, if you could wait in the waiting area, no one except for the patient is allowed in that room.”
“Okay.” Hawkeye kept pace as the women took off at a fast clip, propelling Petra down the corridor. “I’m only going as far as the waiting room. I won’t leave you. You’ve got this.” He leaned down, kissed her cheek, squeezed her hand, and was gone.
Petra lay on a bed speeding down the corridor on the way to find out whether she
Might. Just. Die.