Read Endless Possibility: a RUSH novella (City Lights 3.5) Online
Authors: Emma Scott
Endless Possibility: a RUSH novella (City Lights 3.5)
Copyright © 2015 Emma Scott
All rights reserved
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, events, places and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Cover design by First Edition Design Publishing
http://www.firsteditiondesignpublishing.com/
Ebook formatting by That Formatting Lady
http://thatformattinglady.wordpress.com/
Sneak Peek of City Lights Book IV
A huge thank you to my beta readers, Erin Thomasson Cannon and Priscilla Perez. Erin, you never fail to boost me up when and I need it, and Priscilla, you’re like a gift dropped from the sky. Thank you, both.
Thank you to Kathleen Ripley for her editing services, though all lingering mistakes are mine (because I can’t help but go back in and mess around after she’s done).
Thanks too, to Angela Shockley, my formatter, who saved my butt from my oncoming deadline, and whose patience with my endless changes is so very appreciated.
And a tremendous thank you to Michele Miesner, a RUSH reader who said to me, “You should write Noah’s memoir!” The seed was planted and wouldn’t stop growing. This book wouldn’t exist if not for you. <3
This book is dedicated to the generous, kind, amazing readers of RUSH. You have warmed my heart with countless expressions of how much Noah and Charlotte’s love story meant to you. As a writer, there is nothing more gratifying than to know my words have touched someone or made them feel something strong, or that my characters have stayed with them long after the story ends. This novella is my thank you to you, for giving me such a tremendous gift.
Thank you.
Lenox Hill Hospital, February
Charlotte
My footsteps echo down the wide, linoleum hallway to join the sounds of machines and voices, hushed at this late hour, but still loud in my ears. Hospitals are not restful places, and the air is humid with disinfectant and tears. I hate it. I hate that he’s here again.
It’s not fair. He’s already paid his dues, a million times over.
I wasn’t supposed to be here either; visiting hours are long over, but the nursing staff is lenient with me. Or they don’t want a scene. Probably the latter.
The sign on the wall says 8C. His room. I heave a deep breath, to infuse my voice with strength to take the tremor out. Otherwise Noah will know immediately how scared I am. He’s scared too. He tries not to show it; to push it down and bury it, but I know he is. I know
him.
It’s late, but Noah’s awake, his eyes open and focused on nothing. He looks weak and pale beneath the covers, and too many tubes and lines are coming out of his arms. Too many machines monitoring the air in his lungs; his temperature and his heartbeat.
I have his heart,
I think fiercely
. His and mine, they beat together.
Noah turns his head as I step inside, and a smile finds its way to his lips. He can always tell when it’s me.
“Hi, baby,” he says tiredly. “What time is it?”
“Almost eleven.” I cross the room to his side and drop my heavy bag at my feet. “Lucien has taken everyone home, but they’ll be back first thing in the morning. Ava too.”
“Ava’s flying in?” he asks, a grimace flits over his face. “God, what a mess.”
I kiss my fingers and touch it to the line between his dark brows. “They’re your family. Nothing would keep them away, and that’s how it should be.”
He doesn’t say anything but I know he’s beating himself up. As if it’s his fault the migraines have been relentless. Or that he collapsed yesterday afternoon like a puppet with its strings cut.
He reaches for my hand. “What about you? Go home, baby. Get some sleep.”
“Like hell,” I say lightly, kicking off my shoes.
“Aren’t visiting hours over?”
“They don’t apply to me.”
He manages a smile. “I can only imagine what would happen if they try to kick you out.”
“Not gonna happen. Scoot. You’re hogging the bed.”
I lay down beside him, one jeans-clad leg thrown over his that are under the blankets. We lay face to face, our fingers entwined, our bodies touching as much as the narrow bed allows.
“Charlotte, you’re trembling.”
“It’s cold in here. It’s so cold in hospitals, have you noticed that?”
He shakes his head slightly against the pillow. “I’m sorry, baby. I never wanted to scare you. It’s why I never said anything. Or maybe I was trying not to scare myself. I thought if I admitted how bad it was, I’d make it real.” He laughs dryly. Darkly. “And yeah, I was right. It all feels pretty fucking real.”
He squeezes his eyes shut as if his head pains him with yet another migraine. He’d had so many in the last few months; more than I could count. More than he was willing to tell me. Enough to alarm the doctors who’d ordered a barrage of tests today: CT scans, MRIs and even an X-ray, ‘just to be safe,’ on top of a million blood tests, until I thought they’d drained Noah dry.
The fear that those tests are going to turn up something bad has woven itself around all of us who love Noah best, and bound us tight. Something that would require more surgery, another craniotomy, maybe. Just thinking the word made me shiver.
Or maybe it was something worse. There were worse words, after all. Aneurism. Brain lesion. Tumor. And looming over all, the terrible specter of a word I couldn’t even bring myself to
think
; that insidious, greedy thief that steals so much from this world and is never satisfied.
“I don’t blame you for being scared, Noah,” I say. “No one does.”
“Yeah, well, I should have said something sooner but I didn’t want to come back here. I thought I was done.”