Chapter 22 Woody #2
I catch fragments of Carly's voice—high, breaking with emotion, words tumbling over each other.
Lane's eyes widen. "They found a match," she mouths, her gaze finding mine instantly.
The air leaves my lungs all at once. A kidney match. For Luke.
"Yes, he's right here," Lane says, nodding at me, though Carly can't see her. "Do they know the tissue compatibility percentage?"
I lean closer, my shoulder brushing Lane's. Carly's voice sounds underwater-distant through the phone, but I catch enough. Duke… medical evacuation. Tonight. Helicopter transfer. Emergency procedure prep.
"They're going to medevac him to Duke tonight?" I ask, loud enough for Carly to hear me.
Lane puts the phone on speaker and places it on the counter between us.
"—said the donor is optimal, whatever that means." Carly's voice trembles with that mixture of hope and terror I've heard from countless parents. "I don't understand half of what they're telling me, but we have to leave now. Right now."
Lane presses a hand to her forehead. "Oh my god. Okay. Okay. What do you need? Do we need to come pick up Leigh?"
My mind's already racing through protocols. Cross-matching tests. Final compatibility studies. Pre-surgical prep. Anti-rejection medication regimens. I'd need to call colleagues at Duke, get the surgical team's assessment—
"I need to not fall apart," Carly says, her laugh breaking into something like a sob. "The helicopter's already on its way. Leigh's coming with us. They have an apartment already ready for us."
"Everything from the fundraiser transferred, right?" Lane asks, looking at me as she says it. I nod.
"Yes, everything came through. I'm so scared," Carly whispers.
Lane's voice softens, steadies. "You'll stay with him every step. That's all that matters."
I hold my breath as she ends the call, watching her shoulders sink with the weight of everything.
"This is good," I say, shifting automatically into the clinical certainty I need in moments like this.
"The fact that they're moving this fast means the donor tissue is exceptionally compatible.
They'll run final cross-matching at Duke, but Luke's blood type is common, so finding a match isn't the hard part. It's finding one this optimal."
Lane acknowledges me, but barely seems to register my words. Her eyes are distant, lips moving in what might be a prayer.
We both turn at the soft padding of feet. Sanders stands in the hallway entrance, rubbing his eyes, hair rumpled above his Star Wars pajamas.
"Is Luke okay?" His voice is small, uncertain.
Lane opens her arms, and he walks into them. She pulls him close, her chin resting on his head.
"He will be," she murmurs, her eyes meeting mine over our son's head. "He's on the way to Duke now to get his new kidney. Isn't that so exciting?"
With Sanders asleep and the house quiet, it's just Lane and me. The only sounds are the ticking of her antique clock and the soft hum of the refrigerator from the kitchen.
The Christmas tree lights cast colored shadows across her face as we sit on opposite ends of the couch, not touching.
"He'll be in his room at Duke by now, getting ready for surgery," I say, breaking the silence that's stretched between us since we put Sanders to bed.
Lane nods, her fingers worrying at a loose thread on one of the couch pillows. "I can't believe it happened so fast."
"Organ donation is like that. When the match is right, there's no time to waste."
She looks up at me, something unreadable in her eyes. "No time to waste?"
My heart thuds against my ribs. The night is so charged with possibility on all fronts that I'm buzzing.
I shift closer, erasing some of the careful distance between us. "Right. Time is precious."
My voice sounds strange to my own ears. It's quieter, more vulnerable than usual.
"Woody," she whispers, turning her face away. She gets up abruptly, heading toward the kitchen. I follow her, closing the refrigerator door as she opens it.
"We've lost enough time." I press her against the refrigerator, my palm on the cool stainless steel.
The words hang in the air, impossible to take back. I don't want to take them back.
Lane exhales, staring at her hands. "Woody, you have no idea how scared I am to give you my heart again. It may already be too late."
My jaw works as I struggle to find the right words. "I want you to trust me. I want more than anything to be what you and Sanders need."
Even to my own ears, it sounds somewhere between a promise and a plea.
Lane studies me for a long moment, searching for the truth in my face. Her eyes move over my features like she's memorizing them, or maybe trying to find the cracks where lies might slip through.
"I'm not ready to jump in with both feet. I need to be more sure before we get our son's hopes up."
I nod, relief rushing through me. "I can work with that." Then, quieter, "But I'm still going to kiss you now."
Lane doesn’t stop me as I close the last inches between us. The kiss starts gently, a brush of lips against lips. But it deepens quickly, hungry and needy with everything we’ve been fighting.
Her hand grabs my shirt, dragging me closer until there’s no space left between us. The kiss is deep, open-mouthed, her breath hot against mine. Years collapse in an instant, all the distance gone.
She breaks just enough to speak, lips brushing mine. “Woody… if we’re doing this again, it has to be different.”
I nod, though my mouth is already back on hers, tasting, taking.
Her hips shift under my hand, and she gasps.
“No. Listen.” Her fingers curl in my hair, tugging hard enough to make me still.
Her eyes burn into mine. “I can’t survive you putting work first every time.
Not again. I can work with you, but we need boundaries.
Real ones. Or this is nothing but heat and history. ”
Her words slice through the fog, sharp as a scalpel. Boundaries. That word is still echoing when my brain flashes to Dr. Russell’s call, the offer that would chew me up and spit me out. The job every surgeon in my field would kill for.
I push the thought down, pressing my forehead to hers. “I swear to you, Lane. I’ll find a way. A way to honor both—who I am in the OR, and who I am with you. With us.”
She softens under me, her lips parting in a shaky exhale.
I kiss her again, harder this time. My hand slides under her shirt, skimming hot skin, her breath hitching. She arches against me, grinding through denim, a low moan vibrating in her throat.
Her words tumble out between gasps. “God, Woody. You make me crazy.”
I growl into her mouth, the taste of her undoing me. Her nails rake my back through my shirt, hips rolling in time with mine. The refrigerator door gives under the weight, and for a moment, the years fall away. We’re reckless, young, starving for each other.
"Maybe I like crazy."
And then footsteps sound upstairs, and I stop cold. The squeak of the top stair.
“Mom?” Sanders’s small, uncertain voice cuts through the haze.
Lane shoves at my chest, eyes wide, panic and desire warring in her face. She’s out from under me in seconds, hair mostly falling out of her rubber band, shirt tugged down, trying to look composed.
I rake a hand over my face, my body still burning, my heart hammering in my chest.
“Go,” she whispers fiercely, smoothing her shirt as Sanders’s shadow stretches down the hall. “Please, Woody. Not tonight.”
Her voice is steady, but I can still taste her kiss, still feel her pulse against mine.
I have no idea how I’ll prove it, but I know one thing for certain—I have to put her and Sanders first.