Total pages in book: 126
Estimated words: 118309 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 592(@200wpm)___ 473(@250wpm)___ 394(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 118309 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 592(@200wpm)___ 473(@250wpm)___ 394(@300wpm)
“Fluticasone or Budesonide?”
I step back, shocked when he answers, “Both.”
I’ve never had the option of choosing my grandfather’s medication.
It was whichever option was the cheapest.
“He was administered oral steroids earlier this week, so please limit them unless also necessary, and he’s—”
“On a single dose of Azithromycin for pneumonia. I read his medical report before agreeing to this assignment, Dr. Hoffman. I assure you we will make the move as safe and as uncomplicated as possible.”
The assurance in his tone is encouraging, but I can’t help but worry. My grandparents are the only family I have left. My father was sentenced to life, and his parents want nothing to do with me since they believe I am the only reason my father married my mother. “Has someone checked the new apartment for any aggravators of COPD?”
“Yes,” Dr. Muhamed answers. “I went over it myself. Not a single dust bunny or speck of ash could be seen. It is as clean as its hefty price tag demands.”
“Okay. Good.” I would like to say more, but I’m too shocked to function. I feel like I’m living in a dream and everything I’ve ever wanted is finally coming true.
“Is that all?” Dr. Muhamed asks, his tone uneasy.
“Yes.” I wipe at my cheeks like it will stop my words from cracking with emotion. “But can you please take down my number? I would like to be informed of any changes to my grandfather’s condition during the relocation.”
“I already have your number stored. I will keep you updated, though I doubt it will be in regard to declining markers.” He sounds surprised while saying, “His stats are exceptional for his prognosis. His care far exceeds any I’ve seen from other palliative care patients, and I only see that improving with the new ventilation and ECOM unit currently being installed in his new apartment.”
There’s no hiding my sob this time around. I’ve been saving for a new extracorporeal membrane oxygenation unit for several years. The one we’ve been using is on loan from the hospital. It is old and outdated and often shuts down in the middle of the night. That’s why my sleep is so lagging even when I don’t work a double shift.
“Dr. Hoffman? Are you still there?” Dr. Muhamed asks.
“Yes, sorry.” I wipe at my cheeks that are now wet. “I think the connection is bad. If you need me—”
“You’re only a phone call away.”
I smile like it won’t make me look psychotic. My tears are tears of happiness, but you wouldn’t know that for how many are streaming down my face.
Dr. Muhamed must hear my smile, as he says, “Enjoy your honeymoon, Dr. Hoffman. I’ll be in touch if I have any questions.”
He disconnects our call before I can reply. If only he were half a second faster, then maybe I would have missed my grandmother’s surprised gasp when he assumed I am on my honeymoon.
I had planned to tell my grandparents about my arrangement with Maksim in person.
I don’t have a choice now.
My finger hovers over the number at the top of my recently called list when a creak sounds over my big exhalation of nerves. It didn’t come from the door opposite me. It came from one down the corridor—from Maksim’s suite.
When he notices me, a smirk curls his lips before he bridges the gap between us. His hair is wet like his shower was long for the exact reason my deviant head believes, and he’s replaced his sunscreen-ruined suit for one that is navy blue and cut to showcase every perfect ridge of his body.
His walk is predatory. Claiming. It activates every one of my hot buttons and has me remembering the sticky mess I was before Zoya interrupted my stalk of the wall separating our suites.
A mannish cologne wafts up around me when he swoops down to kiss my forehead like he did in the video I’ve watched on repeat the past twenty minutes. It was closely followed by him falling to his knees to slide my garter up my leg.
“I was just coming to find you…” His words trail off as fury hardens his features. “What happened? Are you hurt? Did someone hurt you?” He stops seeking the apparent perp in the hallway when I shake my head, but not even my silent pledge that I’m fine lessens the anger in his tone when he asks, “Then why are you crying?”
His protectiveness takes my breath away when it unearths a memory of him wiping away my tears when I told him how I lost both my parents within days of each other. My father is still breathing, but since he refuses to meet with me, his loss was as painful as my mother and sister’s.
When my delay causes more angst for Maksim, I wet my mouth to loosen up my words before saying, “I just spoke with my grandmother.” My words flutter as wildly out of control as my heart does when his possessiveness has me wanting to run into his arms instead of away from him. “She told me about the apartment.” My voice breaks when I add, “And the medical equipment.”