Chapter 57 Houston, Texas—Remy
Houston, Texas—Remy
Remy suggested to Charlotte during their early morning run that she take Skye and escape the hospital’s waiting room and spend the day shopping or rejuvenating at the hotel’s spa. Then rejoin him for the afternoon appointment with Dr. Kawaja.
Skye bristled at the suggestion, but Charlotte informed her that Houston had multiple high-end shopping destinations and a broader array of designer brands than New Orleans did.
Tempted by the prospect of retail therapy and recognizing the reality of Remy’s long day of tests followed by their later appointment with the medical care team, Skye relented.
Remy placed his American Express card in her hand, gave a quick tutorial, and told her to shop until her heart (and the card’s limit) dropped.
Darlene greeted him precisely at eight fifteen and escorted him to the Endocrine Center on the sixth floor, where he graciously dismissed her, explaining that he could manage the rest of the day on his own.
The wait was brief. A nurse called him back and presented him with a sterile collection cup for a necessary, awkward semen sample for a sperm count.
Then led him to a small, private sperm collection room, thoughtfully equipped with resources for sexual stimulation: a small selection of magazines and unrestricted access to Wi-Fi for more personalized content.
Remy knew the drill, but the clinical setting was far from romantic.
The familiar pleasure of a steamy shower seemed infinitely more inviting than this embarrassing and sobering procedure.
Eventually, he provided the specimen. The nurse informed him that Dr. Foxx, a specialist in reproductive endocrinology, would join Dr. Kawaja that afternoon to review the analysis.
“That’s it for the day?”
“That’s it,” the nurse said.
“I misunderstood. I thought there would be more tests.”
“That’s all for today. Your next appointment is with Dr. Foxx and Dr. Kawaja at four o’clock.”
On the way out, he sent Skye a text: I’m done until this afternoon. I’m going to find a coffee shop and work for a few hours. You and Charlotte enjoy shopping. Tonight, we’ll celebrate.
She responded: I bought a sexy negligee.
I can’t wait to take it off.
There isn’t much to take off!
Buy several.
A smile he couldn’t contain stretched across his face.
If the doctors requested another sample of anything, he’d be happy to oblige.
Just thinking about Skye in a sexy negligee made him hard again.
He squeezed his eyes shut, letting the sheer bliss temporarily eclipse the harsh reality of why they were staying in Houston.
He found a cozy little coffee shop, the aroma of roasted beans a welcome comfort, claimed a quiet corner, and buried himself in a flood of emails on his laptop.
The afternoon stretched on, measured by emails and waiting.
Skye’s pictures and a stream of text messages arrived with each new department store they entered.
Her excitement thrilled him, and he appreciated Charlotte’s generous spirit in helping Skye acclimate to her new world.
With more emails answered, he spent the remaining quiet hours obsessively researching his condition.
Testicular cancer. The words were clinical and cold.
He couldn’t quite decide if this deep dive made him feel better or worse—better, he decided.
He preferred to be informed, even if he didn’t like the information.
At three thirty, he drifted back to the main entrance to wait, the minutes ticking by like heartbeats.
When they hadn’t appeared by three fifty, he walked toward the elevator bank, watching the minute hand on the lobby clock crawl agonizingly toward four o’clock.
Charlotte’s lateness wasn’t a cause for concern yet.
If five more minutes bled past, he’d head up to Dr. Foxx’s office alone. They would find him eventually.
He spotted Charlotte, but a moment passed before Skye materialized, a not-of-this-world vision halting just shy of him. His breath hitched, eyes widening in genuine awe. “Jesus Christ, Skye,” he breathed, the words barely a whisper. “You look stunning.”
A self-satisfied grin tugged at her mouth. “Thank you,” she purred. “We had an amazing time, and I enjoyed using your credit card. It’ll take a while to pay you back. I’ll have to produce a record for sure.”
“I have never in my life had such pleasure spending so much money,” he confessed, stepping closer. “But I need to know one important thing. Is there any room left in the limo for me?”
“Barely,” she teased, her eyes sparkling.
“Turn around,” he instructed, his gaze intense, soaking her in. “Let me see you.” His earlier directives to Charlotte had been clear: buy clothes, jewelry, shoes, hats—whatever Skye desired, with no expense spared, especially on jewelry. She deserved nothing less than the absolute best.
Skye obliged, executing a slow, elegant spin that made the world around them momentarily dissolve. “What do you think?”
She was a vision in a tan striped minidress, smartly buttoned down the center, framed by contrasting cuffs, collar, and hem, cinched at the waist with a simple self-tie belt.
She moved with the innate grace of a woman born to stilettos.
The daringly short hem and the gravity-defying heels accentuated the breathtaking length of her legs.
A small suede handbag nestled in her hand; diamond and yellow gold earrings glittered, catching the ambient light; an emerald and diamond sunburst ring added a pop of brilliant color; and a classic yellow gold and diamond Rolex completed the masterpiece.
He didn’t even attempt the mental gymnastics required to calculate the total hit to his Amex.
It was irrelevant. She could have bought two of everything, and he wouldn’t have batted an eye.
She might have; he chuckled inwardly. Looking at her now, radiant and confident, she had officially, spectacularly, arrived in the twenty-first century.
Based on the appreciative glances from the men waiting for the elevator, Skye wasn’t just turning heads. She was stopping hearts.
“You look like you just strutted off a runway in Milan,” he said, his admiration clear. “I have a burning question.” He leaned in conspiratorially. “How many tubes of lipstick did you buy?”
“Are you serious?” A high-pitched giggle escaped her. “I told Charlotte you’d only care about my lipstick. But don’t you like my watch?” She held up her arm with a graceful sweep. “It’s just like Charlotte’s.”
He nodded with approval, his eyes tracing the line of her extended wrist. “I think Kenzie and Meredith both have watches like that.”
“They all have one,” Charlotte said. “But the new moms prefer Apple Watches for the health benefits.”
“And Skye didn’t get one of those?” Remy teased.
“I’m not a mom,” she said, though the words were a little softer now. “And besides, I’ll have to sell thousands of records just to pay you back for today’s purchases.”
A low, resonant chuckle rumbled in his chest. “You could shop every day and not spend your share of what’s in Capone’s safe.”
“Really?” Her eyes widened, sparkling with disbelief and excitement.
“Yep! There’s a fortune in there. Now, let’s go up and find out what’s next on our schedule.”
The elevator door slid open with a soft whoosh, and they stepped inside.
Remy’s thumb depressed the metal button for the seventh floor.
When the doors parted again, they walked down a long corridor toward the Genitourinary Cancer Center.
After checking in with a pleasant-faced receptionist, they sat and waited.
It took about thirty minutes, a stretch of time filled with hushed conversation, before they were called back to meet Dr. Kawaja.
This time, they were escorted not to an exam room but to a conference room, where they waited another thirty minutes, the silence pressing around them.
Finally, the door opened, breaking the tension, and Dr. Kawaja walked in, a woman Remy assumed was Dr. Foxx at his side.
“This is Dr. Foxx, a reproductive endocrinologist,” Dr. Kawaja said, his voice calm and even.
Remy stood, extending his hand and meeting the new doctor’s firm grip. “This is my future bride, Skye Marshall, and this is my friend and mentor, Dr. Charlotte Mallory.”
“I’m sorry for the wait.” Dr. Foxx pulled out a chair and sat across from Remy, her expression unreadable. “I wanted to review the results of your sperm analysis with Dr. Kawaja before this conference.”
Dr. Kawaja sat down next to Dr. Foxx. They presented a unified front, an image that immediately put Remy on edge. They resembled police officers about to play good cop/bad cop, and Remy wondered which was which, his stomach tightening with sudden apprehension.
“Was there a problem with my sperm?” he asked, his voice tighter than he intended.
“Not at all,” Dr. Foxx said. “In fact, your results are excellent.” She handed Remy a copy of the analysis, which he immediately shared with Charlotte.
“As you can see, the sperm concentration is fifteen million sperm per milliliter of semen. Your sperm motility is above normal, and the shape and size of your sperm are also above normal.”
“These numbers are promising,” Charlotte said, her gaze fixed on the printout as a faint tremor touched her voice. “After surgery, can we hope the analysis from the remaining testicle will match this result?”
“Mr. Benoit’s sperm count may remain in the normal range, but it often decreases.
The impact on fertility can vary and depends on the health of the remaining testicle.
It also depends on the reason for the removal.
The remaining testicle may compensate for the one lost, and over time, can return to or near normal levels.
But sperm analysis may still show lower numbers compared to pre-surgery. ”