35. Garrett
GARRETT
Zara and I arrive at the medical building with ten minutes to spare. She’s been squirming in her seat for the past thirty minutes. Discomfort or nervousness creases her brow, her teeth pressed into her pinkish-brown, plump lower lip.
I find an empty parking spot not far from the entrance. Zara climbs out of the Explorer but doesn’t move beyond where we’re parked, her eyes on the building. Uncertainty wars on her face.
I walk to her side of the SUV and cup her cheek. Her jasmine-scented skin is soft beneath my fingertips. “Hey, you okay?”
Her beautiful brown eyes meet mine, the emotion in them unchanged. “Can I have a kiss?”
“You can definitely have a kiss. Anytime you want.” I capture her mouth with mine, and her lips part, giving me access to the sweet heat of her mouth.
Christ, I’ve missed her. Missed this.
My tongue strokes hers, and I’m eager to distract her for even a few seconds from whatever awaits her upstairs. The warm spring breeze brushes against us, as if wanting to get in on the action. Small birds from a nearby tree chirp their approval. I deepen the kiss .
It’s been six days since I last kissed her. Six days since we made the deal to kiss whenever we need a dopamine hit.
While it might be six days since my mouth tasted hers, it’s been only three since I had my mouth on the smooth skin of her neck. Three days since I first wanted to suck on her perfect nipple.
Just the thought of that makes me hard.
Zara’s hands rest on the outside of my thighs, and her thumbs stroke a teasing caress over my denim-covered skin. Her touch is intoxicating, and it isn’t helping my situation. But that doesn’t stop me from taking one more swipe of her mouth with my tongue, memorizing her taste.
I pull away, not wanting to, but we’re going to be late if we don’t get going. “You ready to go upstairs?”
She nods and winces.
“Your neck?”
“Yes. And everywhere else. My body isn’t a fan of long car rides these days.
I’ll be fine once I move around.” She takes a couple of steps toward the front entrance, but her movements are stiff, robotic.
It’s like each step takes tremendous effort, but her expression barely reveals anything, a mask pulled into place.
Shit, I’ve never seen her like this. The caveman part of me wants to hoist her up and carry her to the rheumatologist’s office. But she won’t appreciate it. She’s stubborn. Independent.
She’ll pinch the skin on my arm if I try.
I speak from experience.
I hold out my arm for her to take, and we slowly walk to the main entrance.
“I forgot to tell you,” I say, as if we’re out for a casual stroll.
“I found a child-play psychologist for Peony.” I’d meant to tell Zara during the ride to Portland, when she asked me how Peony was doing, but then we started talking about something else, and the thought slipped my mind until now.
“That’s great. What does Athena think about the person?”
“I haven’t told her anything about it yet. Simone gave a list of names the other day, and I contacted a few of them.” I talked to one of them on the phone and felt instantly at ease with her.
Hopefully, Peony feels the same way with the therapist. And if not?
I’ll try someone else on the list. “We have an appointment with the therapist in two weeks. ’Cause Peony can’t talk yet and tell the therapist what’s wrong, it could end up taking a lot longer for the benefits of therapy to be seen. ”
“I can imagine it is more challenging. And frustrating for you and Peony.” Zara flashes me a smile. “But see? I knew you’d be an amazing father.”
“I’m not sure about that yet. But I am trying. We’ll see how that goes when I take her to my parents’ next week for dinner, so she can finally meet my brothers.” And to see if Peony is more accepting of my father now that she’s more comfortable with me.
“That’s all you can do. Try.” Zara smiles at me again. This time something stirs inside me, an emotion I can’t name, and an intense craving to kiss her once more broadsides me.
But there’s no time for that.
Not if we want to make it to the rheumatologist appointment on time.
I’m sitting in the waiting room, flipping through my social media account, responding to comments left on my recent posts. Someone calls out my name, and I jerk my head up to see who it was.
The woman in scrubs who took Zara to the exam room stands by the front desk and looks to where I’m sitting.
I stand. The murmuring in the room intensifies, like a swarm of locusts descending on a field.
“The author,” a woman to my right whispers. “He’s a New York Times bestselling thriller author.”
I don’t look to see who said it. The nurse approaches me and is the only person here who has my attention.
I’ve had people approach me at restaurants because they recognize my face from my books.
Normally, I’m happy to talk to fans, to let them know I appreciate them.
I wouldn’t be where I am today without them .
But this is one of those rare times when I don’t want to be recognized, when I don’t want to be approached.
The only thing I care about is what’s going on with my best friend.
The nurse nods at me. “You can come back now.”
She walks me down the corridor and points to a closed door. “You can go in. The doctor will be here in a minute, to talk to you and your girlfriend.”
I don’t bother correcting her on the girlfriend status and open the door. Zara is sitting fully clothed on one of the seats across from the exam table. Above the table is a close-up painting of a bear inspecting a butterfly on a daisy.
“The nurse brought me here,” I say, taking the seat next to Zara. “But I can leave if you want.”
“No, stay.” Zara reaches for my hand.
Mine engulfs hers. “How did it go?”
“Pretty much the same as the appointment with the last rheumatologist. Lots of prodding and questions.”
The door opens, and a tall woman of Asian descent enters the room. She looks to be in her late forties, a few laugh lines creasing at the corners of her eyes. Her dark hair is pulled up in a low bun.
She smiles at me. “Hi, I’m Dr. Winfrey.”
“Garrett Carson.”
Her eyes widen a tiny amount. “As in the thriller author?”
I chuckle, less reluctant to admit to it here than in the waiting room. “That would be me.”
“My husband’s a huge fan of your books.”
My hand finds Zara’s again. I never know how to respond to comments like this, when it’s someone the person knows who’s the fan. “Thank you.”
Dr. Winfrey sits on the rolling stool. “So, Zara. I’ve reviewed your lab results, X-rays, and have a better picture of what we’re looking at. Do you know anything about axial spondyloarthritis?”
Zara shakes her head. “Is that like ankylose…um. I can’t remember what Dr. Holmes called it.”
“Ankylosing spondylitis? ”
“Yes, that’s it. Dr. Holmes ruled it out because the pain was first felt in my shoulders. And my HL-something-or-other was negative. And he said something about the X-rays. Something about no signs of—” She waves her hand at Dr. Winfrey in a whatever-you-just-called-it gesture.
Dr. Winfrey gives her a patient, knowing smile.
“Dr. Holmes’s specialty doesn’t include spondyloarthritis.
HLA-B27 is a marker for the condition, but it’s predominantly found in Caucasian patients.
Having the marker doesn’t mean you will go on to have axial spondyloarthritis, but the lack of it often leads to misdiagnosis. ”
My brain is spinning with all these foreign medical terms. I squeeze Zara’s hand. The bear in the painting above the exam table symbolizes protection, the butterfly healing. I can’t protect Zara from the condition, but whatever she needs, I’m here for her.
“He’s also old-school,” Dr. Winfrey adds.
“You don’t present with the SpA symptoms most commonly seen in men.
Men usually experience pain in the base of their spine first. Women present the disorder differently, often with pain in the shoulders and the neck before anywhere else.
That’s why it usually takes longer for women to receive the proper diagnosis compared to men. ”
She turns her laptop to show an X-ray. “Your X-rays are negative for spine fusion. Which is a good thing. You have what is referred to as Non-radiographic Axial Spondyloarthritis. The other subtype of axial spondyloarthritis is ankylosing spondylitis, which is what Dr. Holmes was talking about.”
She explains for a few minutes on what the condition means in the long term and about the complications Zara might experience.
“Spondyloarthritis is different from other forms of arthritis. In the other forms, patients do better with lots of rest. In SpA, that tends to exacerbate the stiffness and pain. Which is why you experience more stiffness and pain when you get out of bed and why you’ve had trouble sleeping.
The condition is also linked to loss of appetite, which you mentioned you’ve experienced over the past few weeks. ”
The last part is news to me. Hell, a lot of what Dr. Winfrey just said is news to me .
Apparently, Zara’s been keeping things from me, not letting me know the full extent of what she’s been dealing with.
Dr. Winfrey hands Zara a pamphlet. “This contains more information on SpA and tips for managing the pain, including different types of recommended exercise. Such as yoga. Going for walks. We have other pain med options we can try, but I would like to see if we can manage the condition with lifestyle changes first.”
“Okay.” Zara appears relieved compared to when we arrived at the clinic, the small crease between her eyes smoothing out.