Chapter 18
18
Ezra
When Millie’s still in bed around noon, I don’t think too much of it. My mom never shied away from details about how a woman’s period can knock her off her feet.
I leave her with a bowl of soup and ginger ale while I catch a few waves. When I return and find the bowl untouched, a prickling feeling emerges beneath my skin. She says she’s too nauseous to eat but promises she’s fine.
Still uneasy, I hop in the shower, and just as I’ve finished and have wrapped a towel around my waist, Millie comes racing into the bathroom. She barely makes it to the toilet before she throws up.
I rush to her side and drop to my knees. “What’s wrong?”
With a groan, she slumps against me.
Water from my hair soaks her bare shoulder. “Millie.”
She hurls again, then collapses in my arms, her body limp.
Heart pounding, I clutch her to my chest. “Hey, come on. What’s wrong?”
“Don’t feel good,” she moans. “Stomach hurts bad. Blood. Bleeding. ”
Shit. She’s out of it, and fuck if it isn’t really freaking me out.
“Okay, honey, I’m going to help you get dressed, and I’m taking you to the hospital.”
I expect her to protest and insist she’s fine, but all she does is heave over the toilet once more. When there’s nothing left to vomit up, I support her weight and help her into a T-shirt and a pair of cotton shorts.
Once I’m dressed, I shove my wallet and phone into my pockets, then gather her things as well. I help her slip into her sandals on the way to the car and ease her into the passenger seat as gently as I can. She clutches her knees into her chest the whole ride, her face as white as a sheet.
Okay, I’m officially worried. Periods aren’t supposed to be this bad , are they?
We don’t have to wait long after she’s checked in before a young man in blue scrubs appears from a set of double doors and calls her name.
Whispering assurances, I help her stand and lead her across the room.
“Are you family, sir?” the man asks.
I could say no. I should say no. But there’s no way in hell I’m letting her go back there by herself. “She’s my wife.”
“Very well. Follow me, Mr. Greer.”
A nurse takes over, checking Millie’s vitals and asking a whole host of questions. “Are you on birth control?”
Millie shakes her head, and I shit you not, my dick twitches. The idea of Millie not being on birth control? Yeah, I can’t deny I like it when she calls me Daddy, but clearly, she was on to something when she asked if I had a breeding kink.
“Could you be pregnant?”
“No,” we answer in unison, our voices a little too loud.
Shit. Based on that response, she probably thinks we hate kids .
“Well,” she says, her eyes bouncing between us. “Let’s take a test anyway, then we’ll draw some blood.” She hands Millie a plastic cup and directs her down the hall to the restrooms.
I follow, arms out cautiously in case she stumbles.
At the bathroom door, she turns and presses a hand to my chest, stopping me from following her in. “I’m fine.”
“What if?—”
“I’ll be fine.” She rolls her eyes.
“Leave the door unlocked, just in case.”
She’s out of breath just walking down the hall. If she passes out in there, I’m not waiting for someone to get the door open for me.
“Yes, sir.” Her sarcasm could scorch a hole in the ground.
After Millie leaves a urine sample and has had her blood drawn, an ultrasound tech appears with a rolling sonogram machine. Despite the insistent questions I ask, he won’t reveal anything.
Once he’s gone, the nurse informs us that she’ll be taken for a CT scan next. The symphony of the hospital—rhythmic beeping, overhead announcements, murmurs exchanged between members of the staff—is the soundtrack to our silence.
“What if they found something?” Millie eventually asks, her voice laced with nerves.
Clutching her hand, I rub the delicate skin between her thumb and forefinger.
“Oh my god, what if I need surgery?” A sob escapes her pale lips. “I’ve never even broken a bone or gotten stitches.”
“You’re so?—”
“I know, I know.” She drops her head back against the elevated hospital bed. “I’m being dramatic.”
I run my fingertips through her fine hair in soothing strokes. “That’s not what I was going to say.”
She holds my gaze, her beautiful eyes clouded with tears .
“You’re so right to feel this way, honey. It’s okay. I’ve got you. Whatever happens, I’m not going anywhere.”
Her smile is weak and tired, but it’s genuine.
I drag my fingers up and down her arm, distracting myself from my own worries by focusing on the feel of her velvety skin. I’m nervous, too, but I must be brave for her.
Her eyes flutter closed, and for the next hour, she sleeps, her chest rising and falling slowly.
When a nurse noisily breezes into the room, Millie startles abruptly, confusion flashing across her face. I squeeze her hand, hoping the gesture will soothe her.
Unfortunately, they won’t let me go with her for the CT, so I’m left behind in the stale triage room with no company except my obnoxious bouncing knees. I reach for my phone multiple times to call Cam or Joey, but ultimately decide I should wait for Millie’s permission.
Finally, she’s wheeled back in, and a few minutes later, a doctor joins us.
“Hello, Amelia, my name is Dr. Renz. I’m an ob-gyn,” the woman announces as she sanitizes her hands at the door. She sits on a stool with wheels and rolls across the tile until she’s at Millie’s side. “Your labs came back. Negative pregnancy test. However, your hemoglobin is a little low. And since you’re bleeding, it’s my recommendation that you have a blood transfusion. After reviewing your labs and symptoms, I suspect endometriosis, though I can’t be sure without further testing. We did find a cyst on your ovary, but?—”
“What?” Millie goes rigid, her hand clenching mine. “Am I going to need surgery?”
“No, no,” the doctor says with a gentle smile. “We can treat the cyst with an NSAID like ibuprofen or naproxen and birth control. That’ll help with the bleeding too. ”
Rubbing circles on the top of Millie’s hand, I clear my throat. “A blood transfusion? That sounds serious.”
“It is,” the doctor replies. “But it’s common, and we’ll take good care of your wife, Mr. Greer.”
My stomach dips at those words. Wife . Mr. Greer .
“We’ll monitor you overnight and likely send you home in the morning,” she says. “In a couple of days, you’ll feel like a new woman.” With a pat to Millie’s thigh, she rolls back a foot or so. “You’re going to be fine. I’ll send someone in to admit you, and we’ll do our best to find a room with a chair big enough for your husband to sleep in.” She eyes me up and down.
“It’s okay,” Millie says. “He’s not staying.”
“ Amelia .” I loom over her. “You’re my wife,” I say loud enough for the entire hospital to hear. “I’m staying.” With that, I kiss her on the forehead and slink back into my seat, but I keep my eyes locked firmly with hers.
“I should call my parents,” she finally says, breaking the staring contest we’ve been engaged in.
Only then do I realize we’re alone. Standing, I yank her phone from my pocket and hold it out.
As she takes it from me, she eyes me like she wants me to give her privacy. Instead of leaving, I drop back into my seat and cross my arms.
Millie doesn’t beat around the bush. She quickly informs her parents that she needs a transfusion, her voice laced with fear as she speaks. “No, no. Don’t fly out here. You won’t make it out in time anyway. Seriously, Dad, I’m fine.” She’s quiet for a moment, then she huffs a sigh. “I can take care of myself.”
“Gimme the phone,” I whisper.
She shakes her head.
“ Now .” I hold out my hand.
As she shakes her head again, I snag it from her grip.
“Hello, Mr. and Mrs. Greer?” I ignore Millie’s giant eye roll. If she weren’t in so much pain, I’d be inclined to teach her a lesson about rolling her eyes at me. Instead, I focus on the conversation with her parents.
“Is this the doctor?” her dad asks.
“No, sir. This is Ezra, Millie’s…”
Arms crossed, she shoots me a death glare.
Shit. She’s terrifying when she wants to be. “Millie’s friend.”
“Ezra? What are you doing there?”
“Excuse me?” The question is probably not as polite as it should be, but right now, I’m not sure I give a fuck. What does he mean, what am I doing here?
“She said she was going to Hawaii with a friend.”
“Yes, that’s what I said.” I’m confused. Did Millie not tell them who she was traveling with?
“We know all about you and what happened.”
My stomach sinks. The hookup in Greece? Or the sick love triangle with Samantha?
“What we don’t understand is why you’re in Hawaii—and at the hospital—with our daughter.”
I cover the phone with my hand. “Did you not tell them?”
Millie holds a hand out. “Give me the phone.”
I put it on speaker and hold it between us.
“Mom, Dad?—”
“I thought you were in Hawaii with a friend,” her dad interrupts. “What’s going on?”
“Ezra is the friend.” She regards me, her lip caught between her teeth, and whispers, “Can I tell them about Kane?”
I nod, and she dives into the story of how we ended up here.
“Well,” her mother says, her tone lighter. “I can’t say I haven’t done stupid shit in my lifetime, but I hate that you’re going through this while you’re so far away.”
“I promise she’s in good hands, Mrs. Greer.”
“Is that so?” her dad pipes in.
“I can take care of myself,” Millie says, arms crossed over her chest.
“No, you can’t,” her father and I say in unison.
The look she levels me with is enough to have my balls drawing up into my body. Shit.
I clear my throat. “What I mean is that while you can take care of yourself, you don’t have to.” I swipe a hand across her forehead. “I’m here, and I’m not leaving.”