Page 94 of The Love Operation

After a good night’s sleep—plus Delenn’s memory cocktail and a fresh (extra) dose of electricity—my headache is gone, and I feel like I could take on the world. Or at least all the spines in it.

I’ve decided: I’m going to revisit my memories with Benedict. Delenn was right. I need closure. And I can’t stop thinking about what she said—that maybe I’ve been remembering things incorrectly, at least when it comes to Benedict. But now, with my memory superpower, I can know for sure.

But surgery first.

“You look great,” Dahlia says as I enter the pre-op hallway. Elizabeth’s already with her.

“Hey, team.” I smile. “I feel great.”

“We’re already all set in the room,” Dahlia says. “We were about to check in with Ezra to make sure the hardware’s ready to go.”

“Perfect. I’m going to see the patient.”

I step into pre-op holding and locate Wilton Calder’s curtained space.

Even though I expected to see Benedict here, my stomach still swoops when I spot him in the chair beside his father’s bed. He smiles when he sees me, his whole face brightening.

I force myself to focus on my patient. “You ready, Mr. Calder?” I ask.

“Been ready,” he grunts. “You get sleep last night?”

I glance at Benedict. These Calders are deeply invested in my REM cycles.

“Yes, sir. Do you have any last-minute questions?”

“You still planning on a few hours?”

“That’s the expectation,” I say. “The circulating nurse will keep Benedict updated, and I’ll call him when I’m done. I’ll come see you once you’re awake.”

“I just hope this pain’s gone when I wake up.” He offers a weary smile. “And hey, wouldn’t mind waking up a little taller, either.”

I pat his leg. “That’s the goal. But remember, it may take time. You’ll have surgical pain first, and nerves can take a while to wake up.”

He nods.

“Okay, I’ll see you back there.”

“Cord.”

My name from Benedict’s mouth is a spark in my bloodstream. I turn back.

He steps around the bed until he’s right beside me. My pulse jumps.

“I have something for you. For good luck.”

“I told you I don’t need good luck,” I say.

“Here.” He holds out a necklace—simple, delicate, a clear resin pendant on a chain. Suspended in the center is a four-leaf clover.

My hand closes around it. “Is this real? Where did you even find one so fast?”

“I didn’t. I already had it.”

I let the clear circle rest against my palm. “It’s beautiful,” I say. “But I feel weird taking it.”

“Don’t,” he says softly. “It’s yours anyway.”

“What do you mean?”