Is she here? Are we alone?
“Administration of propofol and rocuronium due to end stage Non-Hodgkin’s Lymphoma.”
She speaks softly. Slowly. So when I move on bare feet into the hall, approaching the entrance to the living room, I make sure I remain silent.
Minka’s back is to me. Her head and chest hunched over a laptop. Her hair is tied up in a high bun, when she so often leaves it hanging loose. A dark gray hoodie keeps her warm, but I don’t see what she wears for bottoms because she’s draped a checkered blanket across her lap.
“She was his nurse?” Minka questions. Then, “We can have our opinions based on morality, Aubs, but the law is the law. Our reports are for facts, not opinions. Which means…”
She goes silent for a moment, her eyes on the laptop screen as she scans a report.
“Yeah. Just write it up the way it’s supposed to be written up. Judge will make his own decision. Now talk to me about Petersham. Forty-three stab wounds?Forty-three?”
Geez. We’ve been out for a week, and already, some asshole has stabbed someone else nearly fifty times.
“You pulled fragments of the murder weapon from the vic’s ribs?” She exhales, then responds with, “Good work, Doctor Emeri. That wouldn’t have been easy to find, even with an x-ray. Follow the protocol for evidence all the way down the line so Petersham’s killer doesn’t walk. I’m not having him on our streets any longer, and he won’t be acquitted because we bungled evidence. After that, you can—”
I gently clear my throat, attempting to be quiet, but still, Minka startles in her seat and spins with lightning-fast reflexes. Her phone plops to her lap, and her computer skews dangerously to the side, threatening to topple to the floor.
Her hands come up in defense, then her eyes change. From fear to understanding. From fight, to mild exasperation. “Shit, Archer.” Pressing a hand to her heart, she shakes her head and looks me up and down in the muted light.
The TV is on, though silenced, and a lamp sits switched on at the back of the couch, but that’s it. The overhead lights are out. The sun is hidden somewhere far on the other side of the planet.
Minka’s eyes, shadowed in the dark, trail away from my face and pause for a long beat on my shoulder. It’s bare; no dressing, no sling. But I have no doubt in my mind she cleaned it and made damn sure it would remain safe even in my sleep.
The bullethole is small and round, no bigger than a silver coin. But the bruising it left behind covers most of the left side of my chest and half of my neck.
The bullet, thankfully, didn’t blow out the back and leave me destroyed on the other side. Instead, Minka dug the slug out and poured enough antiseptic in there to keep me alive.
I suppose the longer healing time is the price I pay for not telling the authorities the truth about the day I was shot.
Minka lets her eyes move down my abdomen and over my legs. Faintly, I hear Aubree’s called, “Hello? Minka?Hello?” from the dropped phone.
When she’s done making sure I’m okay, Minka turns back and searches around in confusion, for just a moment, for what she was supposed to be doing. Finally, she snatches up the phone and brings it to her ear. “Hey, sorry, I dropped you. Archer’s awake, so I’m gonna go. You should get some sleep, and we’ll go through more of these tomorrow…” Silence hangs for a beat. Then, “Yep. Okay, I’ll see you then.”
Ending her call and locking the screen, Minka closes her laptop and sets it and the blanket aside, then twisting the other way, she sets her feet on the floor and pushes up to reveal no pants at all—just knee-length, fluffy socks, and tiny shorts that struggle to peek out the bottom of her hoodie.
She’s a sight that makes my heart run just a little faster. And when she starts in my direction, a smile crosses my lips, and my arm opens wide to pull her lithe body in tight.
The moment Minka’s chest meets mine and her breath hits my neck, I set my chin on her head and close my eyes. “Hey.”
“Hey.” She kisses the center of my chest and takes my breath away with the gentleness of her touch. Setting her hands on my hips, she pulls back to catch my eyes. “How are you feeling?”
“Like I ate dirt for dinner.” I run my tongue along the roof of my mouth and frown. “What the hell did you feed me?”
“Nothing.” Taking my hand in hers, Minka turns and slowly tugs me toward the couch.
Not once in all the time I’ve known her has she been such a caregiver. That was my role. But now, she refuses to let me stand for more than a minute at a time, she feeds me pain relief like they come from a Pez dispenser, and anytime I might look even unwell-adjacent, she’s on me to sit and rest.
Bringing me to the front of the couch, she gently pushes me down. Then, climbing onto my lap, she goes to work inspecting my wound.
“I left it open to get fresh air.” She trails her fingers along the bruised flesh. “I wasn’t going to bed yet, and you were basically comatose from painkillers, so I figured it was a good time to do so.”
“I trust you.” I set my hand on her thigh and stroke her silky soft skin. “Whatever you think we gotta do, I trust you.Except,” I add, and grin when her eyes flash with challenge, “pain pills.”
“What?”
“No more.” I lean a little closer and set a gentle kiss on her lips. “They don’t help me heal, they only mask what I’m already feeling.”