Chapter 8
Now
I’m just finishing hanging up the last of my clothing from my suitcase when my phone rings with an incoming FaceTime request. My shoulders slump and I let out a heavy sigh when I see Kyle’s name light up my screen. Swiping, I accept his call.
“To what do I owe the pleasure, Kyle?” I ask him when he comes into view.
He’s wearing the pair of large, wire-rimmed, blue blockers I told him make him look like a creep, and I don’t try to hide my exaggerated eye roll.
“You’re ruining your perfectly good face, you realize that, right?
It’s also extremely hard to take you seriously when you wear those things. ”
He takes them off and makes a show of feigning frustration with me.
Though, maybe he really is frustrated considering the fact I just up and left Paris yesterday and flew to Minnesota with my estranged husband instead of flying back to my place in Nashville.
Oh, and he’s been texting me incessantly since I left about how furious he is with Jax for dismissing my security.
I should probably feel guilty for the extra work he’s complaining of, but I honestly can’t find it in me to.
“Yeah well I don’t have time to fret over whether or not my glasses are up to your fashion standards when I’m dealing with a PR crisis surrounding your sudden disappearance right before you’re due to perform at the Summer Stampede.”
With a huff of annoyance, I murmur, “Oh stop with the theatrics, Kyle. You can spin a story better than anyone I know. Besides, I told you why I’m here.” The last part is a bit clipped because, lately, my patience is wearing thin with him.
Kyle’s eyebrows shoot up his forehead; he’s not used to me speaking my mind with him.
But doing so feels right—freeing. “And I support your decision to seek a second opinion. What I don’t understand is your reasoning behind staying with the man who crushed your heart without a moment’s pause.
You’re a millionaire. If you can’t find a short-term rental, buy a house, for god’s sake.
One with an extra bedroom for Braidy to stay in. ”
I can’t mask my sassy reaction to his suggestion, which Kyle definitely takes notice of. “And who would help take care of me while I’m healing from surgery? It’s not like I can ask that of Braidy, especially considering I hardly know the man.”
“I’ll look into an in-home nursing agency to give you round the clock care. Because I can assure you, Jackson is not the guy to rely on at a time like this. He will hurt you again, Taevin. Mark my words.”
Something about Kyle’s words and the way he said them doesn’t sit right with me. I don’t need his warnings; besides, they’re completely unwarranted. “Hard to hurt me when I plan to keep him at a distance.”
He breathes out a sigh of exasperation. “I sure hope you’re right. Now, can you please tell me what the hell the plan is for the festival?”
An idea spins to life as I think back to what Jackson admitted to me on the plane.
He hasn’t played the guitar in seven years because of me.
The person who taught me how to play my first chord hasn’t played or sang because of me.
If he insists on coming along, I’m going to make a few demands of my own.
Instead of sharing the plans swirling in my head, I ask Kyle, “How many rooms are there in the hotel suite I have booked for Summer Stampede?”
“Two, why?”
“Just wanted to make sure there was a separate room for Jackson to stay in.”
Kyle’s face turns down with a frown. “Why would he be coming?”
“My apparent husband wants to make sure I’m not overexerting myself. See, maybe you’ve judged him too quickly for the boy he was instead of the man he is now.”
Kyle narrows his eyes. “Yes, about that. When were you planning on telling me you’re married?”
It’s my turn to sigh in exasperation because I knew this conversation was coming. If the dozens of texts awaiting me after I woke up in the hospital were any sort of indication. “Well considering I didn’t know I was married, I’m not sure how I would have told you.”
His brows wrinkle as he looks off to the side of his phone, likely typing away at an email on his computer. “What do you mean? Were you drunk when it happened?”
I roll my eyes at that because he knows damn well I wasn’t much of a drinker prior to entering the spotlight. “No. I remember marrying him perfectly fine. I also remember signing annulment paperwork that was apparently never filed.”
That seems to garner his attention because he snaps his focus back to me. “Do you need me to get legal up to speed?”
I shake my head. “No. I’m handling this on my own.”
“Taevin—” Kyle starts, but I’m in no mood to be placated.
“I’ve got to go. Big appointment tomorrow morning. See ya.”
Before he gets the chance, I end the call and toss my phone onto the giant guest king bed I can’t wait to crawl into.
I’m obsessed with this guest room, though, it’s weird—one would actually think it feels more like the primary bedroom, what with the largest walk-in closet I’ve ever seen, the en suite bathroom, and it being on the main level.
Speaking of which, I walk into the en-suite and admire the oversized soaking tub I very distinctly remember telling Jackson I wanted in my dream home someday. And this one is beyond anything I could’ve dreamed up.
It’s dark, yet cozy instead of cold. The walls are a slate gray marble tile from the floors to the vaulted ceiling with thick, dark wooden beams contrasting against the white paint.
And a black stone tub sits in the middle of the room as the focal point in front of the most beautiful window that has to be at least ten feet.
On either side of the bathroom are dual vanities, only further making me believe this was meant to be the primary bedroom.
I wonder why Jackson wouldn’t sleep here—it’s perfect down to the very smallest detail. Though I guess I haven’t seen the rest of the house. There’s a very real possibility his bedroom is even more serene.
When we pulled up to the house earlier and Jackson saw how overwhelmed I was, he bypassed the front door and instead led me to the back patio’s entrance to the guest room, assuring me he’d give me a house tour after I got unpacked while he made us something to eat.
Unsure of how seeing the space he so clearly built with our dreams in mind will affect me, I walk to the beautiful tub and turn on the faucet before going in search of some bubbles or salts.
My breath hitches when I find rose petal bath bombs and rose scented bubble bath.
When would he have had time to get these?
Clearly he’s had these for a while, considering we just landed in Minneapolis only hours ago.
Or maybe he has an assistant that ran to the store for him while we were getting our bags and some of his things from his condo?
Instead of wasting any more time on the logistics of how or why he has these items, I grab them and soak in the bath until my feet are pruned and the alarm on my phone goes off reminding me to take my meds with dinner.
I’m exhausted and jetlagged, but this appointment tomorrow morning is the sole reason I’m in Minnesota right now.
It’s time to set aside my grievances with Jackson and focus on my health.
Or, at least, that’s what I try to tell myself as I towel off and get changed with anxiety’s thick burden weighing heavy on my chest.
Dr. Stephanie Prescott is a petite woman with an overpowering presence.
I’m not sure how she managed to pull it off, because I was dead set on not liking her just to spite Jackson, but when I met her, she immediately put me at ease.
I quickly came to the conclusion I couldn’t fight this battle without her on my team.
We’re sitting in her office at Mayo Clinic in Rochester, Minnesota after I’ve gone through a number of tests and had imaging completed for her to review.
It’s already been a long day with the drive here this morning, and a quick lunch break that left me feeling even more exhausted from the awkward tension between me and Jax. And the topic we’re currently discussing is one I would rather steer clear of while my estranged husband is in the room.
“This is a lot to process at once, but I strongly urge you to reconsider delaying surgery. We could get you in as soon as tomorrow,” Dr. Prescott informs me.
“I have a prior commitment, and my medical team in Nashville had said I could have my tumor resection once I got back from my performance. They didn’t mention I’d need a full hysterectomy,” I explain, completely numb from the news I’ve just received.
The tumor has grown. The cancer has likely spread beyond just my cervix. Hysterectomy is the best treatment option.
“Could you still wait to do the tumor resection until after my egg retrieval surgery?”
“The time for aggressive surgical intervention is now, Taevin. I apologize if your previous team was willing to delay surgery for a round of egg retrieval, but I strongly advise against it. Your images today show the larger tumor in your endometrium has grown since your last imaging. Based on the biopsy done at the Nashville facility, they determined your tumor is a grade two, meaning we can anticipate the cancer cells to spread at a moderate rate; therefore, I do not recommend delaying surgery any longer than we already have. When do you get back from your performance? We could schedule you the Monday after.”
My throat swells and my stomach churns with bitter regret. I never should’ve waited. Now I may have missed my only shot at ever having children of my own.
As if she can sense where my thoughts have wandered, Dr. Prescott explains, “If we find the cancer has not spread to your ovaries, we’ll keep them, and after you’ve recovered from your hysterectomy, you could attempt an egg retrieval to use for IVF with a surrogate if you choose.”
“Do the eggs need to be fertilized with sperm upon retrieval?” I ask in a faraway voice I don’t recognize as my own.
I feel so detached. So cold. “If so, I’ll need to find a sperm donor.
Do you have resources you could provide me with?
” There’s a scoff from my side, though I don’t pay it any attention.
I can see Dr. Prescott, but it mostly feels like I’m staring straight through her. She glances to my side before clearing her throat. “They do not. We can do egg freezing versus embryo freezing, though embryo freezing has a higher success rate for pregnancy than egg freezing.”
Jackson grabs my hand in his, and for a moment I almost forgot he’s here beside me. “Can we get more information on embryo freezing?”
My head snaps up to meet his gaze but I’m met with his profile instead as he continues to face the doctor.
“Jackson, I can’t ask that of—” I start but he shakes his head and turns, giving me a look that says we can discuss this further later, which we most certainly will.
How could he possibly want to have children with me? My eggs are probably compromised by now anyway. And that’s if they’ll even be able to retrieve any. If I’m even able to keep my ovaries. I choke back a sob threatening to escape.
Not here. Not now. Keep it together.
I silently repeat the mantra to myself as Jackson continues to ask Dr. Prescott further questions about my surgery, my anticipated recovery timeline, when the egg retrieval process will begin, and when we’ll know more about my treatment options post-op.
His questions have clearly been researched, and he asks some of them after glancing at a note on his phone.
He took notes.
The scene before me is too overwhelming. Jackson, the first and only man I’ve ever loved, is sitting in an oncologist’s office with me. He’s asking questions on my behalf—questions I should’ve thought up on my own—and taking notes on his phone with my doctor’s responses.
I block out his questions and her answers for the most part, but my back stiffens and my ears perk up when I hear him ask, “Can you walk me through more of what we can expect after the egg retrieval? How long will we have to wait to know how many eggs were successfully retrieved? When will we know the number of embryos? And at what point do they become blastocysts?”
We? Why is he asking all of these questions with the word “we” in them?
“Blastocysts?” I hear myself echo the word in question.
“Those are great questions, I’m glad you asked.
” Dr. Prescott focuses her attention on me as she continues.
“Taevin, you will know how many eggs were retrieved upon waking up from anesthesia. We then will take the eggs and fertilize them if that is what you choose to do. It typically takes one to two days for a fertilized egg to become an embryo. You can anticipate knowing how many viable embryos become blastocysts five to six days after fertilization. Blastocysts are embryos which have reached a more advanced developmental stage, and have a higher chance of implanting successfully. We typically freeze at the blastocyst stage because they have a higher success rate with thawing and implantation.”
I feel as though I’m frozen in time, watching my life happen as an outsider looking in.
I’m filled with anguish as I sit here in an uncomfortable chair across from an oncologist, wishing so many things could’ve gone differently in the past decade that didn’t leave me here on the verge of being infertile.
If there’s one thing I’ve always hoped and prayed for in my future, it was to become a mother. And now, the ability to grow and carry my own child is being stripped from me. Again.