8. Ethan
CHAPTER 8
Ethan
I’ve done a lot of research on oophorectomies since Bridget agreed to let me help. According to experiences women have shared on Reddit, the recovery could be more than Bridget is expecting it to be. But she’s tough and fiercely independent, so she may not need—or want—much help.
Bridget and I sit in the waiting room at the hospital. She wrinkles her nose as she fills out the form. It’s not clear if she’s annoyed or confused, but it makes me want to kiss the creases on her face until they relax.
“Need any help?” I offer.
“I need an emergency contact for the procedure. I haven’t told Becka or my parents about this, and I don’t want them to get a call and find out that way.”
“Use me.”
Her eyes flit up to mine. “What?”
“Use me as your emergency contact.”
She hesitates for several seconds, her head down, eyes glued to the form as her pen sits poised to write. I look over to see what question has her stumped and notice that she’s written my first name but not my last. “Black. My last name is Black.”
“Jesus Christ. This is a mistake,” she grits out of the side of her mouth, her lips barely moving, her volume almost a whisper. “I don’t even know your last name. You’re a fucking one-night stand whose full name I don’t know.”
“My full name is Ethan Joseph Black. Now you know. And you saw my license that night, if I recall.”
“I wasn’t looking at your name, I was too distracted by your birth year. Mine starts with a nineteen and yours doesn’t.”
“I’m well aware of my birthday. What other information do you need from me?” I don’t give two fucks about our age gap or one-night stand. I’m not going anywhere.
Reluctantly, she writes down my name, and I recite my contact information so she can add it to the form. Her free hand rests on the arm of the chair, and I grab it. “Thank you for letting me be here for you.”
She doesn’t acknowledge me, but she doesn’t remove her hand from mine either as she continues filling out the form.
Once she finishes, I grab the clipboard from her hand and return it to the desk.
“I could’ve done that myself.”
“But you shouldn’t have to. It’s okay to let me help. I won’t bite.”
We wait in silence for a few minutes before a nurse emerges from a door. “Bridget Connors?” she calls.
I follow closely behind as we walk through the hallway and into a room. The nurse hands Bridget a gown while giving instructions for what she can expect during the procedure. She disappears into the bathroom and reemerges in the hospital gown, holding her clothes in a neatly folded pile.
She walks through the room, balancing her clothes in one hand while her other hand holds the gown closed. Shuffling by me, she sets her clothing down before sitting on the bed, being careful not to let me see her backside. It’s quite comical considering I’ve already seen and enjoyed every inch of her amazing body. But I push those thoughts away as this isn’t the time or place to pop a boner.
Another nurse walks in and approaches Bridget as I take a seat in the chair next to her clothing.
“Good morning, my name is Maggie, and I’m the nurse on duty this morning. Do you have any questions before we get started today?” Bridget shakes her head before Maggie continues. “Great. We have you scheduled for a unilateral salpingo-oophorectomy today to remove your right ovary and the accompanying cyst. The plan is to remove it laparoscopically through a small cut in your abdomen. The surgeon will insert a small camera with a light on it. Once the ovary is removed, the surgeon will make sure the surrounding tissue is healthy. If no early-stage cancer is detected, we can close you up and send you home to recover.
“As long as everything looks good, this is the plan, but there’s a small risk that the surgeon may begin the procedure laparoscopically but change to an open procedure once they see what’s happening inside. If we do find cancer present, they’ll want to remove any cancerous cells. There’s nothing to indicate that this may happen, but things can change on the operating table, and it’s important to know the risks.”
Studying Bridget’s face, I can see the worry crossing her brows. Not over the thought that a more invasive surgery may be necessary. She’s most likely worried that if that does occur, she’ll need to depend on me for longer.
Maggie continues to speak, laying out all the steps they will take before beginning the procedure. Her eyes cut to me. “Once we take you back, your son can take your personal belongings and wait for you in the waiting area.”
“He’s not my son. I don’t have any children,” Bridget spits at the nurse with a look of disgust on her face.
“I’m her boyfriend,” I say brightly, smirking at Bridget.
The look in her eyes is murderous. “He’s a friend,” she corrects through gritted teeth.
“Oh gosh,” Nurse Maggie starts, her face flush with embarrassment. “I’m so sorry. Your friend can wait for you in the family waiting area. The procedure shouldn’t take more than an hour and a half, barring any complications. I’m going to give you two a minute. They should be wheeling you back to surgery soon. If you need anything in the meantime, press the call button.”
As Nurse Maggie leaves the room, Bridget sits up taller in the bed and wraps her arms around her waist. The air feels like it’s been sucked from the room now that we’re alone. I give no fucks that someone assumed that I’m Bridget’s adult son. I mean, I don’t think she looks that much older than I do. But it definitely bothers Bridget. If she could compress herself into a smaller ball, she looks like she would. Her legs are now folded up against her chest as she wraps her arms around them.
“I can’t do this,” she whispers against her knees, pressing her eyes closed.
I stand and cross to the bed, placing a hand on her shoulder. “It’s okay. The procedure should be over quickly, and the nurse did say that it wasn’t likely to be cancer,” I reassure her.
Blowing out a deep breath, she continues speaking into her knees, eyes closed. “I’m not talking about the procedure.”
Fuck. That nurse spooked her. What little progress I’d made with her feels like dandelion seeds fluttering away in a spring breeze, so close you think you can grab hold but far enough out of reach to tease you with its presence. If that’s not Bridget in a nutshell, I don’t know what is.
“If you think that’s going to scare me off, think again, sweetheart. The only place I’m going is out to the waiting room. I’ll see you after surgery,” I promise, planting a kiss on her hairline. I pull back, and she squeezes her eyes closed. Turning toward the chair, I swipe her personal effects and start toward the door.
“Thank you,” she says in a voice so small and weak I almost can’t believe it’s coming from this powerful woman.
The minute my feet cross the threshold out of her room and into the hallway, a cold emptiness settles over me. It’s the same feeling I get when she lets go of my hand or leans away from my touch. In a few short weeks, Bridget has managed to find a place in my life and my heart, and I’ll be damned if I let anyone take that away from me, including her.