When he hung up the phone, he looked across the table. Goldberg's eyebrows were scaling the heights of his forehead.
"Good news. About my horse."
And that pair of brows went even higher. "I didn't know you had one."
"Her name's Glory. She's a Thoroughbred."
"Oh. Wow."
"I'm into racing."
"I didn't know that."
"Yeah."
And that was about it for the personal convo. Which gave Manny a sense of how much they talked about work. At the hospital, he and Goldberg had gone for hours talking about patients and staff issues and the running of the department. Now? They didn't have much to say to each other.
Still, he was sitting across from a very good man ... one who was probably going to be the next chief of surgery at St. Francis. The board of directors was going to do a nationwide search, of course, but Goldberg would be chosen, because the other surgeons, who spooked easily and thrived on stability, knew and trusted him. And they should. Goldberg was technically brilliant in the OR, administratively proficient and way more even-tempered than Manny had ever been.
"You're going to do a great job," Manny said.
"What - oh. It's just temporary until you ... you know, come back."
The guy seemed to believe it, which was testament to his kind nature. "Yeah."
Manny shifted in his chair, and as he recrossed his legs, he glanced around ... and saw three girls across the way. They were probably eighteen or so, and the instant he made eye contact, they giggled and put their heads together like they were pretending that they hadn't been staring at him.
Feeling like he was back in the gym again, he double-checked himself. Nope. Still very much not naked. What the hell -
When he looked up, one of them had gotten to her feet and come over. "Hi. My friend thinks you're hot."
Um ... "Ah, thanks."
"Here's her number - "
"Oh, no - nope." He took the piece of paper she put on the table and forced it back in her hand. "I'm flattered, but - "
"She's eighteen - "
"And I'm forty-five."
At this, the girl's jaw dropped. "No. Way."
"Yes. Way." He pulled a hand through his hair, wondering when he'd decided to channel Gossip Girl or some shit. "And I have a girlfriend."
"Oh." The chippie smiled. "That's cool - but ya coulda just said. You don't have to lie about being an old fart."
With that she sauntered off, and as she sat back down, there was a collective groan. And then he got a couple of winks.
Manny looked over at Goldberg. "Kids. I mean, honestly."
"Um. Yeah."
Okay, it was time to end this awkwardness. Looking out the window, Manny started to plan his exit -
In the glass, he saw the reflection of his face. Same high cheekbones. Same square jaw. Same lip-and-nose combo. Same black hair. But there was something different.
Leaning in, he thought ... his eyes were ...
"Hey," he said calmly. "I'm going to hit the loo. Will you watch my coffee before we leave?"
"Of course." Goldberg smiled in relief, as if he were glad to have both a departure strategy and a job. "Take your time."
Manny got up and went over to the single unisex bathroom. After knocking and getting no response, he opened the door, and turned on the light. As he locked himself in and the overhead fan came on, he stepped up to the mirror with its little Employees Must Wash Their Hands sign.
The light was directly over the sink he was in front of. So by all that was right and proper, he should have looked like shit, all holloweyed from exhaustion, with bags you could pack for a week away, and skin the color of hummus.
That was not what the mirror was showing. Even with the pisspoor fluorescent light shining down on him, he looked ten years younger than he remembered. He was positively glowing with health, like someone had Photoshopped an earlier version of his head onto his current body.
Stepping back, he stretched his arms out in front of his chest and sank down into a squat, giving his hip an opportunity to stand up and holler. Or his thighs, which he'd run hard less than an hour ago. Or his back.
No pain. No stiffness. No aches.
His body was raring to go.
He thought about what the head vet had said to him just now over the phone, the man's voice confused and thrilled at the same time: She's regenerated the bone and the hoof has spontaneously healed itself. It's as if the injury never occurred at all.
Holy ... Christ. What if Payne had worked her magic on him? While they'd been together? Without either of them being aware of it, what if she'd healed his body in terms of time ... turning the clock back not just months, but a decade or more?
Manny grabbed the cross that hung from his neck.
When someone knocked on the door, he flushed the empty toilet and then ran some water to make it sound like he wasn't doing something skeevy. As he stepped out in a daze, he nodded to the round woman who wanted to get in, and headed back to Goldberg.
Sitting down, he had to wipe his sweating palms on the knees of his jeans.
"I have a favor," he said to his former colleague. "It's something I wouldn't ask of anyone else - "
"Name it. Anything. After all you've done for me - "
"I want you to give me a physical. And take some scans of me."
Goldberg immediately nodded. "I wasn't going to say it, but I think that's a good idea. The headaches ... the forgetfulness. You need to find out if there's an ... impairment." The guy stopped there, as if he didn't want to tee up an argument or get morbid. "Although God, I'm serious ... I've never seen you look so good."
Manny snagged his coffee and rose to his feet, his sense of buzzing urgency having nothing to do with caffeine. "Let's go. If you have the time now?"
Goldberg was right with him. "For you, I'll always have time."
Chapter Forty-eight
Every once in a while, Qhuinn's death came back to him. It happened in dreams. In rare moments when he was still and quiet. And sometimes just to f**k his head for kicks and giggles.
He always tried to avoid the collage of sights and smells and sounds like the plague, but though he'd filed for a restraining order with his inner court, opposing counsel was being a little bitch and putting up objections ... so the shit kept popping up.
As he lay in his bed now, the foggy stretch of mental landscape that was neither sleep nor waking was like an open line for that horrible night to phone in, and what do you know, it did some dialing, the memories ringing his bells and somehow forcing him to answer.
His own brother had been part of the honor guard who had come to beat him and the bunch of black-robed bastards had tracked him down at the side of the road as he'd walked away from his family's mansion for the last time. He'd had the few things he'd owned on his back, and he'd had no idea where he was headed. His father had thrown him out and he'd been struck from the family tree, so ... there you go. Rootless. Directionless.
All because of his mismatched eyes.
The honor guard was just supposed to have beaten him for his offense to the bloodline. They were not supposed to kill him. But shit had gotten out of hand, and in a surprising shift, his brother had tried to stop it.
Qhuinn really remembered that part. His brother's voice telling the others to stop.
It had been too late, however, and Qhuinn had floated away not just from the pain but also from the earth itself ... only to find himself in a sea of white fog that had parted to reveal a door. Without being told, he'd known it was the entrance to the Fade, and he'd also known that once he opened it he was donzo.
Which had seemed like a great idea at the time. Nothing to lose and all that ...
And yet, he'd balked at the last moment. For a reason he couldn't remember.
It was the strangest thing.... For all that night was etched in his brain, that was the one piece he couldn't recall no matter how hard he tried.
But he remembered slamming back into his own body: As he'd regained consciousness, Blay had been doing CPR on him, and wasn't that a lip lock worth living for -
The knock that sounded on his door woke him up fully and he jacked off the pillows, willing the lights on so he was sure he knew where he was.
Yup. His bedroom. Alone.
But not for much longer.
As his adjusting eyes slowly slid over to the door, he knew who was on the other side. He could catch the delicate scent drifting in, and he knew why Layla had come. Hell, maybe that was why he hadn't been able to truly sleep - he'd expected to be woken up by her at any moment.