I push open the door, startling the medical team with paddles poised over Kenan’s chest. My magnificent man, a massive frame barely contained by the hospital bed. The specter of that night, of that premonition in MiMi’s house, can’t compare to the reality of seeing my beloved still and lifeless. For a moment, I have no words and can only make the wounded sound of a snared animal. I’m that trapped and helpless.

But only for a moment.

“Do it,” I bark, pointing to the paddles.

“Miss, you can’t be in here,” Dr. Madison says gently, not bothering to question why I’ve burst in on the chaos of the room. “We’ve done it several times.”

She said you were the strongest of us all. She said all the power we didn’t want passed on to you.

Aunt Pris’s words drift back to me, spurring me on, building my confidence.

“You haven’t done it with me here,” I say sharply. “Do it again. Just do it again, please. Do it again. Do it again.”

The words become a chant, an incantation tumbling from the lips of a madwoman.

“We’ll break his ribs if we continue the compressions,” a nurse tells Dr. Madison.

“If he’s dead,” I spit out, “will it matter if his ribs are broken? Do something. Please. Please. Please. Please.”

“Okay.” The doctor shifts his eyes from the equipment to the technician. “Prepare to do it again.”

I grab Iris’s hand and look in her eyes. “I need you to believe.”

“Believe what?”

“That he’ll make it,” I say, barely able to see her for the tears blurring my vision. “When you were in the hospital, and Michael wouldn’t come, we held hands. You hadn’t dilated for hours, but there was a moment when we held hands, and he came. The doctor said your body had a power surge.”

“Yes,” Iris says. “But it was—”

“It was us.” I squeeze her hand. “I need a power surge, Iris. The power of an unbroken line.”

“The power of a what?” Iris mumbles, consternation on her pretty face.

“Clear!” the technician yells, using the paddles and making Kenan’s torso leap.

Nothing happens.

I clutch Iris’s fingers in one hand and Saint Expedite in the other.

“Place me like a seal over your heart, like a seal on your arm; for love is as strong as death.”

“Clear!”

And you’ll always come for me, won’t you?

Yes. Always.

I’ll always come for you, too, Kenan.

“Clear!”

“Lotus, it isn’t working,” Iris says, wriggling her fingers in my tight grip.

“No, don’t let go.” I turn to her, desperation making my voice sharp and high. “Please don’t let go. Look at me.”

She does, and the fear, the despondence gathering in her eyes, I combat with faith, with the assurance I may not be entitled to, but seize as mine. For him. I have to.

“Feel my words in your mouth,” I tell her, hoping, praying, begging the conduit of our blood to save him. “Feel my power in your veins. It’s the power of the unbroken line. Two women from our lineage together. There’s power in that.”

“I’m trying, Lo,” she says. “To believe.”

“Try harder!” I command, my voice rising above the beep of machines and the tightly-contained panic of the medical team.

“No change,” Dr. Madison mutters gravely.

My blood, my body, my thoughts – frenzied. “This is the biggest hopscotch of my life, Iris. I need you to believe.”

That word hopscotch is holy to us, our covenant. The fear fades from Iris’s eyes. And if it’s not faith that takes its place, it’s at least resolve. I can work with that.

“You know who I am,” I whisper with tears streaming from my eyes, rivulets of desperation. My face crumples and my shoulders tremble. My head hangs, but my faith holds strong. “This man’s soul hangs in the balance. I’m here to make my judgment known. I’m here to lay a stone on the side of . . .”

“Clear!”

“Life!”

“Clear!”

“Love is as strong as death,” I whisper. “Love is as strong as death. Love is as strong as death.”

“Clear!”

“Love is as strong as death.”

46

Kenan

“Button.”

That croaked word is all I can squeeze out from a throat as dry and burning as the Sahara.

“Mr. Ross, you’re awake.” A nurse with salt-and-pepper hair smiles and puts a cup to my lips. “Drink a little. Slowly.”

I’m connected to at least two machines, as far as I can tell. Everything is so hazy, like a layer of Jell-O’s been poured over the room. My words, my movements—everything is slowed down, and every breath costs me. I feel myself slipping back under, but fight to maintain consciousness.

“Button.” I say it again, but I don’t know why. I can’t figure anything out. Can’t piece any of this together.

“How long?” I ask the nurse. “Asleep?”

“Three days.” She checks a tube running clear liquid into to my arm. “We had to sedate you.”

“Three days?” I ask incredulously. “That’s not possible.”

“You rest better and heal faster asleep sometimes.”

I try to sit, but sharp pain arrows across my chest.

“Shit,” I mutter weakly, touching my torso.

“You have a few broken ribs,” the nurse says.

“Was it a dirty play?” I ask, my voice hoarse. “Somebody kicked me on court?”

“No, Mr. Ross.” Her brows bunch in concentration while she checks the machines and tubes connected to me. “You weren’t playing basketball. You were in a car accident. Your body’s been through a lot. It’ll take some time for all your memories to come together, but it’ll happen.”

“Okay,” I mutter, sinking deeper into the bed.

“The doctor will want to examine you. I’ll be back,” she says, and leaves the room.

“You broke the rule.”

That husky voice from the shadowed corner penetrates my fog, startling me. “You’re only supposed to call me Button when we’re alone.”

“Lotus?” I try to sit, but that shaft of pain in my chest lays me out, pins me to the pillows.

“Hey, easy.” She comes to my side and presses my shoulders back into the bed. “You’ve been through . . .” Her voice breaks, and I look up to find her eyes shiny with tears. “You’ve been through a lot,” she finishes, her lips trembling in a smile.

“What have I been through? I don’t even know how I got here. I was driving, right? I remember that now.”

“You don’t . . .” She closes her eyes and breathes deeply through her nose before looking back at me. “You were driving from Laguna Beach.”

“Laguna Beach? Why the hell would I . . .” Memories sift through the fuzziness. A deadly cascade of cement pipes from the truck ahead of me. A crash. Glass shattering. The grind of metal.

“Simone.”

I force myself to a sitting position, and one of the tubes in my arms jerks against the motion.

Shit! That hurts.

“Stop.” Lotus presses me back into the bed again. “Simone is fine.”

“But I was taking her to . . . something. I can’t remember.”

“A dance camp,” she answers, biting her bottom lip.

My head hurts. I frown, trying hard to recall any of the events leading up to the accident, but it’s all a mishmash of pictures and flashes that I can’t piece together into a timeline.

“It’s a miracle your injuries weren’t worse,” she says. “You suffered significant internal bleeding.”

“That he did,” a doctor says from the door, followed closely by the nurse. “You are very lucky to be alive, Mr. Ross.”

The doctor examines me and tells me I’ll be here for at least another week, maybe longer.

“Doc, when can I get back on the court?”

Three pairs of eyes stare at me.

“Um . . .” The doctor clears his throat. “Your team has contacted us asking the same question. I’ve been in consultation with the Waves’ doctor, and actually have to give a press conference today reporting on your case.”

That’s standard when someone like me is hospitalized—someone who has a stack of insurance policies ensuring my team doesn’t lose money on its investment. My body.

“We aren’t sure when you’ll be ready to play,” the doctor hedges. “As I said—”

“Yeah, internal bleeding. I heard you, but I’m not bleeding now, right?” I ask. “So when? This is our year to make the playoffs, and that can’t happen if I’m sidelined for a long time.”

“Is that all, doctor?” Lotus asks, her tone as sharp as a scalpel. “I mean, do you have anything else you need from him?”

“Not at this time, no.”

“Could you give us a minute then?” She plasters a stiff smile on her pretty mouth.

“Of course.” He nods to the nurse, and they leave the room.

“You listen here, Kenan Ross,” Lotus says, her eyes narrowed and her lips pulled into a flat line. “You almost died. Do you hear me? Died.”

“I get it,” I say wincing at the soreness in the rest of my body from the impact it absorbed. “But I didn’t, so I need to get back to my life. To my job, babe. I can’t let my team down.”

“What you need to do is rest and heal, and you will not be returning to anybody’s court even a minute before the doctor feels absolutely confident you are ready. Who you will not let down is your daughter, who almost lost you.”

Her voice breaks and she covers her eyes with a trembling hand.