When Her Death Couldn't Break Him (Cecilia and Nathaniel) novel Chapter 2067

Eventually, the wail of a siren carved through the snow-choked silence. Magnus scooped Denise into his arms and raced outside, boots crunching through powder until he placed her inside the ambulance. Not until the hospital doors swallowed them did he dare draw a steady breath.

Doctors ushered her onto a gurney, ran tests, hung fluids, prescribed antivirals, and then admitted her to an isolation ward.

“High fever and influenza. Why bring her this late?” the attending physician chided, pen scratching angrily across a chart.

Magnus blinked, thunderstruck. “Influenza? I-I didn't know.”

“It's been two, maybe three days. Haven't you noticed?” the doctor pressed, brow furrowed in reprimand.

“I swear I didn't.” Magnus' voice shrank to a rasp. “If I'd realized, I'd have brought her sooner.”

Nothing but truth rang in the admission. Had he known, nothing would have kept him away from the ER.

“You two must be fearless or careless. If her condition gets worse, it'll be troublesome,” the doctor muttered before stalking down the corridor, white coat flapping like an angry flag.

Those final words echoed behind him, then faded with the doctor's departing footsteps.

Magnus dropped into the metal chair beside Denise's bed, hands folded but restless, prepared to sit the night through as sentinel to every shiver, every sigh.

Denise peeled her eyes open, drifting up from fever-thick dreams into a glare of antiseptic white. The ceiling above her looked endless, a blank sheet of snow lit by fluorescent tubes.

She turned her head. Everywhere she met more white starched sheets, a plastic pitcher, a jungle of monitors softly blinking green. The sharp scent of disinfectant clung to her nostrils, telling her exactly where she was long before her mind caught up.

“Is this... a hospital?”

Confusion pinched her brow. Last night, she had fallen asleep in the cheap apartment she rented downtown, yet now she lay surrounded by humming machines and sterile walls.

From the chair at her bedside, Magnus jerked upright, nearly spilling the cup he had been guarding. Steam curled from the rim as he hurried it toward her.

“Thank goodness,” he muttered, half scolding, half relieved. “Your fever finally broke. You scared me to death.”

Only then, through his rushed explanation, did Denise piece things together. She recalled her fever, delirious rambling, and Magnus bundling her into a taxi.

She pushed herself upright, every muscle protesting. “Come on,” she said, voice scratchy but determined. “I'm fine now. Let's go home.”

“Are you kidding me?” Magnus' words came out slow and sharp. “The doctor says you've got a nasty strain of flu with a full-on pneumonia brewing. They want you under observation for a few days.”

“A few days?”

Her face folded with worry.

It's just a bad cold, nothing serious. Denise told herself, chest tightening at the imagined total already ticking upward on some invisible register.

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