Present day 11:29 a.m.

For some reason I thought he'd look worse after the second surgery. When Finley dragged me out of the room, his skin was ashen, and his lips weren't the color of lips anymore. Tremors shook his muscles, and the monitors flashed. Nurses surrounded his bed. It was a nightmare painted in crimson.

But now the crimson has faded. Maverick's skin isn't as pale, and his lips are closer their natural peach hue. He's motionless on the bed again, the monitors showing steady lines and normal-range numbers. Laney was in here a few minutes ago, but she's gone now.

I'm back to studying monitors and waiting for a miracle to happen. I keep imagining the moment when Maverick's eyes open. I'm awake too, in my daydream, even though it's dark outside. We're alone, because Finley is asleep or in the cafeteria.

It takes me a second to realize what's happening. Even in my daydream I wonder if I'm daydreaming. Is this real?

His eyelids flutter. Then he blinks before he focuses on me.

I move closer, waiting for another sign. For him to move or say something that makes me believe his eyes opening isn't just an unconscious muscle reflex.

"Maverick?" I whisper.

"Alieya," he husks out.

And that's it. I can't get past my name.

I play out a scenario where I fling myself on top of him, cut off his oxygen, and rip open the sutures on his chest. I don't like that ending.

Next is one where Maverick looks away from me. He's sad, disappointed, and it's too much like yesterday morning. I cut that off before it goes any further. It won't happen that way. I won't let it.

In a third, he forces a smile.

"I love you," he murmurs, reaching for me.

I nod, a stream of relieved tears flowing down my cheeks. "I love you, Mav."

Then the monitors flash and his body convulses. Nurses run in again. I hear a long, solid beep from his heart monitor. I glance up to see a thin, red line going across the screen.

"Get the crash cart," someone says.

"Ma'am, you should wait outside," a nurse says to me.

I don't move.

Someone wheels the cart in beside Mav's bed.

"Clear!"

His back comes off the bed as metal presses onto his chest. The red line remains unbroken.

"Clear!"

"Ma'am."

"Maverick," I say.

"Ma'am, I need you to wait outside."

"No response."

"Again. Clear!"

"Nothing."

"Mav!"

"Clear!"

"Maverick!"

"He's not responding."

A moment of silence pa.s.ses. "Note the time."

I pull myself out of the daydream and squeeze Maverick's hand. The steady spikes in the heart rate monitor calm me, but not enough to wipe the image completely from my mind. I kiss Mav's fingers.

"I'm here, Mav, okay? I'm not leaving again." I smooth hair back from his forehead. Kiss his brow. "You hear me, Maverick? I'm not leaving. Never."

Chapter 42.

Chicago, Illinois Five months ago Maverick took the afternoon off on the day of our first doctor's appointment. Finley volunteered to come too, claiming G.o.dmother privileges, but I politely declined. Good thing I shared the appointment date with her the day of, or she might've showed up anyway. Probably would've talked my ear off with baby shower ideas she's already planning. I'm supposed to get back to her with a guest list, even though it's not for another six months.

The receptionist hands me a clipboard and pen. "Just bring it back up when you're finished."

The first pages are easy, but then I get to family history.

"Does anyone in your family have heart disease?" I ask.

"Um, I think my great uncle did."

"Do great uncles count?"

"Let me see." I hand the form over to Maverick. He slides a finger down the list. "Yes to this one... Yes here... No for the rest."

"How do you know all that stuff?"

"I guess I figure if I know, then the answer is yes. If I don't, the answer is no."

He gives me the clipboard back. "Maybe I should call my mom. I know absolutely nothing about my dad's side."

"You could, but then you'd have to tell her you're pregnant."

"Oh, right."

"We don't have to wait to tell, you know."

I tap the end of the pen against the paper. "I know. I just-I don't know-want to make sure everything is okay first."

Maverick puts his hand on my shaking knee. "It'll be okay. Nothing to be nervous about."

"Easy for you to say. I'm the one making a miniature human being in my body."

Mav smirks. "I bet you're doing a h.e.l.luva job at it."

I'm not sure he's right. I bite my lip and bounce the knee Maverick isn't holding down. I've heard horror stories about OBGYNs and about births and hospitals and all of the complications women have. My aunt likes to reiterate how when my cousin was born they put her feet up into stirrups and when she pushed, the stirrups broke and she fell off of the bed. She started hemorrhaging, but managed to give birth on the floor. It makes me wonder how anyone survives the process of pregnancy and birth.

Plus, of course, there's the pain of labor. The screaming and swearing at your partner. The blood and monitors and medications. The stench of the hospital room.

I'm suddenly nauseous again.

Oh, G.o.d, I can't do this.

I must look as panicked as I feel, because Maverick puts an arm around my shoulders and pulls me close. He presses a kiss to my temple.

"Come on, Jellysnack. You've got this," he murmurs.

I don't reply. We stay like that until a nurse calls our name. I sling my purse over my shoulder, and Maverick takes my hand as we follow her to the scale. I've lost three pounds, but I'm not surprised. I can't keep much down.

She leads us to an examination room and rattles off a bunch of questions that I only know half of the answers to. She hands me a gown to change into, then she tells us the doctor will be in soon, leaving us alone again.

Maverick flips through a magazine while I sit on the bed-table-thing, my bare b.u.t.t crinkling the paper. Seriously. Can they make pregnancy any more uncomfortable?

"If you keep wiggling, that paper's going to go right up your a.s.s," Maverick says.

"Wanna switch places? Because I'd gladly put my clothes back on and you can stick your naked b.u.t.t up here."

"The doctor might be in for a fun surprise when she asks me to spread my legs."

I roll my eyes, because I have no comeback for that. Honestly, I just want to vomit again.

Someone knocks on the door.

I look at Maverick, who shrugs. "Um, okay?" I reply, and Maverick shakes his head like it's the wrong answer.

"What?" I mouth.

"Alieya Tavare?" the doctor asks as she comes in.

"Yes."

"Did I p.r.o.nounce that right?"

"Yeah."

"All right." She sits down on a circular chair with wheels. "This is your first pregnancy, is that correct?"

I nod.

"Do you know the date of your last period?"

"I don't remember, no."

"We'll do an ultrasound then, make sure everything looks okay, and get a due date, all right?"

She explains the procedures, does a physical exam, and then tells me a tech will be in to take my blood.

"Thanks," I say, feeling more uncomfortable now than before. Hopefully all appointments won't be this invasive.

I get dressed and sit on the chair beside Maverick. I'm so done with the paper. I need something under me that's not used as stationary.

"That wasn't so bad, was it?" Mav asks.

I glare at him. "Please tell me you're talking about an article you were reading while some stranger stuck a plastic duck bill up my crotch?"

"You should be used to large phallic objects-"

"Stop. Just stop."

He grins, amused. There's even a glint his eye.

"I used to be, but not anymore. Today was the most action I've received in a month."

I say it as a burn, but his grin widens. "So see? It wasn't so bad."

I slug him.

Knock, knock, knock.

"Come in," I say, still staring at my mean-a.s.s husband.

"I already came. Hence the reason we're here," he mouths, and I want to hit him again.

"Go back to work."

"Hi, my name is John, and I'll be taking your blood today," the technician says, setting his supplies on the counter. "Do you have an arm preference?"

"Left is fine."

"I have three vials, but there's only going to be one stick, okay? I'll try to make this as painless as possible."