What's Left Of Me (The Firebird Trilogy Book 2) Read Online Free Page A

currency. He shrugged and set a hand on the small of her back as they entered the unit. What could they do about it?
    The nurse directed them to an exam room. “Someone will be with you shortly.” She tugged the curtain shut.
    “How are you feeling?” Alex asked.
    Stephanie hopped up onto the table. “Okay. A little burning in my lungs.”
    “Ms. Hartwell?” Another nurse ducked into the room and fixed the curtain behind her. “What brings you in tonight?”
    “I was playing hockey, and I suddenly felt short of breath. I’ve had a cough for a while—about a month, I guess? I thought maybe it was bronchitis or walking pneumonia.”
    “All right. Let me get your vitals, and the doctor will listen to your lungs when he comes in.”
    Weight, temperature, blood pressure. Everything checked out normally. The nurse advised Stephanie to undress from the waist up and put on the faded cotton robe beside her, then assured them the doctor would arrive soon.
    “It’s freezing in here.” Stephanie chafed her pebbled arms. An exchanger hissed as it replaced air stinking of bleach, cleanser, and stainless steel with fresh air. The intercom reported codes and summoned doctors. A keyboard clacked. A wheelchair squeaked past the curtain. She covered her ears when the moaning began next door.
    Alex sat next to her and hugged her. He kissed the top of her head. “I’ll buy you a bottle of wine and some chocolate on the way home for being such a trooper.”
    “Mr. Volynsky!” the doctor announced. He stepped in and stuck out his hand. “I’m Dr. Cohle.”
    “Hi. I’m not the patient. As you can see.”
    “Right, right. Not feeling too well, Mrs. Volynsky?”
    She side-eyed Alex. Few things angered her more than the assumption she’d taken his last name. He’d known all along that she was keeping her own, despite its association with her father. And it hurt a little, that she’d prefer to use his name rather than starting over with a new one. Still, Alex understood her dislike of the tradition, the implied ownership, and he hadn’t put up much of an argument. “It’s Ms. Hartwell. I’m sure it says so in my file.”
    “Of course, of course. Having some breathing trouble?”
    “Yes. And my chest hurts.”
    “Let’s have a listen.” The doctor pressed his stethoscope to Stephanie’s chest. “Deep breath in, and let it out. Good.” He held it to her back. “And again. Definitely some rattling in there. I’m going to prescribe a cough suppressant. I’ll have that for you with your discharge instructions. The nurse will take you to X-ray.”
    “Thank you.”
    Alex scooped up her clothes and messenger bag. “I’ll be in the waiting room. You’ll be fine, baby.” He kissed her cool forehead. “See you in a little bit.”
    He sat in the back of the room, by the windows, and speed-dialed Jacob.
    “Hello?”
    “Hey, it’s me. We’re going to be a little late. I had to take Stephanie to the ER.”
    “Is she okay? What happened?”
    “She had trouble breathing during her game. She’s getting X-rays now. How is Anya?”
    “She’s fine. Sleeping.”
    “Thank you again for watching her. I planned to have a sitter by now, but you know, it’s our first kid, and no one seems good enough—”
    “Hey. We got this. Go be with your wife. You’ll get here when you get here.”
    “ Da. Thanks.” Alex tucked the phone into his pocket. The TV volume was too low to hear, and no one had turned on the closed-captioning. Restless, he fought the compulsion to pace, not wanting to disturb the other patients and their families. He checked his social media accounts but lost interest after a few minutes, and stared out the window. The doors shushed open and shut. Paramedics maneuvered someone on a gurney, covered in a bloody sheet, toward the ER. Doctors and nurses swarmed the dying victim and vanished into the unit. If his own experience hadn’t solidified his hatred of hospitals, this did. The industrial, antiseptic