Author's Preface
A gated parking garage. An elevator that required a keycard swipe to go anywhere. The fourteenth floor of a luxury apartment building. A hallway with only four doors on it.
The woman swiped the keycard a second time at the first door on the right. The entrance had the appearance of an external house entry—brick, live plants in large rectangular planters.
And when Sevan realized the plants were real, he looked up and noticed the ceiling in the hallway was one large skylight.
The woman led the way into an entry space. There was a living room to one side, a wood-wick candle flickering across the shadows on a low glass table. The other side of the condo was fully lit: a hallway with doors on both sides. The place was silent.
“Montego.” The woman turned and addressed Sevan. “We need your medical expertise. Please follow me.”
Sevan felt his skin turn cold against the chill of the air conditioning as he started automatically after the woman down the hallway. “My—My what?”
There was a bathroom on one side, a nightlight on within. Other doors, closets or bedrooms—a laundry room. The woman opened the door at the end of the hallway and stepped aside for Sevan to enter first.
Heart thrumming in his chest like a hummingbird, Sevan stepped into a large bedroom. A glass window formed one wall, vertical blinds twisted open between a collage of house plants and an adrenalizing view of nighttime Beverly Hills.
There was someone standing in the room—another woman, smaller, face written with worry. And on the bed between her and Sevan: someone familiar.
Disbelief seized Sevan’s core with a feeling like he had somehow slipped straight out of reality. Supernova was unmistakable. His hair gave him away without Sevan even having to step around and see his face. He was lying on his side, not unlike how he had slept in the motel room in Miami.
“Is this the medic?” the small woman spoke up. She stepped toward Sevan.
Sevan’s eyes darted up at her—just as quickly taking several steps backward. “What—What?” He blinked, glanced at the motionless form on the bed. “No. I’m—”
“Please.” The woman reached for Sevan’s forearm, and he let her take it. She led him to the bed.
“I—I don’t think you understand,” Sevan breathed swiftly. “I— I don’t understand—” Like metal drawn to a magnet, his eyes fell on Supernova.
He was asleep. Beautiful. Rivetingly beautiful, that face streaked with soft wisps of his dark hair.
“What’s wrong with him?” Sevan whispered.
The woman pointed to the nightstand.
A small pothos curled delicately out of the mouth of an old-fashioned glass Coca-Cola bottle beside a modern alarm clock. And next to the alarm clock: a tiny white pill.
“We don’t know how many he took,” the woman whispered, voice trembling.
Sevan’s eyes shot up at her. “What? What do you mean?” It felt like a haze his brain couldn’t snap out of. Sevan tried to swallow. “He won’t wake up? What did he take? What is that?” He looked back at the pill.
“Oxy, most likely,” the woman with the purple manicure responded. She was standing by the doorway, her voice deadpan.
“Oxy?” Sevan’s heart felt like it was about to pop out of his chest. He took a trembling step backward. “Uh—how much oxy?” Then, like a robot in his throat spoke the words for him: “I think you need to call an ambulance.”
“Give me your phone.” The woman with the purple manicure approached briskly and held out her hand.
He stared at it.
“Your phone, Montego. Don’t make me fire you the day after you were hired.”
They locked eyes. Blank, unperturbed, the woman stared back at him.
Shuddering, Sevan slipped his fingers into the front pocket of his shorts and took out his phone. He handed it to her.
She snatched it away like it belonged to her, then gave him a lingering cold stare before stepping back.
“I can’t help you,” Sevan breathed. “I—I don’t understand why I’m here. He needs medical attention.”
“You are the medical attention,” the woman with the manicure responded.
“No,” Sevan breathed. “There’s some kind of confusion—”
“You’re a registered nurse with ER experience, are you not?”
Sevan’s jaw slipped. His eyes felt like they might bug out of his head. “N—” And he stopped. A registered nurse. That private number. His eyes darted back to the bed, to the person lying on it. Absolutely not. I cannot lie about this. I CANNOT pretend I’m an RN right now. “Not…with the qualifications for…”
“Watch his vitals and let us know if he starts dying,” the woman responded, unperturbed. She turned and left the room, her phone reappearing in her hand.
There was a spindling moment of silence in the room she left behind. Sevan met eyes with the small woman, then looked back at the motionless form on the bed. His heart felt like a machine gun in his chest. An overdose. Oxycodone. Check his vitals, Sevan told himself. I know how to check vitals. His fingers dipped, nearly contacting Supernova’s neck. Do I touch him? Am I allowed to touch him?
Warmth. Soft skin.
Biting his lip, Sevan shifted two fingertips across the small space below Supernova’s pierced earlobe. The cold of a small silver hoop earring brushed Sevan’s knuckle. “Meikhyel.” His other hand moved to Supernova’s shoulder. He gripped it cautiously, then shook him. No response.
What the hell is happening? Why are they doing this? Why would they even call an RN for an overdose—when that’s a full-blown medical emergency? Sevan passed a stricken look around the room. His eyes met those of the small woman, then of the security guard standing in the shadows of the doorway. “How…How long has he been like this?”
“We don’t know,” the small woman started. She was beginning to wring her hands. “We found him on the sofa like this. Farren moved him to the bed. He hasn’t woken, but I’ve been making sure he’s still breathing and has a pulse.”
This is not happening. It was the resounding feeling in Sevan’s chest as he took Supernova’s shoulder and turned him onto his back. No response. Supernova’s face was blank, expressionless, eyes closed. “Do—Do you have any Narcan? Has he had any Narcan?” Sevan looked up, flinching, at the short woman.
“I—I don’t know,” the small woman began. She looked at Farren. “Do we—Do we have any?”
“You can’t be serious—you didn’t think of that?” Sevan broke in. “Can we get some, please?”
“Yes. Yes. Where do they sell it?” Nina had her phone out, and she slipped a set of keys out of her pocket a moment later. Farren had disappeared from the doorway.
“Walmart, Walgreens, Target, CVS—” Sevan began. He reached automatically for his phone before he remembered he didn’t have it. “Look for a 24-hour place that will be open right now.” Nina was already starting for the hallway like she had the closest location pinpointed.
And then Farren walked into the room. He dropped a small pink and white box onto the bed without a word.
For a second, Sevan stared frozenly down at it. And then he snatched it up. He tore open the top of the box, then stared for another two seconds at the applicators inside it. A nasal spray. He flipped the box and looked at the instructions.
“Is that it? Is that what you need?” Nina checked.
Sevan didn’t answer. He tore the plastic and foil off one of two applicators in the package and got to his knees on the floor. He took Supernova’s chin in his hand and put the applicator nozzle in his unpierced nostril. He delivered the dose quickly, then withdrew the applicator.
Nina stepped a little closer to the bed, her hands clasping her phone in a pale, shaky grip. “Meika…Meika is…He’s…He usually pulls through these things. Like he’s…good at not taking so much that he…” Her voice faded.
Are you saying he’s good at abusing drugs? Sevan’s eyes tracked sideways toward Nina, but he never fully took his vision off Supernova.
“There’s a healthcare provider Meika usually sees, but he resigned yesterday,” Nina added in a quiet, wavering voice.
Meika . That nickname somehow fit this ridiculously beautiful, apparently self-destructive person. Sevan lowered himself to his knees beside the bed and tested the warmth of Meika’s forehead—cautiously, slowly. It felt strange to touch him. Different from the residents at The Adaline.
That feeling. That weird, uncanny feeling as Sevan sat back on his heels and watched the first few signs of consciousness return to Meika’s body. His face, the small twitch of his dark eyelashes. His breathing got a little stronger.
Sevan’s vision centered on the tattoo on Meika’s neck. The exploding star. “Meikhyel.” And this time, when Sevan called his name, his eyes opened just a little. Those dark irises shifted, checked the ceiling first, then moved in Sevan’s direction.
Meika’s brow flinched like he wanted to frown. His eyelids dropped shut again.
“Meikhyel.” Sevan gripped Meika’s shoulder and shook him. Those eyes opened a second time, shifted again in Sevan’s direction. Meika’s hand twitched on the mattress, a single finger lifting to indicate Sevan’s face. His lips moved a little, but he didn’t make a sound.
“You should sit up,” Sevan told him. He got up from the floor and slipped his hands under Meika’s shoulders. Smooth, firm muscles. A soft black shirt. His long loose hair that felt like silk as it brushed Sevan’s wrist.
There was movement in the doorway, and Sevan glanced up to see Farren had taken several swift steps forward.
But Meika didn’t resist. He sat up and put his back to the headboard. His hair was a messy, dramatic frame around his face as he silently surveyed the rest of the room. His eyes fell on the small woman, and for the first time, he said something: “Nina.” His lips pulled with a faint smile.
She smiled back at him, fearful tears glittering in her eyes.
Sevan lifted the Narcan box and scanned the label again. The patient had to stay awake. According to the instructions, Meika needed to be monitored. “Give another dose if the person becomes very sleepy again,” the instructions read. Step 3 was to call 911.
“You really can’t take him to a hospital?” Sevan stepped back from the bed and looked up at the security guard. “So the—the Narcan doesn’t necessarily solve it.” He glanced again at the pink and white box in his hand. “I really think he needs to get to a hospital.”
The woman’s hands met at her waist and quietly squeezed each other.
Meika’s eyes tracked back in Sevan’s direction. His breathing was becoming labored. He sounded like he needed oxygen. Stabilization.
“We’re trying to keep his personal issues out of the media,” Nina spoke up in a gaunt voice.
Sevan stared at her for four seconds. “Why…Why would calling an ambulance cause…I—I mean, there are HIPPA laws…and I’m sure you could find a rehab center that’s—”
“It’s next to impossible to take him to a hospital in LA without it being plastered all over social media the next morning,” Farren cut in. “And there’s nothing rehab has that he doesn’t have here.”
What do you even mean by that? Sevan heard in his head. He turned back toward the woman, but his eyes somehow met Meika’s dark ones. They looked almost black in the shadow cast by the curtain of hair that had slid forward across his face.
“They won’t let you take him to a hospital,” Nina whispered. “You’ll only get fired for trying. And sued if you’re successful. Usually, he would have a private provider we could call, but he doesn’t right now. Please. Please stay. You’re the best help he has right now.”
Meika’s dark eyes traced Sevan’s figure. Up, then down. Then back up again. Sevan’s hand lifted to his own burning face, wiped across his lips. They were crazy. This was crazy. Sued? Would he still be sued if they found out he had absolutely no medical qualifications?
Meika’s dark eyes flinched a little when Sevan met them again. He was so pretty. So stupidly beautiful. More like a magazine feature than a real person.