Song for the Dead (Ada Palomino 2)

“Ada.”

Max’s voice breaks into my dreams.

But they’re dreams of nothing.

Just me floating in nothingness.

Does this mean I died?

Am I dead?

“Ada.” His voice is stronger now, louder.

A hand at my forehead. Skin on skin.

I feel him now. I know it’s him. The energy in my body leaps to attention. Like what I feed him feeds me in return.

Lips now at my forehead.

His lips.

A forehead kiss?

Okay, I need to wake up for this.

I manage to open my eyes, though everything is a blurry mess for a moment. I only see a flash of red, like color of leaves in autumn, and suddenly I’m homesick and I don’t know why.

Then everything clears and I see Max peering at me, his face over mine, his hands pressed against my forehead, against my cheek. His eyes sparkling emerald, holding me in place.

You’re alive! I try to say but nothing comes out when my mouth moves. My tongue feels thick, dry as sandpaper.

“You’re alright,” he says to me, his drawl so familiar and soothing that I’m tempted to close my eyes and go back to sleep. “Was a little worried there.”

That feels like an understatement. I think back to what I remember. Touching his head, looking inside him, seeing the emptiness, feeling his anger. Then walking the streets of San Francisco looking for him, coming across the alley. Defeating the two, and then that punk-ass kid beating the shit out of me and…

“You,” I manage to say, staring at him. “You were there.”

Oh god. Please don’t tell me that was a training exercise.

“I almost didn’t make it,” he says. “And I’m sorry for that.”

I close my eyes, my head starting to pound. “No, I’m sorry. I mean it. I’m sorry about…I didn’t mean to. It was an accident. I didn’t think it would work like that, I…”

“Ada,” he says patiently. “It’s fine.”

“It’s not fine.” I gaze up at him. “I violated you. I violated our trust.”

He looks pained, breathing in through his nose. “That’s what it felt like. But I know…I know it wasn’t coming from a bad place. And I’m sorry I yelled at you.” He swallows. “Just promise me you won’t do that again.”

I try to shake my head but my brain aches. “I won’t. I promise you.”

He takes hold of my hand and squeezes it. “You did so well, sweetheart.”

“Was that a test? Were you testing me?” I’m trying not to feel indignant, but the feeling is there anyway.

“No. I had gone for a walk to clear my head. Didn’t get very far when I realize I needed to return to you.”

“Were you starting to fade?”

He shakes his head. “No. But I left you the way I did and I felt bad. And then the valet guy at the hotel told me you took off toward Van Ness. The closer I got, the more I felt you. And felt them. Got there right on time.”

I lift my head a little. I’m still in the hotel room. “Am I going to be okay?”

“I took you to the hospital.”

I stare at him for a moment, the words sinking in. “You did what?!”

“It was fine. I got a doctor to see you. X-rays, the whole bit. You’re fine. No one will ever know that we were there.”

“Well, fuck. How long have I been out?”

He gives me a wan smile. “Almost twenty-four hours. You might have some pain in your rib. The doctor said it looked like a broken rib that was healing, so I think it’s probably healed by now. Either way, I got you Vicodin.”

“Oh really?” Now I’m intrigued. “Drugs please.”

He narrows his eyes at me. “If I’m your nurse, I’m in charge of dispensing this shit.”

“I said please.” I hold out my hand.

He breaks into a grin. “Glad to have you back, darlin’.”

He reaches over to the bedside table and grabs a prescription bottle, handing it to me before grabbing a glass of water.

I pop a pill, swallow it down with the water, and smile at him gratefully.

Then I look down at my clothes.

I’m wearing a black tank top. No bra. I lift up the covers. My booty shorts.

I glance at him. “When did I get changed?”

Just a hint of a sly smile. “After I brought you back from the hospital.”

“Was I conscious? I don’t remember any of it.”

“You know how you took care of me when I was drunk in Gold Beach? I reckon it was like that.”

“So you saw me naked,” I say pointedly.

He’s trying not to grin. “Wouldn’t be the first time. Nothing to worry about.”

“I’m not worrying,” I grumble, stealing a glance at him. “Would just have liked to remember it, that’s all.”

He stares at me for a moment, his slight smile holding steady. Then he shrugs. “Consider ourselves even.”

He gets off the bed, heads toward the washroom.

“How is this considered even!” I yell after him, though my throat feels raw. “All I got to take off was your shoes!”