Chapter 17
CHAPTER
SEVENTEEN
FARRAH
It’s Friday night, and I’m sitting in the bathroom after a military promotion party—a job the general recommended us for. The venue is a local officer’s club, and the bathroom is simple and clean. There’s one chair in here, where I’m taking up residence because of a stomachache. The chair is stiff and uncomfortable, and making my stomachache worse. I tighten my arms around my waist but flinch under the pressure.
The party went surprisingly late; these military guys sure know how to party. Thankfully, the service members are tearing everything down, so I only have to carry the dessert plates to my car. Mel started feeling awful and left early with West. I urged her to go, knowing I didn’t have much to do, and the guys just got back from New York last night.
But now I’m regretting that decision. I have a twisting, aching pain all around my belly button. My period is over, so it’s not cramps. I don’t know if it’s something I ate, or if I’m just stressed about the events we have coming up and the fact that Mel is either exhausted, or sick, lately. She’s been feeling better, well enough to help with events. But she’s not the powerhouse she was before. Understandably so, but still, I’m left scrambling.
I’m not the planner and organizer at Melarrah Events—that’s Mel. I’m simply here to bake.
An hour ago, when Mel and West left, I felt a tiny ache and thought nothing of it. But it’s growing more and more intense the longer I sit in this bathroom. I’m wondering if I can even stand back up from the chair I’m in.
The pain intensifies and I can no longer get comfortable, even though I’m seated. I try to think of who to call…there are no scheduled games this weekend as the guys prepare for the final three games in round one next week. So, all my friends are busy. My mother is in town for a long weekend, but she’s with Nella while Remy and Amber are on an overnight date. Noel and Colby whisked themselves away to visit his dad and little sister, and Mitch and Andie are out of town for her brother’s youth hockey tournament.
Bruce pops into my mind, he’s the only other person I know in D.C. But it feels strange to call him for a favor. I was already at his penthouse twice last weekend and sent him that flirty text that I’ve been fretting over all week.
What was I thinking? Hinting at being his good luck charm? So stupid.
I’m not lucky at all. I can’t even be my own good luck charm!
I can hear chatter and banging around outside the women’s restroom, it sounds like they’re tearing down the party.
Trying not to overthink it, I pull my phone out of the pocket of my black pants, wincing with the movement. My eyes widen with the pain. Oh no, what if it’s my appendix? Didn’t Mel have appendicitis when she was younger? If only she was still here.
I shoot a text to Bruce, a tear streaming down my cheek as I suffer through the ache deep in my belly.
Farrah
Hey, I’m sorry to bother you on a weekend, but I’m at an event, and I think I might need to go to the ER. Everyone is out of town and Mel went home not feeling well, and I don’t know what to do.
My phone lights up a second later with an incoming call from Bruce. My face crumples in relief, deep down I know he’ll help me—rescue me. It’s nice to have someone who’s willing to do that.
“Hey,” I croak out.
“Where are you?”
“If you’re busy, it’s okay?—”
He cuts me off. “Where. Are. You.” His voice is calm but demanding.
Tears roll down my face. “The Gold Club right outside of Andrews Air Force Base.”
He’s silent for a moment, maybe he’s looking up the directions. “I’ll be there in thirty minutes.”
“Okay.” We hang up and I lower myself to the bathroom floor. I ignore how disgusting it is to lie on the floor of a public bathroom, because I can’t make it another moment without lying down to relieve some pressure from my stomach.
I lie there on my side, crying, for what feels like hours. I begin to worry that everyone has left and locked up, and there will be no way for Bruce to get inside.
My heart sags with relief when I hear his booming voice outside the door. “Farrah? Farrah?”
“In here!” I say as loud as I can without jostling myself.
He bursts into the room, dressed like he was out. Oh my, what if he was on a date?
“Farrah,” he whispers, kneeling down right next to me. “What’s wrong?”
“I think it’s my appendix,” I sob. “I’m so sorry.”
He shushes me, sweeping a strand of now sweaty hair away from my face. “Can you get up? Should I call an ambulance?”
“I think I can get up,” I say. I try to move my legs, but it disturbs the ache in my stomach too much. Instead, I groan and lay my legs down on the floor. “It hurts, Bruce. It hurts so bad.”
“I’m going to pick you up, okay? I’ve gotta get you into the pickup.”
I nod, gritting my teeth and knowing the movement will cause more of the shooting pain.
He picks me up in one quick swoop and although it hurts, it feels good to be in his arms. Knowing someone who cares about me is here and taking care of me.
I feel faint and covered in a cold sweat. This is not my proudest moment. Bruce gets me to his pickup and somehow opens his passenger side door while holding me. It’s like bearing my full weight is nothing to him. Like I’m a tiny little fairy. Which I’m not.
There’s just one long seat in his old truck, he lays me onto the seat on my side, buckles a seatbelt over me, and heads toward the driver’s side.
Once he’s inside, he takes up most of the bench seat. I have to bend my neck down to allow him more room. Bruce surprises me by gently lifting my head and resting it on his thigh. I’m much more comfortable that way, and in too much pain to overthink it.
He starts driving and once we’re well on our way, he brings one hand to rest on top of my arm. His skin is warm against mine and I close my eyes at how comforting the contact is.
The truck is quiet as he drives. I glance up at him and notice his jaw is tense with worry. He looks wound up and ready to fight someone. Like my ailment has personally offended him. Probably because I ruined his date tonight.
We hit a bump in the road, and I groan in pain. Bruce’s worried gaze flashes down to me and his arm comes to rest on my arm. “We’re almost to the hospital, hang in there.”
Moments later bright lights illuminate the cab of the truck, and I squint against the sudden brightness. Bruce pulls over and puts his truck in park and rushes out of the vehicle. Soon, people are opening the passenger door and making me move out of my comfortable spot on Bruce’s leather seat. I’m beginning to think this old thing is lucky. I cry as the ER nurses lift me onto a hospital bed and wheel me through several large doorways and long, sterile hallways. Bruce runs to keep up with them, but when we get to a final door, the male nurse turns and looks at him. “Sir, are you family?”
Bruce locks eyes with me. I don’t want to be alone, and he must see that fact written across my face. “I’m a friend.”
“Sorry, sir. Only family is allowed back,” the male nurse says, then leaves Bruce behind us as they wheel me back into a dimly lit curtained off area.
“Alright, first we need to get some information on you,” the other nurse says. Her badge reads Shona. She gets behind a computer and starts asking me numerous questions. Height, weight, medications, illnesses, insurance. The whole bit. Then my vitals are taken, and the male nurse, who introduces himself as Brad, administrates an I.V.
“This will help the pain,” he says. I usually hate needles, but the needle is nothing compared to the pain in my stomach. I barely even notice it.
Finally, the two nurses tell me a doctor will be in shortly, then usher out of the room. The pain meds work their magic quickly, and the pain eases enough that it no longer hurts to breathe.
An hour later the doctor has spoken to me and ordered a CT scan. I fall asleep waiting for the radiologist to come get me and take me back, but the CT scan doesn’t take long.
After another half hour, the doctor sweeps into my room again. He’s a thin, balding man who looks like he hasn’t slept in weeks, and I’m pretty sure he hates his job.
“The CT scan showed you had a ruptured ovarian cyst.” He eyes me warily. “The cyst was about five centimeters in diameter, but they’re usually not painful.” Dr. Grumpy-Face purses his lips. “You’re sure your pain level was a ten?”
I swallow back a snarky retort. “It was the worst pain I’ve ever felt.”
He shrugs. “Well, luckily they’re not life threatening.” The infuriating man sighs. “You’ll be on your way as soon as I finish your paperwork. Do you have a ride? You can’t drive with the medication we gave you.”
“I can find a ride,” I say. I’ll have to call my mom to come get me. I’m sure Bruce went home; it’s been two hours since we arrived here.
The doctor nods and exits the room. I grab my phone off my lap and pull up my mother’s contact information, I’m about to press call when the male nurse, Brad, steps into the room with a stapled stack of discharge paperwork.
“I’m assuming the gentleman in the waiting area is your ride?”
My eyes widen. “Oh, didn’t he go home?”
He shakes his head from side to side.
“Yeah, he’s my ride,” my words are muddled since I can’t believe he waited this whole time.
Glancing down at the time on my phone, I breathe a sigh of relief that I don’t have to call Mom. It’s already nearly midnight, and she would’ve had to wake Nella and bring her all the way across town to get me.
I sign the papers, and Brad helps me into a wheelchair, wheeling me quickly out to the waiting room where Bruce is alert and waiting in an uncomfortable-looking chair. His hair is a mess, and I wonder if he’s been running his hands through it. It’s sticking up in every direction and somehow this adds to his boy-next-door vibe.
Brad looks at Bruce. “You’ll want to monitor her tonight and bring her back in if her pain increases.”
Bruce nods, obviously taking this very seriously, and then Brad wheels me out to Bruce’s truck.
Brad eyes the old pickup with a disapproving scowl while Bruce helps me into the truck. The nurse leaves quickly, taking the wheelchair with him, and Bruce and I are left alone in the quiet, dark cab.
“Are you okay? What was wrong?”
He’s being awfully nosy, but if I can call him on a Friday night when he was likely on a date, can’t I tell him what was wrong with me?
Is it weird to talk about my feminine health? Or lack thereof.
I bite the insides of my cheeks, wondering how much to tell him. “I’m okay, it was an ovarian cyst.”
He studies me, his eyes moving over my face. “I don’t know a lot about that…are they usually painful?”
He’s not being condescending like the doctor, he’s just curious.
“If a cyst is large, it can be painful. I knew the cysts were there, but I’ve never had one explode before.”
He snorts a humorless laugh. “So, you’re kind of a ticking time bomb, eh?”
It’s oddly refreshing to joke about this. I’m so used to the pity when people find out about my medical history and how it will be difficult to conceive…but he’s right. I’m like a living, breathing landmine.
I burst out laughing, which causes a dull ache around my belly button. I groan and wrap my arms around myself.
“Do we need to go back in?” he asks, his expression laced with concern.
“No, I’m fine, really. Would you be able to take me home? Or do you have to get back to your date?” The question is out of my mouth before I can stop it.
He starts the truck with a rumble from the engine then turns to stare at me. “You thought I was on a date?”
I shrug, trying to act like I don’t care either way.
“I wasn’t on a date. I haven’t been on a date in about a year and a half,” he says this sheepishly, then shifts the truck into reverse and backs out of the parking spot. “I was at a bookstore, actually.”
A year and a half . Surely, he’s exaggerating. “Were you looking for a specific book?” I ask, trying not to dwell on the year and a half comment.
He runs his tongue along his front teeth. “I got a book about chess. Jackson beats me every damn time, and I’m determined to best him one of these days.”
I shake my head. “A little competitive, are we?”
“You don’t make it to the NHL without being competitive.”
“True,” I say, looking away from the handsome man and at the road for the first time since we started driving. “Wait, where are you going?”
“My penthouse.”
“Bruce, I’m not sleeping at your place. Take me home, I’ll be fine.”
He glances at me then back to the road. “Your brother mentioned whisking Amber away this weekend, so there’s no one there to help you if you need it.”
“My mother is staying this weekend. She’s there now with Nella.”
“Okay, well this will keep you from waking them up. I have nothing going on; I can help. Plus, my place is much closer, and you look exhausted.”
I sigh. His place is closer. It would probably take an extra hour for him to take me home… then he’d have to drive all the way back.
Sitting back against the leather bench seat, I wonder how I keep ending up at Bruce McBride’s penthouse.