Page 42 of Seven Minutes
Damn, that explained why I felt like death warmed over.
“I almost lost you.” His voice cracked just enough to undo me.
“I heard you,” I managed. My chest ached—not just from the impact, but from the memory clawing its way back. “I dreamed of you.”
He blinked, confused. “How?” He laughed once, brokenly. “Eli, you were gone. Your heart?—”
“I know.” My voice shivered. “Remember when you told me about that study in your medical journal? The one about brain activity after death?”
He frowned, brow furrowed. “Yeah. Up to seven minutes.”
“It’s real,” I whispered. “And every single one of my minutes was of you.”
Adrian’s face fell, a mix of disbelief and awe. His hand came up, cupping my cheek with such tenderness that it hurt worse than the fractured ribs.
“I don’t deserve your minutes,” he said quietly. “I’ve missed too many of them.”
My lips curved, weak but warm. “Nah,” I murmured. “Apparently, you were there for all the best ones.”
I closed my eyes for a second as the memories flickered again—hazy, shapeless things that should’ve been gone butweren’t. They came like flashes through fog, too bright and too fast to hold.
The first was a laugh. His laugh. The one that had stopped me in that campus cafè years ago, when I’d spilled my coffee, and he’d said,“I owe you a refill, stranger.”
Then the scene shifted, melting into our first date at that Italian place. Again, it was his laugh and the heat in his gaze that I remembered most, more than words. That first night in my dorm room, the air thick with ramen steam and sugary doughnuts. I remembered the way he’d kissed me—hesitant at first, then certain—and how the desk lamp had painted his skin when we finally made love.
Another flash: moving boxes, laughter echoing through an empty living room. Me cursing the couch that wouldn’t fit through the door; him leaning in the doorway with that smug grin. The smell of fresh paint, the feel of his fingers brushing mine as we hung the first photo. Home.
I saw flashes of black—our wedding. Soft music and twinkling lights. His voice catching when he said my name, when he promised forever. The way he’d pressed his head to mine afterward, whispering,“Don’t ever leave me.”
My chest clenched. Maybe I had. Maybe for a while I did.
But even when my heart had stopped, I’d found him again. Every memory had led back to Adrian. Every light, every sound, every pulse of color—it was all him.
My voice wobbled as I whispered, “I saw everything. The first time we met. Our first kiss. The night we made love. Moving into the house. Our graduations. Our wedding.”
Adrian’s hand tightened around mine, his eyes glassy. “Eli?—”
I swallowed hard. “You were there. Every minute. Even when I wasn’t.”
He leaned closer, his forehead pressing to mine, tears slipping free. “You’re my every minute,” he said hoarsely.
I didn’t correct him. I didn’t remind him that he was the one who kept time when I couldn’t. Because he was right. Even through the dark, I’d found my way back by following the sound of his voice.
For the first time since I’d opened my eyes, I let myself breathe. It burned like hellfire, but I didn’t care. He was there. I was here. And for now, that was enough.
The room blurred at the edges again. Sedation tugged at me, soft but relentless. My eyelids grew heavy, but I fought it, trying to memorize the way he looked at me. The mix of exhaustion and devotion and raw relief in his face.
As the darkness pulled me under again, I whispered, “If I fall asleep… stay?”
“Always,” he promised. His fingers tightened around mine.
And this time, when I drifted, it wasn’t into the cold or the stillness—it was into him.
When I woke again,the room was dim. Adrian was still there,sitting in the same chair, his laptop open on the tray table beside my bed.
He looked up the moment I stirred. “Hey,” he mumbled, closing the screen. “You back with me?”
“More or less.” My voice still scraped raw. “Feels like my chest got in a bar fight.”
