Chapter 1
My artificial heart's battery was nearly dead. I gritted my teeth and dragged myself forward inch by inch until my hand finally closed around my phone.
I called 911 first. I gave them my address between gasps, then dialed my boyfriend, Grant Mercer.
The phone rang for a long time. Just as it was about to go to voicemail, someone finally picked up.
"Grant, that black coffee you made me last night was way too hot. My tongue still hurts." But it wasn't Grant on the line. It was his ex, Vanessa Price, giggling and pouting.
Then, Grant came on, his voice soft and doting. "Ugh, you're such a pain. Fine, fine, I'll blow on it for you. Happy now, princess?"
I gripped the phone so hard my nails dug into my palm.
Whenever Grant brought up Vanessa in front of me, he did it through gritted teeth. She was annoying, she was crazy, and she was a bad habit he couldn't shake. But now, all I could hear in his voice was how soft he was with her.
With every ounce of strength I had left, I shouted into the phone, "Grant... my heart's about to stop... the battery's down to 1%..."
The laughter on the other end cut off. A few seconds later, Grant spoke up, lazy and dismissive, like he already had it all figured out,
"Okay, okay, I get it. I didn't come home last night, and you're upset. But I already left the backup battery by the front door. Just hold on and go grab it yourself."
I stared at the empty spot by the front door and gasped for air, my voice so hoarse it barely sounded like mine. "No... there's no backup battery here!"
"Enough," Grant sighed, out of patience. "Nora, are you seriously making stuff up now just to get me home?"
"You know how much I hate it when girls throw tantrums. Even Vanessa wasn't this dramatic when she was depressed."
The line clicked dead. He'd hung up on me without a second thought, and my phone screen faded to black.
In that same second, the machine in my chest that was keeping me alive gave one last, long beep and stopped for good.
When I opened my eyes again, I was staring up at a stark white hospital ceiling. "You're awake?"
Julian Hayes, the cardiac surgeon who'd put in my artificial heart 3 years earlier, was keeping watch by my bed.
He told me my heart had already been stopped for 4 minutes by the time the paramedics reached me. The EMT had done CPR on the spot and hooked me up to one of the hospital's portable power units. That was the only reason I was still alive.
I turned my head toward the empty doorway. The one person who still hadn't shown up was Grant.
Julian was quiet for a moment before he sighed, "Don't bother. He didn't come. I called him, but his phone was off."
He paused like he was choosing his words carefully. "Nora, maybe it's time to change your emergency contact?" he said, softly and as gently as he could, but it still hit me right where it hurt the most.
3 years ago, listing Grant as my emergency contact had seemed obvious. Now, I could finally see it for what it was, just a number I could never reach.
I looked back up at the ceiling. It had happened 17 times now, and every single time, I'd made excuses for him.
The first time, he'd told me Vanessa was just drunk and had gone to the wrong door. By the fifth time, it was her depression acting up, and she couldn't handle being upset. By the 16th, he swore that if we humored her just once more, she'd never come around again.
But once my heart had actually stopped, those excuses died right along with it. It was time to make the person responsible pay.
I picked up the phone from my nightstand and calmly dialed 911. "Hi, I'd like to report a crime. Someone hid my life-support equipment on purpose. This was attempted murder."
