A Season for Grace and The Heart of Grace by Linda Goodnight

Author:Linda Goodnight
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Harlequin
Published: 2012-10-15T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Two

Drew hurt everywhere. His head, his leg, his back, his guts. Even his hair hurt.

He tried to open his eyes but they were too heavy. The drugs, he supposed. Drugs were good, but they didn’t eliminate the pain. They only made him stupid, too groggy to form an intelligent sentence, too relaxed to care.

The first time he’d awakened after the blast, he’d been in a helicopter. The whump, whump, whump had sent him into violent tremors. Shock, the docs in Germany said.

Well, yes, he was shocked. Getting blown up wasn’t on his list of fun things to do.

He wondered where his cameras were.

“Mr. Michaels.” A male voice penetrated the haze. Someone lifted his wrist and felt his pulse. Hard, strong fingers. He wanted the voice to go away but figured he’d slept his allotted quota for the day.

Around this place fifteen minutes was tops before someone else came along to poke, prod or wheel him off to radiology. He’d been scanned and x-rayed so much he probably glowed in the dark. A radioactive photographer.

Funny. He had a brief image of using the glow from his body as available light to snap photos. All good photographers experimented with different light sources. And he was good. Really good. Everybody said so. Especially Larissa. She thought he was wonderful.

Larissa. The sharpest pain yet hit him.

Did she know how much he loved her? Did she know he was hurt? He hoped not. She’d be upset. He’d already caused her enough trouble.

The floaty feeling came back and he leaned into it, ready to go where it led. Thinking of Larissa hurt too much to remain conscious.

“Mr. Michaels.”

With an inner sigh, Drew resurfaced and managed to raise his eyelids. Squinting at the bright light and too-white room, he saw his tormenter. A doctor. But he wasn’t sure which one. That was one of the problems he’d been having. His memory wasn’t as good as it used to be. Things were a little fuzzy. His head hurt. A lot.

“I’ve never been in a hospital,” he grumbled.

“So you told me.”

He had?

Eyes wider now, he focused on the physician’s name badge. Dr. Pascal. Neurology. “When can I get out of here?”

The doctor sidestepped the question with one of his own. “How’s the vision? Any more problems?”

Drew’s gut lurched. He didn’t like thinking about the hours of blackness that had surrounded him after the blast. “Twenty-twenty.”

“Let’s have a look.”

Drew wondered who let’s was. Doctors all seemed to speak as if they were polymorphic. The God complex, he supposed.

His own drug-twisted humor amused him, but in truth, if he looked at the doc too long, he saw more than one. He sobered instantly. There was nothing funny about that.

Two were better than none, but still…

Dr. Pascal’s thick fingers stretched Drew’s eyelids apart while shining a pin light back and forth. Back and forth. The doc smelled like mouthwash and antiseptic soap.

“No more episodes of blindness? Double vision? Blurriness?”

“Some,” he admitted, hating the truth but figuring the doc should know.

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