21. Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-One
S kye
It’s the day of Thrax’s surgery, and my body is thrumming with nervous energy. I’ve barely slept. Instead, I was up most of the night reading up on surgery statistics. Early morning light filters through the hospital windows as I make my way to Thrax’s room, my heart fluttering with each step.
Varro and Laura are already there when I arrive, having returned just yesterday from their extended trip to Missouri. They’d been scouting for property, driven by the optimistic belief that all the gladiators will be successfully revived and will then need a sheltered place to live. The trip got delayed because her dad had a health scare, but she assures me everything is fine.
I’m glad they’re back. Their presence adds an extra layer of support and familiarity for Thrax.
Knocking softly, I enter to find Thrax sitting on the edge of his bed, his hands clasped tightly in his lap, his knees jiggling restlessly. Despite his imposing size, he looks almost vulnerable in the pale blue hospital gown.
“Hey,” I say softly, crossing the room to stand in front of him. “How are you feeling? ”
Thrax looks up, his dark gaze meeting mine. “Nervous,” he admits, his voice low. “My memories of visiting the medicus at the ludus are not pleasant. I would have to be dragged half dead to that butcher. But I know this will be different. You’ll be with me. I am… ready.”
Dr. Schmid, the surgeon brought in from another hospital for this procedure, enters the room. None of our regular team was qualified to perform this specialized surgery, so his expertise—and patient confidentiality—was crucial.
“Good morning, everyone,” Dr. Schmid greets us warmly. “Thrax, do you have any last-minute questions before we proceed?”
Thrax shakes his head, but I can see the tension in his shoulders. I reach out and take his hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “You’ve got this,” I whisper, though the translator is the same volume as usual. “And I’ll be right here, every step of the way.”
A small smile tugs at his lips, and he nods. “Thank you. For everything.”
As the nurses come to wheel Thrax to the operating room, I can’t help but smile when he tries to sit up on the gurney and accidentally rips his paper gown. He looks so nervous and innocent. I walk alongside, our hands still linked. Varro and Laura follow, offering words of encouragement. At the doors where we’re not allowed to follow, I lean in and press a soft kiss to Thrax’s cheek.
“I’ll see you soon,” I promise. “You’ll do great.”
The wait during surgery is agonizing. I pace the waiting room with Varro and Laura, alternating between scrolling mindlessly through my phone and staring at the clock on the wall. I’m too nervous to word vomit, which tells me something about the extent of my feelings for the man who is becoming more important to me every day. I’ve never been too nervous to blather before. Every time the door opens, my head snaps up, hoping for news.
“So…” Laura says with a devilish smirk. “You and Thrax… ”
“Yeah.” I guess they saw the handholding, and there was nothing subtle about the kiss. “It’s a… recent development.”
She has the good sense not to ask any follow-up questions. I’m too nervous to divulge much. Besides, there’s not a lot to say.
Finally, after what feels like an eternity, Dr. Schmid emerges, a smile on his face. “The surgery was a success,” he announces. “Everything went well, and the ear repair should heal nicely. Thrax is in recovery now. You can see him soon.”
Relief washes over me, and I slump back into my chair, letting out a breath as my shoulders relax. Varro and Laura exchange relieved smiles, the tension in the room evaporating.
When we’re finally allowed into Thrax’s room, I find him groggy but awake, a bandage covering his left ear. His gaze finds mine as I approach, and a sleepy smile spreads across his face.
“Hey there,” I say softly, taking his hand. “How are you feeling?”
“Like I drank too much wine,” he mumbles, his words slightly slurred from the anesthesia. “But… good. Better than good.” He reaches for his ear, but then realizes it’s covered with a thick bandage.
I can’t help but chuckle at his drug-induced candor. “Well, you look great. Very dashing with that bandage.”
Thrax’s smile widens, and he gives my hand a weak squeeze. “You stayed,” he says, his voice filled with wonder.
“Of course I did.” My heart swells with affection mixed with a touch of sadness that he thought so little of me—or himself—that he doubted I would be here when he woke up. “I told you I would.”
As Thrax drifts off to sleep again, I settle into the chair beside his bed, our hands still intertwined. Varro and Laura take up positions on the other side, their presence a comforting reminder of the support system we’ve built .
Watching the steady rise and fall of Thrax’s chest, I’m struck by how far we’ve come. From strangers thrust together by extraordinary circumstances to… this. Whatever this is.
“We have a lot to tell you about our trip,” Laura says, “but since all the news wasn’t created on the other side of the Atlantic…” she pointedly glances at my fingers, still interlocked with Thrax’s, “it looks as though I’ve got some gossip to catch up on.”
“Nothing happened.” My voice has the lilt of a five-year-old lying about who took the last cookie in the cookie jar. I resist the urge to yank my hand away from Thrax as Laura’s grin keeps widening, her gaze locked on our hands. Finally, I give up. “It was one kiss, okay?”
“One? That sounds disappointing. In my book, kisses should be so numerous you can’t count them.”
She’s right, damn it. I’ll have to rectify that the moment Thrax’s brain comes back online.