Nick
“Do you have any fours?”
Leah brings her hand of playing cards close to her nose, inspecting each one diligently with one eye. She softly exhales. “Go fish.”
I reach to draw from the middle deck, but pause. I peer up at her, raising a curious eyebrow. “Wait a minute. Give me your cards.”
“What?” She holds them close to her chest. “No.”
“Leah Grace, let me see your cards.”
“Are you questioning my integrity?” A small giggle bubbles out of her.
“No, I'm questioning the amount of Dilaudid currently coursing through your system.” I hold out my hand.
She gives me a high five.
I chuckle. “Leah. Cards. Now.”
“Alright, alright …” She giggles again, passing me her cards. “Man, you really have the dad voice nailed down. I should start calling you Daddy—”
“No, ma'am. You are not about to start calling me Daddy.”
A mischievous grin spreads across her face. “What? You don't want to be my Daddy?”
“Leah …” I warn.
“My Big Daddy? My Big Daddy Crawford?”
“Jesus, Leah …” I chuckle, shuffling through her cards. “And for the record, you have not one, but two fours. And you're holding a joker hostage—”
“I've got it!” She snaps her fingers. “Crawdaddy!”
I purse my lips together, trying not to laugh.
It took Leah longer than expected to fully wake up after surgery yesterday. She finally opened those big brown eyes last night, groggy and confused, but awake. Ever since, she's barely let go of my hand.
I don't mind that part one bit.
This morning, she managed a few bites of her liquid breakfast before PT came to get her moving.
Getting out of bed was rough. She kept apologizing for crying in pain. As if she didn't just have major abdominal surgery. As always, she's a trooper. And strong. Once she was upright, she made it all the way down the hall and back.
Now we wait.
There's no final pathology report yet. That might not come until the end of the week—possibly next. Until then, Leah is recovering here at the hospital with a patient-controlled analgesia pump keeping her pain manageable.
The Dilaudid is making our interactions lively, that’s for damn sure.
“You get it? Craw and daddy?” She dissolves into giggles, then immediately winces, clutching her stomach. “Ow-ow! Stop making me laugh!”
“I'm not.” I hand her her pillow, reminding her to brace her wound when she laughs. “You're entertaining yourself.”
A soft knock interrupts us.
“I hope that's more Italian ice.” Leah looks hopeful toward the door.
A woman with ebony cropped hair steps inside. “Sorry to disappoint. I’m Diedra, one of the ostomy nurses. I’m here to go over some stoma care with you.”
The suspicious tissue on Leah’s bowel meant they had to resect part of her colon.
Instead of reconnecting it right away, they brought the healthy end through her abdominal wall, creating a stoma that empties into a colostomy bag.
It’s temporary, giving her bowel time to heal before another surgery can put everything back where it belongs.
I glance at Leah. “Are you coherent enough for this?”
“Absolutely.” She nods, then points toward the door. “But you? Uh-uh. You can leave.”
My eyebrows pinch together. “You can't be serious—”
“I’m very serious ...”
“But we can learn together.”
“You already know how to do this.”
“I know what they are—yes. But I haven’t actually cared for an ostomy since med school.”
“Nick …” Her expression sobers. “I just don't want you dealing with this.”
“Why?”
She blushes, lowering her voice. “I'm not ready for you to see me like this.”
I sigh, taking her hand in mine. “Okay.” Standing up, I lean in and kiss her forehead before heading for the door. “Take notes.”
She chuckles. “I will.”
I step into the hallway, closing the door behind me. Heading toward a coffee cart just outside the unit, I nearly run straight into Declan.
He’s coming toward me with a bouquet of roses in his hand, and by how proud he's marching in, he hasn't clocked me yet.
Surprise, motherfucker.
I plant myself between him and Leah’s room. “I know the fuck you aren’t.”
Declan freezes. “Crawford, I—”
“Oh—” I sardonically laugh, crossing my arms. “This should be good. Go on.” I nod to the flowers. “Tell me those are for someone else, because I know you didn’t stroll into this hospital carrying roses for a woman who has a protective order against you.”
The color drains from his face. “Sh-she told about that?”
“Every word, you self-righteous prick.”
“Now listen, Crawford, it was a misunderstanding. You know how it is in the heat of the moment. You and I are alike—”
I step toward him, forcing him back against a wall.
I lower my voice to a growl. “No, you pious piece of shit. You and I are nothing alike. You get off on power and hurting women. Me?” I chuff.
“I get off making damn sure they get off first—and only after they consent.” I pat his cheek. “Don’t confuse the two ever again.”
I step back, glaring at him.
He slowly starts to slink away, but he stops and turns back. “I really did love her.”
“That's what makes you so pathetic.”
His shoulders slump. “Can you at least tell me she's okay?”
“No.” I narrow my eyes.
Declan works his jaw, searching for something else to say. Luckily, nothing ever comes. He turns and hightails it toward the elevator, disappearing behind the metal doors.
And hopefully, out of our lives for good.