Lucky Shot (The Kings of Hart U #3)

Prologue

Millie

I’m so tired of the incessant beeping sound. It never goes away, even when I’m not here I still hear it in my sleep. It’s a constant background noise. One that I know means I’m still alive but one that I wish I would never hear again.

“How long will she have to stay this time?” my mom asks my doctor, the one that’s treated me from the beginning.

I tune the two of them out because I know by now it doesn’t matter what he says—it’s always longer. There’s always a “her numbers still aren’t where we want them” or “she’s spiked another fever, we think it’s best if she stays another night.”

Another night turns into two and so on and so forth. I learned a long time ago to not get my hopes up, it only leads to disappointment.

I hear my mother speak in a low, harsh tone just as a nurse comes up beside my bed. “How you feeling, kiddo?” I think she said her name was Susan, but there are so many people that come in and out of my room all day I lose track sometimes.

“Fine,” I answer, my tone solemn.

“Just fine?”

I nod. I’m not much of a talker under normal circumstances, but more so when I have to stay here, caged in the four beige walls that do nothing but keep me alive.

She lifts my arm to check the IV that they put in the crease of my elbow yesterday when I got here, and then she starts to lift my gown before she stops and asks, “Can I check your heart monitor?”

I’m not sure why they bother to ask because I’m pretty sure they would still look even if I told them no, but I appreciate the gesture anyway. I nod once again.

She lifts my gown and makes quick work of checking the little sticky electrodes that they have to put on my chest to make sure the old ticker is still working.

I laugh at myself—old ticker. Dad would get a kick out of that one. Too bad he isn’t here, or I would tell him. Mom would tell me to not joke like that, that it isn’t funny, but Dad? Dad would make a joke right back, telling me that his was older than mine so I better get in line behind him.

“Everything looks good! I’ll be back in an hour. Do you need anything before I go?”

I finally pull my eyes away from the only window in the room and lick my lips.

I glance over at my mom to make sure she’s still talking to Dr. Richards. “You have any chocolate pudding by chance?” I whisper, worried my mom will overhear and tell me no.

She’s always on my case about eating healthy, and most of the time I do, but every once in a while, a girl just needs some chocolate. Everyone knows to go for the pudding in a hospital.

Susan’s eyes light up briefly before she leans forward, “I think I have a stash. I’ll grab you one.”

I smile for the first time today, even though it feels kind of foreign—it feels good, “Thank you.”

Susan nods, “Get some rest. I’ll be back shortly.”

I turn my head and hear the gentle click of the door closing. Then my mom’s at my side. She pushes my light, curly brown hair back from my face before she leans in to give me a kiss on my cheek.

“He said you should only be here a few days this time, Pumpkin.”

A few days. A few weeks. It’s all the same.

“Why don’t you go home, shower, and get dinner, Mom? I know how much you hate the food here.”

Her honey-brown eyes, the same color as mine, search my face. “You don’t want me to stay?”

I shake my head. I know she worries. Kind of hard not to when your kid has needed a new heart since she was fifteen and has had countless surgeries since. the first being at just three days old.

“I’m tired. I think I might take a nap before the next shift comes in and starts the whole poking and prodding ordeal over again.”

Mom sighs. She has dark circles under her eyes again because she never takes time to take care of herself, she’s too busy taking care of me.

I feel immensely guilty that I’m such a burden. I wish more than anything to be whole and healthy, not for me, but for my parents.

They deserve to have a normal life, not one full of hospital stays, doctor visits, testing, and clinical trials.

They deserve a daughter that isn’t sick.

“You sure, honey? I can stay.”

“I’m sure, Mom. Go. Spend some time with Dad—maybe watch a movie or something.”

She laughs, “A movie, huh? You know your father would be snoring before the opening credits even started rolling.”

Now it’s my turn to laugh, another thing that feels foreign, “You or Dad?”

She throws her hand up to her chest in fake outrage, “Umm, that would a hundred and ten percent be your father, missy.”

I giggle even more, “Whatever you say.” I push my hands out in a shooing motion, “Now, get out of here, kid. Go have some fun.”

“Who you calling kid? I swear, Millie, sometimes I think you think you’re older than me!”

I smile at the reminder. My parents have always called me an old soul, but I think that maturity has come out of necessity. I never really got a real childhood. I’m an only child that has always been surrounded by adults.

Kind of seems like a given that I would act older than my real age, given the circumstances.

She leans down, this time planting a kiss on my forehead. “I’ll be back later tonight. Get some rest already, will ya?” she teases.

I fake fluttering my eyes closed, giving her a little snore to boot.

“Smartass.”

I poke my tongue out at her, then smile before telling her I love her. She finally goes, leaving me alone for the first time in a week. There’s nothing but the incessant beep, beep, beep of the machine to keep me company.

Until my eyes catch on a bird that’s flying frantically outside my window. It’s just a plain brown bird with a white chest, ordinary-looking, but it’s the first thing to hold my attention all day.

I watch it flutter and flounder. Its wings are erratic but still somehow perfectly in sync with its little body. Its chest puffs out right before I hear the faintest chirp, followed closely by another and then another.

Soon, the chirp, chirp, chirp of the pretty but ordinary bird helps to drown out the beep, beep, beep of the machines that have become my constant companion.

It’s nice.

Really nice.

Two years later

“Millie! Millie, baby. Wake up.”

I feel someone touch my forehead, then grab my arm. I blink my eyes open slowly and roll my head to the side to look at whoever decided to interrupt the best sleep I’ve had in weeks.

“Mom?”

“Oh, honey.” Her voice sounds weird, all wobbly like she’s about to cry, “Doctor Richards just called.”

My heart starts to pound in my chest, and I suddenly feel much more alert than I did just a moment ago. I’m scared to ask the question that’s lodged itself at the base of my throat.

“It’s time, baby. They have a heart.”

I make a noise I’ve never heard before, and something between relief and terror fills my chest, making my already weak heart beat even faster. We’ve waited so long for this moment, and now that it’s finally here, I don’t know what to do.

I can see tears streaming down her cheeks. When she smiles, I feel the first surge of hope. “We have to go. They want us there in an hour.”

“Now?” It doesn’t feel like my brain has fully comprehended what she’s telling me.

She smiles patiently, then nods her head, “It’s finally your turn.”

I sit up almost robotically. There’s a flurry of emotions in my chest right now. I never truly thought this day would come. We’ve waited for so long. There’s always been someone else that was sicker, someone that needed a heart more than me.

But my number has finally been called. I guess this means I’m the sickest one.

“I’m getting a new heart?”

My mom sags with relief as she pushes my hair back out of my face. “You’re getting a new heart, Millie.”

Six months after that

"Everything looks great, Millie. Your body has accepted the heart better than we anticipated."

I reach up and gently rub across the thick scar that starts just below and in between my collarbones. Even though it's fully healed, I still have a hard time touching it without wincing in pain. This surgery was by far the hardest thing I've ever gone through in my life.

That includes all the countless surgeries before it. Nothing could have prepared me for them to crack my chest wide open and pull out my heart, then replace it with a stranger's.

That in itself is an odd feeling. Knowing that the organ beating inside my chest didn't used to belong to me. That someone else once claimed it as their own but now it's mine.

I slyly slide my fingers up to my throat just to feel the steady thud, thud, thud under my fingertips. The sensation instantly calms me.

Dr. Richards gives me a knowing smile. I quickly drop my hand back down into my lap, suddenly embarrassed that I was caught checking for my own pulse. It's become almost a compulsion since the day I came out of surgery with a heart that didn't feel like it belonged to me.

I didn't trust it. I had grown accustomed to my weak one, a heart that couldn't take too much excitement or strenuous activity. I had learned to live within the restraints of my body, or more specifically, my heart.

With this new one, I didn't understand my limitations.

Of course, I knew it was fragile because there was a three-to-six-month period where my risk of rejection was high.

And I guess I still don't, because what happens beyond this point?

Beyond all the doctors' checkups and tests? I'm talking about years down the road.

What is my life really going to look like?

A question I haven't been brave enough to ask yet, because I mostly just feel grateful to be here. It's a miracle that the doctors were able to find me a match after so many years of looking.

It is not lost on me that someone had to die in order for me to live, and that's a feeling I haven't found a way to cope with yet. The guilt makes me anxious and uncertain.

"Millie, is there anything you want to ask Dr. Richards?

" My mom looks at me patiently. She's the only one who knows how I've been feeling lately, because she's been there with me every day of my recovery.

Dad's been working overtime to help offset the enormous medical bills my parents have accrued since the day I was born.

Even with good insurance, it's still more than what my parents can afford.

My mom reaches over and places her hand on top of mine, giving it a gentle squeeze.

"I—" I know I need to ask him all the questions that have been swirling in my brain since the day of the surgery, but every single one of them seems to have gotten caught on my tongue.

"It's okay, hon. Just ask him," my mom says reassuringly.

Dr. Richards' smile is warm and patient as he waits for me to speak.

I feel my palms grow clammy and my heartbeat quicken from its normally steady pace.

"I was just wondering if it was normal—" I clear my throat.

"If it was normal to not feel...normal?" I laugh, suddenly feeling even more nervous than I was before, because I don't know how to adequately describe what I'm feeling.

Not normal is the best way I can put it right now.

He lightheartedly chuckles and nods, "That is perfectly normal, Millie.

Your body has gone through something traumatic and life-altering.

This is no easy feat, and it will take time for your body to accept its new normal—which is a perfectly healthy heart.

Be patient with it. Soon you won't be able to tell that anything is different. "

Patient I can do. Lord knows I've had plenty of practice with that.

I smile as relief floods my chest.

"What about strenuous activities? When would it be safe to try something outside of my normal routine?"

Dr. Richards laughs as he settles in to answer each and every one of my questions. It's the most optimistic I've felt in a very long time.

There's finally room for hope—for something more, for dreams and aspirations I long gave up on.

There's room to finally live.

And that's exactly what I plan on doing.