Page 12 of Revive Me

I don’t know what happens after that. There’s chaos, everyone’s shouting, and suddenly, half a dozen people are crowded around me. I’m not even sure when I let go of my opponent.

My head isthrobbing. There’s a buzzing in my ears, and I can’t tell which way is up. I’m frozen, both physically and mentally.

It isn’t until my coach’s face appears in front of me that I realize I’m lying on my back on the mat. His mouth is moving; he’s saying something, but my brain can’t make sense of what it is.

And then I’m being jostled, the ring doctor coming into my view. I watch his mouth move as he calls out to someone. The expression on his face—of shock, and fear, and downright panic—is the first thing that really filters into my consciousness.

My gaze jerks back to my coach. “What—” I have to clear my throat to try again. “What’s happening?”

“Don’t talk, Roman. The doctor’s going to get you fixed up, don’t worry,” he says with false calm. I can tell he’s faking it because his expression is morphing into the same one that the doctor was wearing.

Then I realize the doctor is no longer touching me. Which is weird, becausehow is he supposed to fix me up without examining me?

But when my gaze shoots back to the doctor, my blood turns to ice.

Because heistouching me.

I watch with growing horror as he inspects my legs, flexing my foot and then pushing my leg to bend at the knees.

“Dom,” I say on a shaky breath.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see him move closer so he can hear me better. “What is it, Roman? What’s wrong?”

Slowly, I turn my face toward him, shock and horror tensing everything inside me. I can feel myself starting to disassociate, can sense that this moment is going to change me forever.

My voice is devoid of emotion by the time the words make it to the tip of my tongue.

“I can’t feel my legs.”

PART TWO

5

LILIANA

Two years later

When I walk into my apartment at 7 a.m., the sweat from my spin class already cooled onto my body, I’m welcomed by the glorious smell of coffee.

I see my roommate and best friend, Tina, standing at the counter, her phone in one hand and a mug of coffee in the other.

“Morning,” she greets when she spots me, her typical bubbly smile on her face. She nods at the other mug on the counter. “I know you’re working a double today, so I made your cup a little stronger.”

I make my way over to the kitchen but pause at the living room couch, where my fat orange cat is, predictably, sleeping. But when he notices me approaching, his purring rumbles to life instantly.

Leaning down, I give in to his silent demand for cuddles. “We really won the roommate lottery, didn’t we,” I muse. “Freshly brewed coffee before workandshe loves spoiling you.”

As if to prove my point, Garfield answers with a huge yawn and a flip onto his back, exposing his treat-rounded belly for more scratches.

Smiling, I shake my head—while giving into the silent demand. “Definitelyspoiled.”

When I finally pull myself away to continue to the kitchen, I grab my coffee mug and take a sip, immediately sighing.

“I swear to God, Tina, you’d be my perfect woman if I was into women.” I take another sip happily. “Thank you for this. I’m definitely going to need it today.”

“Done at seven today, right?” she asks, glancing at the calendar we have posted on our fridge to keep track of our schedules. When I nod, she adds, “Do I need to feed Garfield?”

I think back to the conversation with my cat not twenty minutes ago and shake my head, amused. “No, he’s good. He’s got his automatic feeder.” After a thought, I add, “By the way, we might have to limit the treats for a few weeks. He’s looking a littletooround lately.”

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