The Story Of Us Part 23

I scrunch my nose. "Cliche. Renaldo?"

Maverick blinks. "I'm trusting you to name our children, and you want to name the cat Renaldo?"

"What? Renaldo is a good name."

"Yeah, eighty years ago in Spain."

"Chopstick."

"You're kidding, right?"

"Okay, fine. I dare you to come up with something better."

"Dare accepted." Maverick picks up Night Eyes and holds him so they're face to face. The cat tries to look away, but Maverick turns to scrutinize him.

"He's not going to give you any suggestions," I say, amused.

"Sure he will. You just have to be a cat whisperer like me."

"So the truth comes out. Law school, my a.s.s."

"I have to keep up with appearances, you know. Lawyer by day, cat psychic by night." Maverick twists Night Eyes to face me. "His name is Morocco."

"Did he tell you that?"

"He sure did."

"Morocco, huh?" I rub both of his ears, and his purring grows louder. "He seems to like it."

"Of course he does. It's a kick-a.s.s cat name."

He tilts his head toward me before he steps out of Maverick's arms and into mine. "All right. Morocco it is."

Chapter 35.

Present Day 9:29 a.m.

Finley has me in the cafeteria, and I abhor her for it. I'm so far away from where I'm supposed to be. She puts a cup of coffee in front of me. Why does everyone think I need coffee?

"He's in good hands, Ali," my best friend rea.s.sures me. Except it's just one of those things you say to people, thinking it will make them feel better. No one cares about someone else's hands.

I keep thinking about Maverick convulsing on the bed. The dull color of his skin. The flas.h.i.+ng lights on the monitors.

I don't nod this time. I simply stare at the table's surface, honing in on a scarlet stain. Of course it has to be scarlet.

Or maybe the color is only in my head.

We stayed in the ICU hallway for a while. Minutes after Finley dragged me out of the room, the team of nurses wheeled Maverick out. Dr. Santos led the way through the double doors where I couldn't follow.

"Where are they taking him?" I asked Laney when she exited.

"Surgery. Dr. Santos will be out to speak with you when they're finished."

"Is he okay? Will he be okay?"

"He's unstable, and the doctor will do everything she can to stabilize him. It'll be a couple of hours. We won't know anything before that. You're welcome to stay in the waiting area or go down to the cafeteria."

"Thank you," Finley answered for me. "Come on, Ali. You should eat something."

Now, I close my eyes to shut out the color that used to mean something else entirely. When it came to Maverick and me, I used to daydream of scarlet, of all-night pa.s.sion and desire. Burning heat quenched by bliss so cobalt that my eyes would roll back in tranquility only Maverick could provide.

The color haunts me now, follows me around even with my eyelids squeezed shut. There is no hiding from fear. It's always there.

Finley says something else, but I don't make out the actual words.

I look at her. She frowns at my expression. "What?" I ask.

"I said, since there's nothing we can do, maybe it would be a good idea to get some food and maybe try to sleep."

I'm not tired, and I'm not hungry.

"You're pale and there are major bags under your eyes, Ali. You need food and rest."

My gaze drops to my cold coffee. My thoughts drift, and I wonder if Maverick's spleen is the only organ causing the internal bleeding. What if it's not? They can't just go inside my husband's body and start removing all of his organs, can they? What about his heart? The-what had they called it? Dissected aorta? Do dissected aortas bleed?

They said he wasn't stable enough for this kind of surgery. So how is he now, after his blood pressure just went haywire?

"Ali, breathe."

His blood pressure is too low. You lose blood in surgery. He doesn't have enough to lose.

What if...

"Ali!"

Cold liquid pours onto my lap. In front of me is a puddle. The Styrofoam cup is crushed, open slits allowing what's left to dribble out.

I think about how it's coffee. How coffee is supposed to be amber, not gray.

I watch, dazed, as Finley piles paper towels on top of the spill. She wipes down the table, and someone comes with mop.

"Here." My best friend hands me a wad of paper towels.

I stare at them.

"I need to get back," I say. "Maverick won't know where I am."

"Ali, your clothes."

I peer down. Darker gray blends with lighter grays.

"I'm wet." Why am I wet?

Finley's brows pinch together. She dabs at my jeans.

Dab. Dab. Dab.

"I have some extra clothes in the car. I'll see if there's a shower or something you can use."

I look down at myself, and suddenly I realize I don't know what the hospital did with Maverick's clothes. He'll want clothes when he wakes up.

"What about Maverick?"

"We'll go check on him," she says, but that isn't what I'm talking about.

"Maverick's clothes."

Finley's eyes wander behind me before they settle back on me. "I'll find him something later, okay?" She pries the cup out of my grip. "I'll get you some more."

I stare out the window until she returns. She puts the new coffee in front of me and scoots her chair closer.

"You didn't eat the apple I brought you earlier," she says. "They have eggs and bacon over there. Want some?"

"Ali," she whispers when I don't answer. She leans forward to look at me and frowns.

She recognizes what's happening.

"Don't go there, Ali. Stay with me. Maverick needs you." She grabs one of my hands. "Do you hear me? Maverick is going to be okay."

I nod. I'm getting good at this simple motion telling lies for me. But she's my best friend, so finally I meet her gaze.

"I can't, Finley," I breathe.

She touches my cheek, wiping away a tear. "Can't what?"

Can't breathe. Can't think. Can't process. Can't listen. Can't concentrate.

"Can't everything."

Just- Can't.

I focus on the breaths exiting my lips. The gooseb.u.mps on my arms poke up so hard they hurt, and I try to concentrate on that too.

"I'm trying, but I'm so f.u.c.king scared, Finn. I can't lose him."

"Listen to me, Ali." She squeezes my hand tighter. "Maverick isn't going anywhere, okay? The doctor is going to fix this, and you and Maverick are going to have a dozen babies and live to be one-hundred and fifty and die in your front porch rocking chairs. Do you understand?"

"A dozen?"

"One of them named Finley. One is Alieyah with an 'h,' and of course there's Maverick Jr."

"That's only three."

"I'll let you and Maverick pick out the other names."

I feel the corner of my mouth twitch. "Okay."

"Okay?"

"Yeah, we'll come up with nine great names."

Finley smiles. "They'll be amazing, and they'll all grow up to be lawyers."

"Oh, no. I'm not ready for that."

My bestie laughs. "How about some breakfast, then we'll go back upstairs and wait for the doctor?"

I stare down at my coffee again. Think about the warmth against my palms.

"Maverick needs you, Ali."

I look at her. Then, slowly, I nod.

Chapter 36.

Chicago, Illinois Eight months ago Two hours late. No phone call.

I'm fuming. We've had this discussion too many times to count. What if something happened to him? How would I know?

His initial big case has grown, and I understand the need for him to put in more hours on it. But now he's working on several large cases, putting in twelve-hour days, six days a week. I've barely seen him all month.

Still, seriously. It takes thirty seconds to send me a text. Even less to answer one of the several I've sent.

Morocco walks up my stomach and lies down on my chest. He lowers his chin, big, green eyes focused on me. I scratch him behind the ears, and he purrs.

"You think he'll bring home pizza this time?"