Chapter 2 - The Heat in His Left Leg

Lena stayed on her knees.

Dante’s fingers were locked around the wheelchair arms.

His face had gone white.

“Mr. Vale?”

He did not look at her.

“Your towels.”

“Yes.”

“They are hot.”

“Yes.”

“I know that.”

His voice dropped.

“I can feel them.”

Lena stopped breathing.

“What?”

Dante looked at her.

For seven years, every doctor had told him the same thing.

Complete loss below the waist.

Permanent.

No sensation.

No recovery expected.

He whispered:

“I can feel the heat.”

Lena stared at his left thigh.

The towels had not moved.

“You’re sure?”

His eyes hardened.

“Do not ask me that again.”

She immediately nodded.

“I’m sorry.”

His voice softened.

“No. I’m sorry.”

Then the suite door opened.

A woman in a dark red dress entered.

Vivienne Cross.

Dante’s fiancée.

Thirty-one.

Beautiful.

Sharp.

Always watching Lena as if housekeeping were contagious.

She stopped.

Lena on the floor.

Towels across Dante’s lap.

Dante looking at Lena.

Vivienne’s expression changed.

“What is she doing?”

Dante answered:

“Nothing.”

Vivienne looked at Lena.

“Get up.”

Dante said:

“No.”

Silence.

Vivienne turned.

“What?”

“Do not move the towels.”

She frowned.

“Why?”

Dante looked at Lena.

“Tell her.”

Lena swallowed.

“He says he can feel the heat.”

Vivienne went completely still.

Then laughed.

Not happily.

“That’s impossible.”

Dante’s jaw tightened.

“I am aware.”

Vivienne stepped closer.

“Dante, you have spasms. Phantom sensations. Your doctor explained—”

“This is not phantom.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I know what heat feels like.”

Vivienne looked toward the medical cart.

Then at the cable Lena had tripped over.

Her face changed for one second.

Small.

Fast.

But Lena saw it.

Fear.

Dante saw Lena seeing it.

“What?”

Vivienne answered too quickly.

“Nothing.”

Dante pointed at the cable.

“What is that?”

Vivienne looked down.

“A monitor line.”

“No monitor is attached.”

Silence.

Lena slowly followed the cable.

It disappeared beneath the bed.

Dante’s eyes narrowed.

“Lena.”

“Yes?”

“Pull it out.”

Vivienne stepped forward.

“Do not touch that.”

Dante looked at her.

“Why?”

“It may be medical equipment.”

“Then we will see.”

Lena crawled toward the bed.

Vivienne grabbed her arm.

“Leave it.”

Dante’s voice changed.

“Take your hand off her.”

Vivienne released Lena.

Immediately.

Lena pulled the cable.

Something slid from beneath the bed.

A small black device.

No hospital label.

No manufacturer sticker.

One blinking light.

Dante stared.

“What is that?”

Nobody answered.

Vivienne looked pale.

Dante reached for his phone.

She grabbed it.

“Wait.”

His face hardened.

“Give me my phone.”

“Dante, please.”

“Now.”

She returned it.

He called security.

Two men entered.

Then his physician.

Dr. Nolan Price.

Forty-eight.

Expensive suit under a white coat.

He looked at the black device.

And froze.

Dante noticed.

“You know it.”

“No.”

“Wrong answer.”

Dr. Price looked at Vivienne.

That was enough.

Dante’s voice became quiet.

“What is under my bed?”

Price sighed.

“A stimulator.”

Lena frowned.

“For what?”

He looked at Dante.

“Spinal nerve response.”

Dante stared.

“You told me there was no response.”

“I told you there was no functional recovery.”

“That is not the same sentence.”

“No.”

Vivienne whispered:

“Dante.”

He ignored her.

“How long has this been here?”

Price did not answer.

Dante looked at security.

“Lock the door.”

Vivienne’s eyes widened.

“Dante.”

“How long?”

Price swallowed.

“Six months.”

Silence.

Lena stared.

Dante did not blink.

“You have been testing my nerves for six months.”

“Yes.”

“Without telling me.”

“Yes.”

“Did I respond?”

Price looked toward Vivienne again.

Dante laughed once.

There was no humor in it.

“Stop looking at her.”

Price lowered his eyes.

Dante asked:

“Did I respond?”

“Yes.”

Vivienne started crying.

Lena felt cold.

Dante’s hands tightened.

“When?”

“The first week.”

His face emptied.

“How much?”

“Temperature.”

“Anything else?”

“Pressure.”

“Anything else?”

Price hesitated.

“Pain.”

Dante stared.

“You knew I could feel my legs.”

“Partially.”

“And you told me nothing.”

Price said:

“There were complications.”

“What complications?”

Vivienne stepped in.

“Because if you knew, you would try to stand.”

Dante turned toward her.

“How do you know?”

Silence.

His face changed.

“You knew too.”

Vivienne covered her mouth.

Dante whispered:

“How long?”

She cried.

“Five months.”

Lena looked away.

This was no longer a medical secret.

It was a betrayal.

Dante asked:

“Why?”

Vivienne said:

“I was afraid.”

“Of what?”

“That you would hurt yourself.”

“No.”

He shook his head.

“That is not enough.”

Price said:

“There is another reason.”

Dante looked at him.

“What?”

Price looked terrified.

“The yacht explosion damaged you.”

“Yes.”

“But not the way you were told.”

Dante went still.

“What does that mean?”

Price took a breath.

“Your spinal cord was never completely severed.”

Silence.

Dante stared.

Lena felt the room change.

“You told me it was.”

Price nodded.

“Yes.”

“Who told you to say that?”

Price closed his eyes.

Vivienne whispered:

“Please.”

Dante looked at her.

Then back at Price.

“Who?”

Price answered.

“Your father.”

Dante’s face went blank.

His father had died four years ago.

He had been the one beside Dante’s hospital bed after the explosion.

The one who told him:

You will never walk again.

Dante whispered:

“My father ordered you to tell me I was permanently paralyzed.”

Price nodded.

“Yes.”

“Why?”

Price looked at the black device.

Then at Vivienne.

“Because the explosion was not an accident.”

And Lena realized the towels had not caused the problem.

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They had uncovered it.

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