Chapter 47 Her
Given that I’d spent most of my career thinking about death, one would think I’d be more excited when it actually happened to me.
But in reality, my first thought upon waking is: I need coffee.
My second: Just my luck. Of course there are alarm clocks in the afterlife.
But God, it’s so dark. And if it’s this dark, why is my alarm going off?
There are other sounds, too. A mechanical whoosh, and voices too far away to identify. Warmth seeps into my extremities and there’s almost an itch, an awareness that I’m supposed to be doing something. A to-do list, even in the afterlife. It gets stronger, a rising panic until I—
—suck in a breath.
The beeping is louder, more persistent. It takes me a few tries to get the words out, my voice thin and strange to my ears. “Can someone hit snooze?”
“I think she said something,” the man says. “Emery?”
When the alarm doesn’t stop, I reach for it myself, but my arm doesn’t seem to be cooperating. It barely twitches at my side. Am I dead or are my blankets just too tight?
“Let’s bring her up,” a woman’s voice says. “Can you dim the lights?”
There’s the sound of a smooth, electronic slide. Cool air washes over me and my skin prickles. It isn’t unpleasant, but it’s definitely overstimulating, like every inch is being innervated at once.
I blink a few times, clearing my vision, and a face looming over me comes into focus.
Blue eyes overcome with what looks like relief.
Not blue like a cloudless day, but like the sky after a thunderstorm.
Worn denim, thistle, a blue spruce. His skin looks warm and smooth; his eyes crinkle at the corners as he smiles.
“Hey there.”
“Who are you?” I say, voice stronger but still hoarse, and then add, “Are you here for me?”
He frowns, blinking rapidly. “Emery?”
“You’re so hot. I really hope you’re here for me.”
He fights a smile. “I am indeed.”
“Take it down a notch, lover boy.” It’s the woman’s voice again, and I know she’s standing beside him, but I can’t look away. His face is so… sweet. So perfect. So goddamn hot. “Let’s keep her pulse steady for now.”
“Sorry.” He doesn’t look away, either. Instead, he brushes a piece of my hair back. “Hello, Emery Rose Martín. Welcome back.”
“I’m Emery?” I ask, pointing to my chest.
He nods but his frown returns. “Yes… and I’m Luca.”
“Luca?” I repeat slowly.
“Your husband.” Luca glances at the woman next to him, concerned. “Shit, Annie, I don’t think she—”
Laughing, I reach for the collar of his shirt and pull him down on top of me on the hospital bed. “I’m just messing with you,” I whisper into his neck, before planting a kiss there. “I remember every second.”