Chapter Twenty #2
“Fine.” She steps away, a slight snarl at the corner of her mouth, and makes her way to the passenger side door. Geez, talk about overkill.
Ten minutes later, we pull into the patient drop-off loop at Rockford Memorial. It’s late so I put the brake on and sigh, not looking over at Kincaid, allowing this moment to belong only to her.
Looking straight out my windshield, she’s motionless, silent, here only physically.
Her appointment is in twenty minutes but paperwork and insurance crap needs to be done and depending on which staff member is checking in her, the time will vary.
Programmed surgeries don’t usually happen this time of night but Kincaid can be very persuasive, not to mention that I made a couple of phone calls to explain the situation.
There are a couple of doctors who owe me favors after helping out their kids in car accidents and making sure their names stayed out of the press.
“I’m fine.”
I nod at her words. I haven’t asked anything but I’m glad she thinks she’s okay.
“I know. How about we be fine together?” I reach over, and even though she’s not always comfortable with displays of affection, I place my hand on hers and squeeze.
She sighs and her entire body goes slack. Yes, we’ve got this.
Inside the main lobby, there’s a mixture of calm and faint urgency.
On our way to the surgical registration desk, we pass volunteers in purple vests, nurses walking with purpose and the overpowering smell of disinfectant tickles my senses.
The time of night helps to keep the people around to a low number since most visitors are no longer allowed.
I’m still in my EMT uniform which allows me to bend some rules here and there.
“Can I help y’all?” The woman behind the desk flashes a bright smile and it feels like too much. Almost inappropriate. Kincaid and I stand shoulder to shoulder without touching and I hope she can feel my silent support.
“I have surgery.” When she utters those three words, my mind wanders off for the rest of their exchange. I’m back with my mother after her first attempt at taking out her tumor. A failed attempt.
Suddenly, the stark walls and poignant scent that defines a hospital are like an attack to my senses.
Taking in a deep breath, I snap out of it in time to follow Kincaid as she walks off with her new wristband and clipboard, the nurse returning to her station as if we were never there.
I thank her even though I’m not sure she heard me.
Nurses are the very heartbeat of our hospitals.
Without them, nothing works, nothing is done.
No one can be saved. Her resetting isn’t rude, it’s self preservation.
After filling out the questionnaire, we sit in the waiting room and well…wait. Kincaid leans her head against the wall, silent, staring ahead. Anyone who doesn’t know her would imagine her to be emotionless but that’s ridiculous. She has feelings but they’re hidden behind titanium armor.
That’s okay, this is some scary shit and I’ll be her emotional support human without her even knowing it.
“Why are waiting rooms so damn gloomy?” I break the silence with a question I’ve been wanting to ask for years.
Kincaid slowly turns her head so she can face me, a smirk that could be mistaken for a smile lifting her lips.
“I can deal with the gloom but these chairs are fucking ridiculous.” She scoffs then continues. “Imagine if I die in there and these seats are my last memory.” She turns back and scoffs again, like she didn’t just tell me she’s afraid of dying.
“Nah, your last memory will be of my handsome face.” Dark humor is the only thing that gets people through the hard times.
When they call her name, she actually flinches. I stand first, but I don’t offer my hand. She wouldn’t take it anyway. And to be fair, she doesn’t need it.
There are more questions, more nurses, more hallways until we reach pre-op where it’s colder, quieter and I think she prefers it this way.
We’re led behind a curtain before they hand her gown.
“Ma’am, we need you to change into this, please. Sir, step over here.” I follow the nurse and wait for Kincaid to change. As soon as she’s done, she cracks open the curtain and summons me back in with a glare. Ah, Kincaid’s love language may be confusing to some but I get her.
Looking everywhere except at her, I check out the bed, the machines, the recently washed floors.
“You don’t have to stay.” At her words, my head snaps up and it’s my turn to glare.
“Excuse you, I’m your person and I will stay here until they kick me out.” Which will be soon.
The nurse picks this moment to make her way to the back of the bed, a slight chuckle following her as she hooks Kincaid up to the IV, checks her vitals, and asks the same questions all over again. That’s three times now.
“Miss Ford?” I stand when the surgeon walks in, clipboard in hand. I know him—Dr. Haan—and I’ve heard he’s the best in the state. Thank fuck.
“Yeah.” Her voice is strong but I have a feeling she can’t say much more than that.
“Good to see you again. Okay, let’s go over everything one more time before we head back.
You’re scheduled for a lumpectomy, which means we’ll be removing the tumor along with a small rim of healthy tissue around it.
The goal is to get clear margins while keeping the breast’s shape.
The surgery will last about two hours and the incision will be small and discreet along the natural lines of your breast.”
Dr. Haan continues to explain that the sentinel lymph node biopsy is also minimally invasive but necessary to take a look at where cancer would normally travel. They’re confident that everything should go as planned.
As planned.
It all feels like déjà-vu except my mom was stage three and nothing went to plan. Not a fucking thing.
Kincaid just nods at everything he says and for the first time, I sense her nervous energy because it’s impossible to miss. The only thing I know how to do is lean over and place my hand on hers, offering my support. My strength. My belief that she’s going to be all right. She has to be.
“Sir, we’re gonna need you to go ahead and head to the post-op waiting room. Your girlfriend is in good hands.” Kincaid and I both burst into laughter, and seeing her relax, even if for a second, means everything.
Now, all I can do is wait.
***
“Hmm, I was just thinking about how good my cock would look shoved down your throat and here you are…” Of course Grinder is the first person I run into the second I arrive at the compound two days after Kincaid’s surgery.
I just wanted to check on her. “I think the universe is trying to tell us something.”
The whole way over here, I kept running the different scenarios in my mind.
The one I was hoping for was me somehow sneaking inside without being seen and making it to Kincaid’s room like a ghost hugging the walls.
Surgery went well and she’ll have the results in a couple of weeks, but once she returned to the compound, I felt the need to see her and check her incision.
Knowing Kincaid, she’ll be too focused on appearing strong to say anything if there’s an infection or soreness.
I didn’t even make it through the front door. I’m literally on the last step while Grinder stands in the doorway looking like a god sketched from the minds of Roman artists.
“The only thing the universe wants is for me to go upstairs and help Kincaid.” I try to push my way inside.
Am I annoyed? Yes. Do I know why? Absolutely not.
What I do know is that I haven’t seen him in two weeks and having him this close to me feels electric, like he’s the socket and I’m the grounding prong about to receive a much needed charge.
Or maybe he’s the prong, knowing exactly what he’s hiding behind his zipper.
Grinder leans in, his nose at my throat, and inhales a path all the way to my ear. “Are you thinking about my cock, Doc? I can smell your thoughts.”
How does he do that? All it takes are those filthy words for my dick to get harder than the brick walls of this compound.
“That’s inappropriate.” My voice is low and breathy and, to be honest, I’m not even convincing myself.
“Hmmm,” Grinder steps in closer—didn’t even think that was possible—and I can feel him everywhere.
From the brush of skin on skin, to the sound of his breaths growing more shallow with every feathered touch.
“What’s inappropriate, Spencer, is you ghosting me.
” I can even taste him without having my lips on him.
I can’t decide if he’s the devil or a magician.
Maybe he’s both and this game was rigged from the beginning.
I close my eyes and absorb the hurt that’s seeped into his tone. Looking at him isn’t an option, he’s the sun and I don’t want to go blind.
“I didn’t ghost you. I’ve been busy.” Yeah, busy trying not to come over here.
“Yet Kincaid calls and here you are, not even twenty minutes later.” I’m not even surprised that he knows this place is where secrets come to die.
His fingers pinch my chin and I can feel his hard gaze on me.
I’m stronger than this, goddamn it.
Opening my eyes, I’m met with dark-blue pools almost completely drowned out by his black, dilated pupils. He’s either pissed off or turned on, possibly both. And why do I find that so fucking hot?
“It was urgent, I couldn’t ignore it.” My words are whispered. He’s so close I don’t need to speak any louder.
“Yet you could ignore all twenty-seven text messages and sixteen calls from me?” Holy shit, he counted the number of times he tried to get in touch with me? Instead of sounding desperate, he sounds like a man on a mission and that…is even hotter.
“It didn’t seem urgent.” I sound ridiculous.