Chapter 29
YVAINE
The child’s lids slowly lowered, as if they weighed as much as the roof over our heads. An empty gaze flickered out before they shut, never to crack open again.
“No! Don’t give up on me now!” the head neurosurgeon barked, her surgical gloves stained red. The nurses swarmed around the near-death bed like desperate bees trying to revive a withering flower.
I could almost see the soul leaving the small body. Could almost feel the carcinogenic mass smirking, proud to have emerged victorious yet again. Could almost hear the screams of his family with their deforming mouths.
And there I stood, still and hollow next to the surgical bed, with the solemnity of a gargoyle on cathedral duty, useless hands raised and crumpled in front of me.
The EKG was relentless throughout the OR. One long, merciless note that bounced off the hollows of his now-defeated heart, traversing the white, sanitized walls that had seen so much and cared too little. That rang in my ears.
I’d remember this boy. Like all the others. Names, faces, and diagnoses filed neatly in the catalog of the dead that I kept in my head. My own private morgue. My ultimate motivator.
The head neurosurgeon announced the time of death, and I thought about the funeral my body would never have.
My destiny was to be a donation in the name of science, a faceless torso, dissected and labeled, given to first-year medical students to practice on and save lives later.
Even in death, I needed to serve a purpose.
Why waste space in a cemetery and become food for the already overfed worms when I could still be useful?
I snapped off my surgical gloves and disposed of them.
I’d given everything to medicine. I’d missed out on birthdays, family events, trips. I’d sacrificed my social life, sleep, and sense of balance. Pushed myself past the brink of exhaustion while dealing with situations that no human or werewolf should.
But never had I been this frustrated.
Back in the locker room, I faced my reflection in the mirror.
Grayish circles drooped over my cheeks, and my hair needed a good day of brushing. I yawned, not covering my mouth. The condensation from my breath fogged the mirror and became my canvas. My index finger traced a squeaky I. Then an A. Finally, an N.
IAN.
My eyes stung.
If I can’t save him, I’ll save the rest. But today, I didn’t.
Sixteen hours assisting an awake craniotomy for medulloblastoma, only for us to lose. All for nothing. As the adrenaline wore off and the reality of the last hours settled in, everything hurt. My legs shook, feet burned.
Life was just a cruel gift where we got to meet and love people, only to lose them a blink later. One way or another.
We were all terminal patients in the end, all future flatlines.
I scooped cold water into my cupped hands and splashed it against my face.
A knock on the window.
I glanced at it. A branch tapping the glass. The treetops thrashed against the howling wind, their branches clawing at the sky like they were screaming, too.
Good. Let the world rage with me.
No.
A surge of life electrocuted me. The EKG might have gone silent tonight, but mine hadn’t.
I am still here. Alive. Now.
With a new wave of determination, I changed. Laced my ergonomic shoes. Shuffled to the door.
I cracked it open and peered out. Empty.
The fluorescent lights hummed above as I hurried along the pristine corridor of the fourth floor, past the anonymity of closed doors and the low thud of the heart monitors behind them.
Until I sensed a certain heartbeat…behind a janitorial door.
I recognized that beat even before I caught the scent.
“Terry?”
My voice joined the creaking hinges as I pushed it open.
She was sitting on the floor, hunched over a half-finished puzzle balanced on an overturned bucket. Next to her, a tiny cot was leaned against the shelf of cleaning products. Atop it sat a pillow no bigger than my hand.
“Sorry!” she squeaked.
Her eyes didn’t meet mine, staying fixed on her fingers. Her long, thin hair was falling like a curtain across half her face, left loose for the first time.
I rubbed my eyes. “Why sorry? Is that…a galaxy?”
She nodded. The purple swirl of the puzzle looked almost alive under the single pale bulb hanging low. That purple reminds me of Archie’s eye color.
“I do puzzles to relax. Which I know sounds silly. I’m a twenty-two-year-old sitting in a broom closet at 2:00 a.m.—”
“Anything that helps us relax is never silly,” I cut in. “I’m like that with folding clothes.”
That earned a tiny spark in her eyes, the kind that said, Finally, another weirdo. Two weirdos recognizing each other. Whoever wasn’t weird didn’t have a personality. At least, that was my theory.
“Laundry and folding clothes are my therapy. Your clothes, my clothes, everyone’s clothes! It just…quiets the brain.”
Her soft laugh bounced off the mops and brooms.
I didn’t need to ask why she was in the cleaning supply at this hour. Nor did she demand to know my reason.
One thing was clear: We’d both had a crappy crap day. Or night.
“I have a solution for days like this.”
“You do?”
I nodded, an arm looping around hers as I helped her up. “Right here in the hospital.”
The soft gurgles and tiny whines invaded my ears as we stepped into the green nursery.
Rows of white cribs lined the room, each one swaddled in soft, neutral blankets. Little legs kicked, learning how to exist. I tiptoed around the tiny hiccups of life.
“After being surrounded by death,” I whispered, “it’s good to be reminded that life still happens.”
Two doe eyes blinked up at me from a half-bald head. The infant let out a cute burp, then a wail.
“Hey, now, don’t be upset. You had to let it out,” I cooed, patting his tiny back. “You did good, puppy.”
“I’m not crying.” Teresa sniffed, hands joined at her chest, leaning over a crib with a little girl sleeping inside. “I might have found a better hobby than puzzles.”
I grinned. “Dinner tonight? I mean…” I glanced at my wristwatch. “Breakfast. My roommates and I—”
I halted.
My nostrils caught it.
Paclitaxel.
Concern marred my face as I really observed Teresa.
Shoulders sagging, Teresa could barely keep herself upright. The bags under her eyes were trying to join her chin, and her skin had a sheen like olive oil—yellow, waxy.
I inhaled again. The unmistakable smell of chemotherapy clung to her like she was an actual bag filled with it. Like she’d just gone through a cycle.
But that’s impossible.
That would mean she had—
I couldn’t contain it. “Why do you smell like chemo?”
Teresa opened her mouth, but when no sound came out, she closed it again. The human dipped her head. “I spilled a bag on me. I’m fine. Just exhausted.”
Her yawn betrayed her.
She avoided my gaze, staring at the new life in the crib. Clearly too scared to touch her with skin contaminated by chemotherapy.
“Go get some rest.”
Her head lifted. “My shift starts in three hours. Takes me too long to get back home.”
“I’ll cover it.”
“But—”
“I can do it,” I repeated. “Go home.”
Teresa murmured a faint thank you and rushed off. Her thinning hair swayed behind her.
“Teresa!” I called after her. “Don’t forget to drink water!”
That was our joke.
She half turned, and for a heartbeat, the corners of her mouth curved into the smallest, tiredest smile.
By the time I started my rounds, I was a Walking Dead cosplayer. Cinnamon and apples hit my nostrils sometime during mid-morning. Mrs. Tina was on the prowl.
She appeared like a mobile bakery, hauling bags loaded with treasures.
“How’s my favorite doctor this morning?” She beamed. Her hair was a stark platinum today. To match my grandchildren’s hair.
“Mmm, do I smell sugar and love?” I kissed the sneaky old wolf on the cheek.
“You do, my dear star.” She winked. “And this just so happens to be my grandson’s favorite cake!” She jiggled the bag. “He’s coming to dinner tonight, so naturally, I made twelve. And three for you and that handsome boy, Lachlan.”
She pulled three aluminum-wrapped containers out of one of the cat-printed bags.
“Oh, you didn’t have to bother,” I said, but I was already licking my lips. I grabbed the rest of her bags, for the kids and nurses. “Enjoy your night with Lolo.”
“It’d be more fun if you came to visit! Who knows how long I’ve got left to live?”
“Mrs. Tina, you’re still running in your wolf form—”
“My bones are telling me!” The lady lifted her hands to the sky.
“We both know you’ll outlive us all.”
“Not if my heart’s so lonely!”
“I’ll come visit. Dinner next week.” I fished out my agenda from my pocket, licking my finger before flipping through the pages. “How’s Wednesday?”
“Lolo trains on Wednesdays,” she muttered under her breath.
Caught her!
“Ah. So you don’t want to spend quality time with me.” I kept a straight face.
She stamped her foot on the floor. “I do! But I also want to hear the pitter-patter of grandpup paws!”
“I don’t want pups right now so I’m probably not the right fit for your plan.”
“Fine! No pitter-patter yet! But don’t think this conversation’s over.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” I said, absolutely aware it wasn’t.