During those hours, he’d wrestled with death, gaining an inch to lose two to its macabre pull, knowing that it would win the tug-of-war. But what had wrecked his sanity had been knowing that while he fought this losing battle, Cybele had been lying in his ER tended to by others.
Guilt had eaten through him. Triage had dictated he take care of her first, the one likely to survive. But he couldn’t have let Mel go without a fight. It had been an impossible choice. Emotionally, professionally, morally. He’d gone mad thinking she’d die or suffer irreversible damage because he’d made the wrong one.
Then he’d lost the fight for Mel’s life among colleagues’ proclamations that it had been a miracle he’d even kept him alive for hours when everyone had given up on him at the accident scene.
He’d rushed to her, knowing that while he’d exercised the ultimate futility on Mel, her condition had worsened. Terror of losing her, too, had been the one thing giving him continued access to what everyone extolled as his vast medical knowledge and surgical expertise.
“Tell me, please. The details of his injuries.”
He didn’t want to tell her how terrible it had all been.
But he had to. He inhaled a stream of what felt like aerosolized acid, then told her.
Her tears flowed steadily over a face gone numb with horror throughout his chilling report.
She finally whispered, “How did the accident happen?”
He needed this conversation to be over. He gritted his teeth. “That is one thing only you can know for sure. And it’ll probably be the last memory to return. The crash site and plane were analyzed for possible whys and hows. The plane shows no signs of malfunction and there were no distress transmissions prior to the crash.”
“So the pilot just lost control of the plane?”
“It would appear so.”
She digested this for a moment. “What about my injuries?”
“You should only concern yourself now with recuperating.”
“But I need to know a history of my injuries, their progression and management, to chart my recuperation.”
He grudgingly conceded her logic. “On site, you were unconscious. You had a severely bleeding scalp wound and bruising all over your body. But your severest injury was comminuted fractures of your left ulna and radius.”
She winced as she looked down on her splinted arm. “What was my Glasgow Coma Scale scoring?”
“Eleven. Best eye response was three, with your eyes opening only in response to speech. Best verbal response was four, with your speech ranging from random words to confused responses. Best motor function was four with flexion withdrawal response to pain. By the time I operated on you, your GCS had plunged to five.”
“Ouch. I was heading for decorticate coma. Did I have intracranial hemorrhage?”
He gave a difficult nod. “It must have been a slow leak. Your initial CTs and MRIs revealed nothing but slight brain edema, accounting for your depressed consciousness. But during the other surgery, I was informed of your deteriorating neurological status, and new tests showed a steadily accumulating subdural hematoma.”
“You didn’t shave my hair evacuating it.”
“No need. I operated via a new minimally invasive technique I’ve developed.”
She gaped at him. “You’ve developed a new surgical technique? Excuse me while my mind, tattered as it is, barrels in awe.”
He grunted something dismissive. She eyed him with a wonder that seemed only to rise at his discomfort. Just as he almost growled stop it, she raised one beautifully dense and dark eyebrow at him. “I trust I wasn’t the guinea pig for said technique?”
Cybele gazed up at Rodrigo, a smile hovering on her lips.
His own lips tightened. “You’re fine, aren’t you?”
“If you consider having to get my life story from you as fine.”
The spectacular wings of his eyebrows snapped together. That wasn’t annoyance or affront. That was mortification. Pain, even.
Words couldn’t spill fast enough from her battered brain to her lips. “God, that was such a lame joke. Just shows I’m in no condition to know how or when to make one. I owe you my life.”
“You owe me nothing. I was doing my job. And I didn’t even do it well. I’m responsible for your current condition. It’s my failure to manage you first that led to the deepening of the insult to your brai-”
“The pilot’s worst injuries were neurological.” She cut him short. It physically hurt to see the self-blame eating at him.
“Yes, but that had nothing to do with my decision-”
“And I bet you’re the best neurosurgeon on the continent.”
“I don’t know about that, but being the most qualified one on hand didn’t mea-”
“It did mean you had to take care of him yourself. And my initial condition misled you into believing my case wasn’t urgent. You did the right thing. You fought for this man as he deserved to be fought for. And then you fought for me. And you saved me. And then, I’m certain my condition is temporary.”
“We have no way of knowing that. Having total memory loss with the retention of all faculties of language and logic and knowledge and no problem in accumulating new memories is a very atypical form of amnesia. It might never resolve fully.”
“Would that be a bad thing, in your opinion? If the idea of regaining my memories is almost…distressing, maybe my life was so bad, I’m better off not remembering it?”
He seemed at a loss for words. Then he finally found some. “I am not in a position to know the answer to that. But I am in a position to know that memory loss is a neurological deficit, and it’s my calling to fix those. I can’t under any circumstances wish that this wouldn’t resolve. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to tend to my other patients. I’ll be back every three hours to check on you.”
With a curt nod, he turned and left her, exiting the huge, opulent suite in strides loaded with tense grace.
She wanted to run after him, beg him to come back.
What could possibly explain all this turmoil and her severe attraction to him? Had they been lovers, married even, and they’d separated, or maybe divorced…?
She suddenly lurched as if from the blow of an ax as a memory lodged in her brain. No…a knowledge. She was married.
And it was certainly not to Rodrigo.
Three
Rodrigo did come back in three hours. And stayed for three minutes. Long enough to check on her and adjust her medical management. Then he repeated that pattern for the next three days. She even felt him come in during her fitful sleep.