Chapter 27
MADDY
THEN
“Do you mind?” I ask Ben, as I once again reposition the text book so I can see it over Ben’s head.
“Not at all.” He doesn’t even open his eyes, just nestles his head further in my lap, burrowing in.
“I can see that.” That’s all I can see at the moment. I’m trying to study for my ethics midterm, but having my boyfriend splayed out on top of me is making it difficult. “You’re distracting me.”
One eye squints open. “It’s not my fault you can’t take your eyes off me, Madness.”
I scowl, but he’s right. Sleepy Ben is one of my all-time favourites. He’s so snuggly and warm.
“Be that as it may, I need to study for this exam.”
“No, you don’t. You’re already the smartest person I know.”
“That’s because you hang out with dumb jocks.”
“That’s it,” he growls, tightening his arms around me and flipping us over so I’m lying across his chest. The heavy textbook falls to the floor with a loud thunk.
“I need a new bed,” I groan into his chest. I’ve had the same twin mattress since I was in elementary school. It’s fine for just me…but sharing with Ben is a tight squeeze.
“I like your bed,” he says, kissing the top of my head.
“Your legs are dangling off the end.” I point out. “We’d have more room in a bigger bed.”
“But then you’d be farther away from me.”
I smile into his t-shirt, lulled into submission by the sound of his heart against my ear.
When I’m in Ben’s arms, everything else falls away.
Juggling a demanding third year course load at Dalhousie University, my volunteer shifts, and our relationship has been a struggle.
Here, on this too-small bed, with his strong arms around me, I forget about all of it and can just be.
“We’ll get a queen-size bed when we move to Philly,” Ben says with conviction.
My entire body stiffens at his words. I can tell he notices because when I push myself up and off the bed, he doesn’t try to stop me. I don’t look at him as I bend to pick up my discarded text book from the floor.
“We’re going to need to talk about it sooner or later, Madness.”
I choose later. Definitely later.
Ben turns on his side to face me, resting his head on his arm.
Cheshire chooses that moment to come strutting out of my open closet.
His favourite place to sleep is on the shelf where I keep my sweaters.
With a graceful leap, he hops up onto the bed and immediately cuddles into Ben’s side.
Ben strokes his head while the cat purrs.
“I don’t understand why you aren’t more excited about going. ”
I sit down at my small desk and try to find my page in the textbook. I want to tell him how I feel, but the words don’t come. This happens every time he brings up the move.
I was so proud when he was a first-round pick in the draft this past June. He’s worked so hard and couldn’t deserve it more. But Philadelphia? It’s so far away.
“It’s not that,” I start.
“Then what is it?”
It’s not that I don’t want to go with Ben. Of course I want to be with him. But I also want to finish my degree, and my student advisor thinks I would be an excellent candidate for the MBA program at Dal. Plus my parents, my friends—everything I know is here.
“Mads—”
Ben’s phone starts to vibrate. One text coming in after the other. He pulls it from his pocket and stares at the screen.
It’s probably one of his teammates, but there’s that ugly voice that whispers in the back of my head that it’s another girl.
I don’t know why I do that to myself. In the years we’ve been together, he’s never so much as looked at anyone else.
And given the way other girls look at him, it’s not for lack of opportunity.
“I better get to practice.” He hops off the bed and grabs his baseball hat from the back of my chair placing it backwards on his head. Which shouldn’t be allowed, given how attractive it makes him.
“Of course.”
“Good luck studying. I’ll text you after?”
“Okay.”
When he reaches the door, he stops. After a few moments he does a 180 and walks back over to me, leaning down and cupping my face. He kisses me slowly, thoroughly, with purpose. I kiss him back, trying to put all the things I’m feeling into the kiss.
When he pulls away, we’re both panting. He rests his forehead against mine.
“I love you,” he breathes.
“I love you, too.”
NOW
“I hate you.”
My words are meant to push him away, but instead cause Ben to pull me closer to his side.
“Hate me all you want,” he states plainly. “You’re still getting checked out.”
People don’t go to the doctor for a stomach ache.
That’s what I told Ben when I went to bed with my heating pad last night.
I told him again this morning as I got ready for work despite feeling worse.
And finally I told him through clenched teeth when he dropped by my office unexpectedly with lunch and found me curled up in cold sweat, my head on my desk.
He took one look at me and said he was taking me to the hospital.
Ben knows better than most people how much I hate hospitals. The way they smell, the way they make me feel. I hate the gowns they make you wear, like the one I’ve got on now. I shiver and Ben immediately tugs me closer, his arm a steady, familiar weight around my shoulders.
But I don’t want comfort right now. I want to be home, in my own bed, where I can pretend this isn’t happening. I push away from him, my movement crinkling the thin sanitary paper lining the exam table beneath me.
"People don’t go to the hospital for a stomach ache," I argue, for what feels like the twentieth time. My voice is hoarse, stubborn. "I’m fine."
But I’m not fine. The pain in my lower abdomen has sharpened into something unbearable, a deep, searing ache that only seems to grow.
My skin is hot, feverish, and my stomach rebels against even the thought of food.
This is the worst I’ve ever felt, and beneath my denial, fear courses through my veins like ice water.
Ben exhales sharply beside me. I don’t have to look at him to know he’s frustrated. "As soon as the doctor agrees with your diagnosis of ‘fine,’ I’ll take you home. But not before then."
I open my mouth to snap back, but the sudden tickle in my sinuses cuts me off. It builds fast and I barely have time to brace myself before I sneeze.
White-hot pain explodes through my midsection, so sharp and blinding it steals my breath. My vision blurs. A choked sob escapes me as I double over, arms wrapping around my stomach in a feeble attempt to hold myself together. Hot, unwelcome tears spill down my cheeks.
Ben’s arms are around me in an instant, lifting me onto his lap and hugging me tightly to his chest. I bury my face in his shirt, grateful to it for muffling my cries. His voice is distant, frantic. I can feel his hands on me, but I can’t focus on anything except the agony twisting through me.
“It’s okay, baby.” Ben’s mouth moves against my head as he murmurs into my hair. “You’re going to be okay.”
I sob, my body shaking against him so violently as he cradles me like a ragdoll. I think he might be trembling, too, but I can’t be sure in my present state.
A small woman in a white lab coat enters the exam room. I’m only vaguely aware of her asking Ben to set me down on the table so she can examine me. I try to protest being moved from the safety of Ben’s arms, but I’m in too much pain to speak.
She makes me extend my legs so I’m lying straight. My body wants to curl itself back into a tight ball. Everything feels wrong.
“This will only take a minute,” she assures me in a gentle tone. Her stethoscope is cold but her hands are warm as she checks me over.
I focus my attention on Ben who’s hovering at the head of the exam table.
He’s paler than white and looks positively stricken.
I hope whatever I have isn’t contagious because I’ve never seen him look so awful.
He squeezes my hand in one hand while gently stroking my sweat-soaked hair back from my face.
His eyes never leave the doctor, watching her every move with hawk-eyed focus like he thinks she might harm me, and he’s ready to throw himself between us.
The doctor presses her hand to my abdomen. “Does this hurt?”
It does, but no worse than what I’ve already been feeling. “Yes, kind of.”
“What about now?” She removes her hand and I almost black out from pain.
Motherfucker.
“You’re hurting her,” Ben’s voice is dangerously low. “What is happening to her?”
“I’ll need to do an ultrasound to confirm, but I suspect you have acute appendicitis.” She picks up her tablet and starts to make notes. “I’m going to find an orderly to take you to Diagnostic Imaging. If I’m right, you’ll be scheduled for surgery right away.”
“Surgery?” The word barely makes it past my lips and I don’t bother to hide the terror in my voice. My heart pounds against my ribs. I’ve never had surgery before. Never been put under general anesthesia. Never had someone cut into me.
The doctor offers a reassuring but practiced smile.
“It’s a simple procedure,” she explains, her tone even.
“We’ll go in laparoscopically, which means small incisions and quick healing time.
If everything goes smoothly, you’ll likely be able to go home tomorrow.
” Then, her expression turns more serious.
“But we need to move quickly. If your appendix perforates, it could lead to complications.”
She doesn’t have to spell it out for me. I know what she means. Infection. Sepsis. Worse.
Before I can process it all, she turns and leaves, the soft click of the door closing behind her.
Ben crouches down in front of me, bringing himself to my eye level. His hands rest lightly on my knees, warm and steady, an anchor against the panic rising in my chest.
“It’s gonna be fine, Maddy,” he says, his voice softer now. “You’re going to be fine.”
My throat tightens as a fresh wave of tears blurs my vision. This time, I don’t fight them. I let them fall.
“How do you know that?” My voice trembles, barely above a whisper.
He swallows. “Because you have to be.”
The door swings open again before I can respond.
The doctor returns, this time with a stocky young man pushing a wheelchair.
He looks barely older than me, his scrubs crisp, his posture relaxed until his gaze lands on Ben.
His eyes widen slightly and he stands taller.
I’m not sure if he recognizes him from hockey or if Ben’s hard expression scares the shit out of him.
The doctor gestures toward the chair. “You can wait here,” she tells Ben as the orderly steps forward.
I don’t speak. I don’t need to. My hand tightens around Ben’s instinctively, fingers curling around his like a lifeline.
Ben doesn’t hesitate. His grip tightens just as fiercely. “I’m staying with her.”