The beach house is the designated location since it's the closest, and time is vital. When the helicopter lands, it rolls into a garage built into the base of the estate. My grip hasn't left Madison's hands. For the whole ride, her limbs are lifeless, too limp for my liking. Her skin is freezing; her temperature is low. I've never encountered icy hands before, not even my own in the wintertime. She's a living corpse...her olive skin is pale. When the propellers slow down enough to speak, I ask Robert, "why is she so cold?"

"Comatose. Don't worry; the use of targeted temperature management will correct this."

I help them load her bed up the stairs, which automatically flatten into a ramp. Madison's arms dangle like noodles. I don't like that. Not one bit. My docs need to correct her temperature. I think she's close to death. We all push the bed up the ramp. I push faster than the others. For some reason, a doomsday clock counts down in my head.

I hope that's just my mind acting up. I slide the windows open. As soon as I do, the room's warm lights switch on. The bedroom has a wall full of cherry wood windows, corner chairs, bookcases. A flatscreen tv, two nightstands: life-sized tropical portraits, and a pure white California bed. Lori receives a standing monitor from a closet and sets it up while we slide Madison onto the mattress. Four IVs tubes are linked to the beeping monitor.

I watch Lori gather multiple fluid bags. "What will those do?"

"One is anesthesia to prevent convulsions. The second is cooling saline; to counteract her temperature, and the last two are standard IVs." She plugs each tube into Madison's veins. Her heartbeat is still faint when it registers on the monitor, still at 50 bpm. I watch it, barely blinking. I'm glad that she's still getting oxygen. The docs remove her bandages, applying a thick serum to each wound. The cloth around her head is unwrapped, her blonde hair is stringy underneath. Is it a cold sweat? Or a hot sweat? The monitor screen has her body heat at 86°F. I hope it rises soon.

Sticky bandages are put in place of the cloth ones. For the next few hours, the trio shuffles around her with hand scanners that probe her entire body. Thermometers and stethoscopes are used too. A few shots are injected into her arm.

I open my mouth to ask why, but Lori cuts me off, "steroids for her heart." I sit in the armchair, knowing I should stay close if something bad happens. I'll have to stake out to guarantee that doesn't occur. It may be superstition, but I think my presence will help the odds. I think my energy will guide Madison back. When Madison's heart is a bit faster, now at 55, my team approaches me. "Her rate will continue to climb throughout the night. We'll be alerted if it becomes too rapid." Lori states calmly. "As of now, Ms. Hart is stable."

"What about her temperature?" I look to Robert.

"It will climb to 88 degrees in about 4 hours. That range isn't normal, but it'll be better than it is now."

"The patient will improve by the morning." Paul eyes me with much determination.

"Enough to wake up?" I ask eagerly.

"No...I'm afraid that outcome will take a few days at best. The induced coma is active: the sedative pentobarbital will reduce swelling to help the brain heal. I stand to shake their hand, hiding my displeasure. They're doing the best they can. I can't expect an instant miracle. "Thank you all. I'll inform the chef to prepare dinner."

"Thank you, sir."

"Dinner sounds great."

"I'm starved." Lori smiles.

Once they leave, I text the chef:

Prepare three five-star meals for the doctors.

I pace over to the bedside to observe Madison. Her breathing is rough and full of wheezing. The gleam of sweat coating her forehead troubles me. Her chest rises once, then halts. A long breath escapes her....one that rids her lungs of all power. Her chest goes motionless. Oh, no. I peer at it. My eyes widen as I slowly back away towards the door in fright. I dissect her slim face for any sign of motion. There's no movement. The top of my head numbs. I hold my breath. Is she...? Did she just...?? She inhales longingly. I let out a sigh of relief. This is going to be a stressful night. I need to eat, but my appetite is gone. My stomach is nonexistent. All I can think about is her well-being. I return to my seat, so I don't freak out again.

My compassion for her condition morphs to bitter rage. "Why couldn't it be me?! My big ass should be in that bed fighting...not you. I can take it!" I place my head in my hands and close my eyes. I don't let sleep arrive. I fend off tiredness by rubbing my eyes. When this is no longer effective, I stroll around the room like a guardsman. My shoes tap the quiet bedroom for what seems like hours. My thoughts bounce around from sorrow and anger.

This is too much for Madison. If God is real, why hasn't the asshole switched my faith with hers?! Does he fucking care?!! Is he listening to my desire to be in her place?! Does God even listen to people like me? I've never prayed or gone to church. That labels me a non-believer-a sinner. The big guy upstairs won't help. I'm getting desperate. I don't get why? Why do I care so much? I don't even know this woman. We spoke twice, so why do I care?

At the first sign of sunlight, I find that her temperature is 90. Her rate is 59. Good. She's getting stronger. I grin at the positive results and relax. I look over her dull skin, which somehow has a bright undertone despite her condition. What is that? Is it the glow of good health? A sign of healing? I think it is...but I remember that it's always been there.

That lively shine of hers. I recall it from our chats. Madison had this glimmer before the accident. I wonder what it is?? I stare at her for a good while, hoping the answer will pop out and surprise me. It doesn't. Instead, I'm met with the weakened version of the buoyant woman I knew. What is going on in her mind? Are there dreams? Happy moments flashing before her eyes? Or pure darkness? I hope it's not darkness. It may be...her eyelids haven't moved. That happens when your mind sees visuals. Madison is seeing darkness.

The sorrow returns. I go to the sofa chair and sit. My fingers massage my temples, which are sore to the touch. A ring from my phone makes me groan. I don't have time for a board meeting! I pick up. It's the COO of Strygent. "Good morning, Mr. Harrison. I'm calling to remind you the business operations conference is active. Yet you are absent. You must attend today. The marketing of Strygent isn't something to blow off."

"That I'm aware of." I reply bluntly, "I'm afraid I won't be able to attend due to an emergency."

"I'm sorry to hear that, sir. I hope all is well."

I see through the phony condolences, but I don't care to dwell on it. "Ken and Lance can represent me for the time being."

"And how long will this absence last, sir?"

Hmm...I'm not sure. But I know I can't stay here as long as I want. The EXPO is in 3 days. I couldn't cancel if I wanted. Tickets are bought...my entire crew is ready. So... "Two days." I respond.

"Thank you for the update. I'll relay this information."

"Thank you, goodbye."

An hour later, Helen, my delightful maid, serves me an omelet with spinach leaves and bacon. "Good morning, sir."

"Good morning."

"I overheard the doctors discussing Madison...it took me a while to recall where I've been hearing that name."

"From the news."

"Oh...right." She grimaces. "Such a sad story. I hear the girl is improving." Her honey eyes dart to the bed. The bleeping monitor is close to a normal rate. 64. Madison breathes with much more ease now, yet the wheezing is still present.

My eyes drop to the plate of food. I want Madison to recover, but that also means she'll leave sooner than I'd like. Is it selfish that I want her to stay? That I want her progress to slow to keep her safe?? To keep her close? I make myself eat to silence the greedy thoughts. I shouldn't think that way. My protectiveness is nearing overprotective.

The team arrives a few minutes later to apply more ointment and bandages. "Her heart is normalized." Lori nods smugly.

"And her temperature is almost acceptable." Robert chimes in.

For the rest of the day, I either sit while the doctors fiddle about or pace, glancing at Madison. I'm proud of her frequent chest movements. Relieved that I won't think she's dead again. I don't ever want to re-live the scare. For dinner, the white coats and I feast on garlic butter steaks sprinkled with kale and golden potatoes. Medium rare. Paul swigs white wine before raising his glass. "A toast to efficiency on our end and swiftness on yours, Harrison."

We all raise our glasses. "To great efficiency, you mean." Lori corrects. "Brain activity is sharpening, and inflammation is down 50%. Ms. Hart will be waking soon."

"How soon?"

"A day or two."

"Wow, that soon?" I gawk.

"Yes. We begin operating just in time. The damage didn't have the chance to become critical."

"I believe this is our quickest goal yet. "Robert ponders.

"Another toast to heroic speed." Paul jerks his glass into the air. Again, we salute.

As I drink, the stingy thoughts return. I hope she wakes tomorrow and not the next day. The EXPO can't keep me away from the vital moment. I'd rather be the first thing she sees, so there's no confusion. Madison has to know who saved her. This is odd. I've never had this savior complex until now.

Usually, I just send condolences. I've never fled to a woman. I never called on a top-rated team for a woman. Never lost sleep at their bedside. Why do I care so much? Is it because I have to change her mind about me? It's not because I want her praise. I don't even expect a thank you, just an unspoken appreciation. So, it has to be to better my character. To prove that I'm different. I surprised myself with my actions. Who am I becoming?

This questionconfuses me for some time. I never dig out a reason from my mind. The nightconcludes with more wine followed by dessert, Persian pavlova. A crumble caketopped with dates, dried barberries, pistachios, almonds, and white chocolatechips

I get some shuteye, only a small amount, much like a catnap. I'm still skeptical of Madison's condition. I fear she might relapse due to me secretly wanting her to stay. I would hate if I thought that into existence. Superstition gets the best of me. Throughout the night, I watch her like a hawk, not allowing myself to sleep for too long.

The next day is faster. I guess because her state is reversing. All of her readings are standard range. Even her flow of oxygen is so well that the tube is removed from her nose. Her complexion is vibrant, and the odd sweating is gone. The group barely enters the room as much. I'm figuring they're enjoying the vacation I've just awarded them. An off-limit beach house with 80 rooms, mostly recreational or therapeutic, and an underground mall.

"I've made your favorite," Helen says while bearing a bowl of baked eggs with spinach, mushrooms, goat's cheese, and chorizo.

"Thank you; it looks delicious."

"The girl look healthy."

"She does."

"It's great what you're doing for her. Are you two together?"

"We're....acquainted."

"Oh...interesting." She gives a small "hmm," sound effect. "That's not what I was expecting to hear."

"I'm capable of helping someone I haven't screwed." Helen squints. "I am." I chuckle in defense.

"Hmm..."

"I thought we'd known each other long enough to dismiss tabloid news."

"Oh, I detest those." She wags her head. "I'm speaking from experience. I've seen your wild side..."

"You don't believe I have a nice side?"

"Everyone does. You give to the world. I'm used to that version of nice. I'm just...surprised by this. As I said before... it's interesting." She passes me a glass of orange juice before exiting.

I get what she means. Helen knows my view on women. She's been around me for 15 years. Long enough to see me treat women like sex objects, pleasure outlets, cum vending machines. Surprised is the exact word I used to describe my new outlook on women.

Night falls fast, just to spite me. I decide to play soothing jazz to slow down time. I figure the music may wake her sooner rather than later. I've heard that sound can lead coma victims back, sort of like a link to the world. I pour wine and sip, expecting significant movements. Madison is still as a board. I spot her lids flutter. I step to the bed, waiting for her eyes to open. They don't. I sigh. "I don't think you're going to wake up with me around. You must sense my entitled presence." I laugh and survey her.

By midnight, Madison is still resting, yet her lids grow frequent with motion. I hold out for dawn, knowing that's the last second I'll have with her. I pour more wine and observe her, wondering what I'll say if I'm present when those deep blue eyes open. "Hello" would be lame... perhaps I'll wait for Madison to speak if she can. I'm not sure how verbal she'll be right off. Does a coma affect speech?? I can't introduce myself because I already have. I guess "hello" it is. "Hello again" could work. The jazzy playlist continues onto the next piece, a grand cover of Unchained Melody. A perfect song to dance to. Too romantic for these circumstances. But perfect for a future meeting.

I'll probably see her atthe country club. I could pay to have the song played and ask for a dance. Thisfavor I've done should soften Madison. It has to. If not...then I'll be a fool.I'll be on the receiving end of something unrequited. I'll be a fool for showingtoo much...for wearing my heart on my sleeve. My old self would laugh at this.Would ask why I'm trying so hard when I have countless options. Endless linesof women who are easy. The truth is, I wouldn't have an answer. I don't knowwho I'm becoming.

By 5:34 am, nothing has changed. I huff dejectedly, experiencing what a sore loser would. Sourness and unfulfillment. Of course, it won't go my way...everything else in my world does. Karma has chosen this moment to get even. I should have known better to hang on to a fantasy. Miracles don't happen twice.

"Music off." The jazz music ceases. I have no choice but to say goodbye. The two days are up. I have business to attend. I walk to the head of the bed and reach to brush her blonde hair behind an ear. "Try to wake up when I'm around," I whisper gently.