Chapter Eighteen
Darcy
Fifteen years.
It’s been fifteen years since I last had kidney stones.
I groan, clutching at the invisible pain in my side. In an instant, Hayden is at my bedside offering to give me water and to page a nurse. I swat her away, but she only moves a few inches, gripping her phone in her hands, which are positioned in front of her chest. Like she’s hugging the device.
“Do you need to, um, use the restroom? I have the strainer right here.”
An ulcerated laugh escapes me at her stilted awkwardness.
“No,” I say through another groan, a wave of nausea washing over me. What caused this? My diet hasn’t changed. I’ve kept dairy and acidic food intake to a minimum. Another swell of throbbing, unbearable pain pulsates within my side and back. Nausea builds and—“Give me the bucket!”
Something shatters on the floor, but I don’t have time to be concerned. I heave over my bedside, praying to God that Hayden made it in time with the bucket.
Through the torment, vomiting, and tears, my thoughts center around one thing: Hayden will never see me the same way, and all authority I thought I once held with her has run away screaming.
With the amount of blackmail material she has on me now, she’s the boss.
“Here, drink this.” Hayden’s soft voice caresses my chilled, sweaty skin like a gentle kiss. She holds a cup of water with a straw in front of my face. Closing my eyes, I part my lips and take the plastic straw between my teeth and relish in the cool taste of water.
“Ah, that’s good.” I sigh, letting my head fall back into the pillow.
“Maybe you should try to go to the restroom,” Hayden says, concern lacing her voice. “If you pass it, you’ll feel much better.”
“Page a nurse then.” The last thing I need is for Hayden to escort me to the bathroom. Walking is beyond complicated right now.
“It would look,” she swallows, “bad if someone other than me helped you get to the restroom.”
“They’ve signed nondisclosure agreements.”
Hayden huffs. “Just let me help you, husband. It’s our two-month wedding anniversary, after all.”
My stomach stirs again, and I’m reach for the bucket Hayden set beside the bed. Nothing comes out, though.
“Fine. But just help me get to the handrail inside the restroom.”
Hayden places one of her hands on my back while I clasp the other with my own hand. I take notice of her outfit at that moment—a thin number, but professional. Yellow, of course, but cute and fitting for her. Perfect for the sweltering, Texas weather we should be sweating in right now.
Not cold hospital room temperatures. She must be freezing.
With sheer willpower on my end and strength I didn’t realize Hayden had, I’m heaved out of the bed and onto my feet.
The moment they touch the cool floor, my knees wobble and buckle.
Hayden’s arms scoop and catch me under my armpits, and I’m horrifically aware she is carrying my full weight.
Even though she is slightly taller than the average woman, I still tower over her slim frame.
With a tug, she lifts me back to my feet, and I manage to find some semblance of steadiness. “There you go,” she whispers, adjusting us so I have one arm around her shoulders while she holds me by my waist. Her thin clothes cling to her body, not in a revealing way, but in a cute way.
And that’s the second time I’ve thought of her as cute in the span of minutes. I really am sick. Hayden is beautiful; I will always acknowledge that. But cute? That’s a special term of endearment.
We wobble our way to the restroom, I take hold of the handrail, and she vacates the premises. Very carefully, I untie the hospital robe in the back and situate myself into a more comfortable position when the door flies open.
Our eyes lock for a moment, wide with a certain horror that would rival my childhood expression when forced to watch something like Freddy Kruger with Ren.
Hayden’s eyes flick downward before two high-pitched screams ring out.
I scramble to close the hospital gown around me as she slams the door.
I’m mildly concerned at how my voice managed to match hers.
The greater concern is that Hayden saw me practically buck naked preparing to urinate to pass a kidney stone.
Mortification doesn’t begin to describe the feelings I’m experiencing. I’d rather live with this stupid kidney stone than walk out of this restroom. I’d rather lose the presidency than see Hayden ever again. I’d rather…
“I’m sorry! I’m sorry! I’m sorry! You forgot the cup you need before using the strainer and I didn’t think to knock and—”
“Just,” I begin, fighting the urge to die right here and now, “stick it through a crack in the door.”
The door creaks open just enough for her hand to slide through, holding the clear cup. Careful not to touch her skin in any manner, I take the cup and shove the door closed.
“Gosh, dangit!” she screeches, and the cup falls from my startled hands.
“What is it?” I holler. As I bend to pick the cup up off the floor, excruciating pain floods my side and back, causing ripples of nausea.
Falling to my knees, I dry heave into the toilet knowing nothing is coming out, while Hayden curses under her breath on the other side of the door.
When my stomach settles, I collapse against the toilet and glance in the direction of Hayden’s mumbled words.
The door is wide open, and Hayden is clutching her right wrist with tears in her eyes.
A curse slips from my lips as I realize what happened. “Hayden, jeez.” I take a panicked breath. “I’m so sorry.”
“It’s fine,” she hisses. No. It’s not fine. Not even remotely.
I hurt her.
Grabbing the railing, I lift myself to my knees. “Come here. Let me see your wrist.”
Her eyes meet mine, and something inside me fractures at the pain twisted into her features. Her normally perky eyebrows are knitted, and her eyes, which usually contain the power of the sun, are dim. Her full lips are frowning, not emitting their typical glossy glow.
“Cover yourself first,” she chokes out, closing her eyes.
I look down and see way too much hip and thigh on display, courtesy of loose ties. Thankfully, she’s not getting a full-on picture of my backside again. I quickly adjust the gown and re-tie it. Triple knots.
“All good.” I say, attempting to mask any ounce of embarrassment from my voice. She faces me again and takes a few cautious steps into the bathroom. I hold out my hand for her wrist, but she stares at my hand as if it’s covered in leprosy. “Let me see your wrist, Hayden.”
Maintaining dignity and control is vital in situations like these where your legally-real but emotionally-fake wife has seen your bare-naked butt, held your vomit bucket, and now looms over you as you are on your knees in front of a hospital toilet.
She places her wrist in my open hand. I wince at the sight of the open cut, the blood, and the bruise that’s already forming around said cut, traveling from the bottom of her thumb across the bottom of her wrist. Gently flipping her hand over, I find a perfect mirror of the wound already forming on top of her wrist.
“I’m so sorry, Hayden. I should have waited for you to be completely clear of the door before attempting to push it closed. Let’s call a nurse to attend to this.”
She snorts. “So that they can accuse you of abuse and run a smear campaign? Yeah, right. I’ll take care of this myself.” Hayden removes her hand from mine. The space in my open palm suddenly feels cold.
“Again, nondisclosure agreement. We could sue the pants off them if something from this hospital visit leaks to the press.”
“Maybe you should sue their pants off anyways. You seem to be in desperate need of them.” Hayden looks me over, and I swallow the heat crawling up my neck and face. “Still,” she continues, “if it leaks, the damage is done. You know how they will twist every narrative.”
Ignoring her bad joke, I sigh. “You’re right. At least let me help you bandage it.”
Hayden laughs dryly as she holds her wrist. “After you pee in the cup and pass this kidney stone. I need my candidate back in action. I don’t want to play wife anymore. It’s kind of exhausting.”
Is it really that exhausting to be my wife? My partner?
After this fiasco of a day, she’s probably right.
“Don’t worry. I’ll be good as new in no time.”
“Good.” I don’t miss the way her eyes softened alongside her voice. I glance at her, remembering I’m on my knees. Judging by the catch in her breath and the smile playing on her lips, she’s noticed it, too.
Remembering the encounter from a month ago in the paintball arena…
Hayden crosses her arms—careful of her injured wrist—and leans to one side. “I like this view, come to think of it. This is the second time you’ve been on your knees in front of me, Darcy.”
I scowl, and she grins. “Get out so I can,” I look anywhere but at her, “do my business.”
“Yes, sir, Mr. Marshall.”
“Don’t call me sir.”
“Okay, Killjoy.” She laughs, genuinely this time, and the ache in my chest loosens. But not the one in my back and side. I groan as a new tsunami of pain crashes into me. Hayden’s laughter comes to a screeching halt, and she’s quick to assist. “Here. Let me help you up.”
There is no point in denying her help. I can’t get up on my own.
I need her. “Okay.”
With her uninjured hand, she aids me in standing.
Most of my weight leans onto the handrail in the bathroom, and I am back on my feet in a matter of seconds.
“Thank you.” I drop my gaze, unable to meet her eyes.
Amidst the exhaustion, embarrassment, and excruciating pain, Hayden has stood tall by my side.
Even as I thanked her by (accidentally) slamming her hand into the thick door.
She’s the bravest soldier fighting on the frontlines in my army of one.
Hayden is walking out when I snap my head up and call out her name. She spins around, eyes wide with concern.
“Hayden, I—” What am I trying to say? What words are hiding in the depths of my consciousness? What is this that I’m feeling?
“Yes?”
Unable to formulate a coherent thought to tell her just how grateful I am for her, I speak skin-level words. “I’m glad you’re here.”
My bones ache, but not because of illness. At least, not the physical kind.
She tugs her phone out of her back pocket, and I notice the screen is cracked. Is that what she dropped earlier? “Say it one more time. I’m going to record it and replay it every time you go all surly cave man on me, okay?”
I narrow my eyes and scowl. She laughs, and then Hayden and her sass finally exit the bathroom.
Careful to make sure the door is firmly shut this go round, I untie my gown and begin the excruciating process of passing this dang kidney stone. I think I’ll put the stone in a jar of acid and watch it crumble after what this thing has put me through today.
Maybe that’s a bit harsh, but that’s me. I’m harsh. And apparently the cause of my wife’s exhaustion.
The words sting more than I think they should, and I know now, as clear as day, what I have to do.
I have to consider the possibility that I have real feelings for my real wife.
Because if I’m being one-hundred percent honest with myself, I don’t think I would have made it through this without her.
And there’s no universe where I would choose to go through it without her if given the opportunity.