Chapter 38
CHAPTER
THIRTY-EIGHT
FARRAH
I’m at the big house this morning, spending time with my oven. The air in the house is warm and smells of freshly baked bread. It’s my favorite scent…besides whatever Bruce smells like. But I’m pushing that thought from my mind.
Amber took the day off since Remy is home from his away trip today. He’s currently in bed sound asleep after arriving home around four in the morning, so I’m baking up some whole wheat bread for him to have when he wakes up.
Amber stalks into the kitchen and smiles when she spots me staring at the gorgeous piece of baking equipment that I’m still in awe of. She slowly shakes her head.
“What?” I ask.
“If you don’t know, I’m not telling you.”
I turn and rest my butt on the oven. “Just spill.”
She waves me off. “You’re not ready to hear it.”
I cross my arms. “Yes, I am.”
She crosses her arms and quirks a brow. “Fine. You’re in love with that man, and it’s frustrating to watch you torture yourself by staying away from him.”
My jaw drops and I let out a little huff. Deep down, I know she’s right, but I’m not ready to admit it. Her flippant way of saying it makes me prickle, but I’ve been strangely emotional all day. I think it’s just the stress of the entire situation, but something feels…off kilter. “We’re better off?—”
She interrupts me. “Bruce isn’t Connor, and you know it.”
I tsk, my eyes burning, and I don’t understand why. “I’m not sure I like this sassy side of you.” This is the thing about living in close proximity with your sister-in-law and seeing her almost every day—your relationship becomes sisterly. It’s great because I feel close to her, but complicated because we speak our minds more often than not.
My niece runs into the room, breaking the tension. She sees how her mother is standing. Nella mirrors the pose, sticking out her bottom lip and crossing her arms.
Amber glances down at her daughter and smirks. “Well, get used to it because there are two of us,” she says with a teasing lilt.
Unable to help it, I crack a smile. “My brother has his hands full.”
Amber’s expression grows serious. “You know I just love you and want you to be happy, right?”
“I know,” I tell her.
“Wose made a mess,” Nella says. Wose means Rose. Amber and I look at each other wide eyed.
“Uh-oh.” Amber rushes into the living room to see what the mess is. Nella scurries after her, and I’m left alone with my thoughts.
Am I in love with Bruce? And am I really just making this unnecessarily hard for both of us? I hate that I don’t trust my own judgement. And I hate that I’m worried about the crushing weight of being rejected again. I want to go back in time before Connor, when I was full of hope and trust. And I want that version of me to meet and fall in love with Bruce.
But that’s not the version of me he fell for. And he loves this Farrah. As impossible as that seems to me.
But instead, I’m fighting the deep-seeded fear that I’m taking something away from him by letting him love me. A life with me would be more complicated than it might be with someone else.
I allow myself to picture us together, and to wonder if I could allow myself to love him and trust him completely—the way he deserves to be loved—when a dull ache thrums in my stomach. My hand comes to rest on my belly button, and I rub at the area through my shirt. It’s probably nothing.
Ten minutes later, the oven timer beeps, and I bend to remove the bread. The pain grows, moving lower now, and I wince. I use oven mitts to pull the bread out, turn off the oven and rest my back against the kitchen counter. The pain is familiar now, just like that night I was tearing down our event, and Bruce came to take me to the hospital. Only this time, I think it’s even worse. And it’s intensifying rapidly.
I slide to the floor and even though there are crumbs on the tile from Nella carrying her waffle through the house earlier, I lay down in hopes to ease the pain.
My phone is on the counter, and I don’t feel like I can stand back up to get it, so I just lie there with my cheek against the cool tile, waiting for someone to find me.
Rose finds me first, whimpering when she sees me and pressing her wet nose to my hairline in a loving sniff. She lays down beside me and I lift my hand to pet her soft head, but even that movement adds to my discomfort. It hurts everywhere, it hurts to breathe, it hurts to think.
“Farrah!” I hear Amber’s voice, finally. “What’s wrong?” She kneels on the ground so I can see her, her expression is frantic with worry.
“I think it’s another ovarian cyst.” I barely can get the words out, and just the effort of speaking has a cold sweat breaking out along my chest and face.
“Oh no. What can I do?”
I consider her question through the pain, unable to articulate what I truly want. All I can think about is how Bruce showed up last time this happened, and how safe he made me feel. How careful he was, and protective. I think of him sitting in the waiting room for hours when he could’ve gone home. And what I really want, is him to be here again. Nothing else seems to matter in this moment. I want Bruce. I need Bruce.
“I’ll get Remy,” Amber says, her voice stricken. She stands up to get my brother, but I stop her.
“No,” I say, the panic in my voice surprising me. “Bruce. Please. I want Bruce.”
She nods before rushing off to another room. I faintly hear her on the phone but can’t make out the conversation. A short moment later, my brother is in front of me. He slides a small pillow under my head.
“Farrah, I think we should get you to the hospital.”
“It would be a waste,” I say hoarsely. “They’ll just tell me cysts shouldn’t cause this much pain.”
His dark eyes are full of worry, and I see his mind working, trying to figure out what to do. “Can you move to the couch? You’d be more comfortable.”
“Don’t you dare touch me,” I say through gritted teeth.
He takes a deep breath. “Bruce is on his way; he should be here soon.”
I lower my chin in a nod, and an overwhelming sense of relief washes over me despite the pain. I wasn’t sure Bruce would come to me after everything I’ve put him through. Hopefully he doesn’t change his mind on the way here. I wouldn’t blame him if he did. I force my eyes closed again but I hear him moments later when he comes through the front door.
“Farrah,” his voice is close and the softness in his tone soothes my aching soul. I think this man is a balm to me, a medicine. Bruce McBride could heal me in ways I never imagined.
When I force my eyes open, the light from the kitchen makes my head throb. But I can make out his large form. He’s on the kitchen floor, shuffling himself onto his side. His warm, calloused hand comes to gently rest on the side of my face and tears spring to my eyes at how comforting it is. “Yeux Bleus,” he whispers. “I’m here.”
His soft, simple words are what allow my tears to finally release and roll down my cheeks. I feel the warm liquid pool against my nose and ear, but Bruce wipes the tears away.
“Is the pain worse than last time?” He asks.
I nod, trying not to move too much. “Yes.” Swallowing, I force my eyes open wider to take him in. His scruff covered jaw and messy hair are the best thing I’ve seen all week. “I wasn’t sure you’d come.”
His hand slides from my face to my hairline, cupping my face a little tighter. “I’ll always come to you. Don’t ever doubt that.”
“I’m so sorry, Bruce. For everything.”
“Shhhh, we can talk about everything later, okay? Right now, we need to get you to the hospital.”
“No.” I hear the alarm in my voice. The thought of being moved right now is the worst thing I can imagine. “I can’t move.”
“Baby, you’re so pale. And you feel feverish. I want to make sure you’re okay. Remember last time? We’ll count to three and I’ll pick you up. That’ll be the worst of it, then you’ll lie in the truck, and we’ll be on our way.”
“Okay.” My chin wobbles. I know he’s right. This time is different than last time. And much, much worse.
I brace myself for him to pick me up, and like last time, it hurts so bad to be moved that I think I might pass out. But soon, I’m resting on my side in his pickup that I’ve come to love, and we’re on our way to the hospital.
When we get to the ER and the nurses transfer me to a bed, I finally pass out from the pain of being jostled around. When I wake up, I have no idea how long it’s been, but Bruce is in a chair in the corner of the small hospital room. He jumps up and crosses the room when he notices my eyes are open. His hand comes to rest on top of mine as he looks me over. “Are you feeling better? They gave you some strong pain meds.”
My belly is sore, but I feel tingly and warm all over from the medication. “Yes. Much better. I can’t believe they let you come back with me.” My voice is groggy and barely recognizable.
Bruce blushes. “Um, I told them I was your husband. Sorry.”
A dry laugh comes out of me and Bruce turns to get me a water cup that has the hospital’s logo on it. He holds it up and I take a long swig from the bendy straw.
“Thank you.”
“The doctor is supposed to be in soon; they did some scans while you were out.”
As if summoned, a doctor wearing black scrubs and a white lab coat knocks on the door frame and steps inside the room. It’s a woman this time, and she has kind eyes. I’m relieved it’s not the same doctor as last time.
“Farrah?” She asks and I nod. She has brown skin and short, dark hair. I’d guess she’s only a few years older than me. “I have some unfortunate news; would you like your husband to stay in the room?” She looks from me to Bruce and then back to me again.
“I’d like him to stay,” I say, nerves assailing me at her words. But I don’t want Bruce to leave me. He sits carefully on the bed beside me and takes my hand in his.
She takes a breath and sits on the roller stool that was pushed to a corner in the room “I looked at your scans,” she says, jumping right in without small talk, which I’m grateful for. “Your cyst was quite large, six centimeters. Sometimes, unfortunately, when cysts are that big, it can cause complications and affect the area around it. In this case, the ruptured cyst caused a torsion and twisted your fallopian tube. We’ll need to perform a laparoscopic procedure to straighten it out. But there’s a chance the damage could be worse than we feared and then we would need to remove the fallopian tube completely.”
It takes me what feels like a full minute to comprehend what she’s saying. Bruce squeezes my hand and the reminder that he’s here bolsters me. “Okay,” I say slowly. “If you do have to remove the fallopian tube, what are my chances of having kids after that?”
The doctor’s eyes flit to Bruce. “Some women can have children down the road after they’ve healed, but the chances are small. About seven out of a thousand women.”
A sob gets trapped somewhere in my throat, and I gasp for breath. The motion is painful, and I remove my hand from Bruce’s so I can wrap both arms around my stomach. Bruce quietly stays by my side, placing an arm around me and kissing the top of my head.
“But there are other options, if it came to that,” the doctor continues. “A lot of women have great success through IVF.” She pauses like she’s giving me a chance to catch up. “We need to prep you for the procedure right away to restore blood flow to the area.” I barely make out the doctor’s voice through the muddle of my own thoughts.
I feel numb.
But what I can register is that Bruce never leaves me. Not while the doctor tells me what to expect before and after the laparoscopic procedure. And he doesn’t leave me once I’m back from surgery.
Bruce also never leaves me when the doctor tells me they did have to remove the fallopian tube. He doesn’t just stay; he holds me afterward while I cry myself to sleep, his hand gently moving up and down my back as I sob.