The Speed of Light: A Novel(73)

“It’s okay, Simone,” she says, cutting me off. “We all have those feelings sometimes.”

“How do you get past them?”

Danielle doesn’t hesitate. “If you love someone, they’re never a burden. You take care of them no matter what. That’s what loving someone means.” She glances over her shoulder toward her family. “We take care of each other. It might be in different ways, but it’s all important.”

I nod slowly and she smiles. “I should get going.” She cocks her head, then reaches into her pocket for her phone. My own phone buzzes. “There. I just friended you on Facebook. If you want to accept my friend request, you can contact me anytime with questions, okay?”

I nod, grateful, and as she walks away I stare after her, relieved, but questions still burn—and underneath it all, pushing its way up, a deep exhaustion settles in from the physical challenge I’ve conquered and the emotional hurdles still before me.

When Nikki walks up and puts her arm around me, I sag into her. I’m so tired; fatigue is sapping my strength now, but so are the visions swirling in my head of Connor walking away from me. And the doubts—so many doubts—but also accusations. It’s my fault. It’s too late. It’s better this way.

Is it?

Nikki squeezes my shoulder a little tighter. “You did great today.”

I take a breath and it catches. “Should I . . . I mean, do you think . . .”

She reads the storm in my weary eyes. “Right now you need to rest and celebrate,” she says softly. “One challenge at a time, okay?”

My eyes are fixed on the horizon, the way Danielle left. The way Connor left. But finally, I swallow back the fears, the doubts. “Okay.”

My MRI is next Monday—when I called Dr. Reynolds, my primary doctor, to schedule it, she set it up for right around the one-year mark of my diagnosis. I know now that I want to switch neurologists, so I’ll definitely ask for the MRI results to be sent to Dr. Bukhari.

One challenge at a time. Right now I’ll just focus on getting through MRI day. A lot can change in one day, in one moment.

Everything can change.





PART THIRTEEN

COURAGE





Monday, December 6, 10:27 a.m.

All I can focus on right now is remaining still—our only chance of surviving is if Chet thinks we’re already dead. Behind me I hear him fiddle with the weapon, cuss in frustration. Then, the sound of the rifle opening—he’s reloading.

Terror pulses in my gut. I have seconds.

I can’t give up, not when Nikki still needs me. I have to try, but everyone who has rushed Chet has failed; why would it be any different for me?

A wave of dizziness hits—then a bolt of lightning, a random scrap of memory. Weakness doesn’t give you a pass.

We’re lying here—injured, weak women—and it just might be enough for me to catch him off guard.

It just might be enough to save us.

My heartbeat rams against my chest, legs tingle—but now it’s like a message. We did not make it through all of this to go down without a fight.

And that’s what I’m going to do. I’m going to fight.

I hear him now, peering over us, and a brief flash of fear and doubt floods through me. But then I feel Chet’s foot jab into my side, like he’s a hunter checking his kill. The pain makes me wince—and sets me in motion.

I lurch up and shove Chet back, raising my knee up swiftly into his groin. He cries out and doubles over, and I latch my hands on to his wrist, thrusting the gun away from us as it goes off. I scream and scream and keep screaming, muscles aching with the effort of holding him back.

Suddenly my office door bursts open—and as I turn I realize this is it; I can’t fight off anyone else. It’s either the end or a new beginning, and I can’t control it either way.

I cannot control a single thing.

But I see Officer Jackson in the doorway, gun raised and pointed at Chet. He yells and whips his arm away from me, but it doesn’t matter now. She fires three times, and he goes down; then it’s silent, so deafeningly silent, and I fall.



My guardian angel hovers over me when I open my eyes in the ambulance, struggling to push through the thick, velvety veil of fatigue. I whimper, but Officer Jackson shushes me, pushes back my hair. “Shh, you did good, Archer. Time to rest now.”

“Nikki,” I say.

She smiles. “She’s in the other ambulance. She’s still fighting, don’t you worry. Try to relax—you’ve been through a lot, and you fell pretty hard when you passed out in there.”

I close my eyes, a tear escaping, and immense relief blends with grief over the loss, the betrayal, the sheer exhaustion. I’m in and out, restless, visions of blood and guns and races and the randomness of it all.

The scream of the ambulance jolts me awake, and even though fatigue clings to me, threatening to pull me back into the darkness, my focus is suddenly razor sharp.

I almost died today. I almost died from something I never could have foreseen.

One moment can change everything. A shooter. A devastating diagnosis. A handsome stranger. The terrifying truth about life is that you never know which one you’re going to get.

What a terrifying, beautiful truth.

We are all living on the edge of a cliff without even knowing it, and one fragile movement can push us over the edge or pull us to safety.