Chapter 73
Houston, Texas—Remy
Remy drifted between sleep and pain. The first thing he knew was cold—sterile and sharp, smelling faintly of alcohol wipes and floor cleaner.
The air burned through his nose and stung the back of his throat.
Every heartbeat seemed to echo in the hollow of his ribs.
MD Anderson recovery, he realized dimly. Has to be.
Then the antiseptic faded, replaced by something softer. Spring—clean air, familiar perfume. Skye. Soft lips brushed his—featherlight—and for a beat the machines and antiseptic vanished into that scent.
Memory slammed back—the OR, the bright lights, the doctor’s calm voice saying breathe. Instinctively, his hand slid under the blanket, searching. Scrotal support, ice pack, throbbing and an absence where there shouldn’t be one. His stomach turned.
He swallowed, but his throat felt raw. “How am I?” he asked, his voice sandpaper rough.
“There were no surprises,” Elliott said from the foot of the bed. Calm, reassuring, too quiet.
Skye’s face appeared above him, eyes wide with love and concern. “How do you feel?”
He cracked a grin that immediately tightened into a grimace. “Like somebody’s been messing with my junk—and not in a good way.”
Charlotte’s hand settled on his forehead. “As long as they don’t throw away what they’re playing with, you’ll be fine.”
It took him a second—his mind fogged by anesthesia and painkillers—then he snorted, instantly regretting it when fire wracked his groin. “Ha-ha. Yeah. I get it.”
“What’s your pain level?”
He shifted slightly. The weight of the support tugged at the stitches, and sweat prickled his temples. “One, maybe two—when I don’t move. Manageable. But this ice pack’s freezing my balls off.”
Skye laughed quietly, a sound that sent warmth through him even as pain pulsed along every nerve there. “If you can tell jokes, you’re doing fine.”
He tried to laugh, but swallowed it when it turned into a groan. “What’d the doc say?”
“All went well,” she said tenderly. “Now we wait for the pathology report.”
He blew out a breath. Wait, the one thing he hated more than pain. “They’ll want a round or two of chemo. They won’t say it yet, but I’ve read the playbook.”
“Let’s take it one step at a time,” Elliott said, tone low but firm.
Remy nodded, eyes closing briefly. “Are you leaving this afternoon?”
“Not planning to. Thought we’d sit in front of the TV, drink beer, and watch reruns.”
Charlotte’s dry voice cut in like a scalpel. “There will be no alcohol for Remy today or tomorrow.”
He groaned. “Figures.”
Skye smiled, brushing her hand through his hair. “I’ll find you a near-beer then, tough guy.”
He made a gagging noise, which tugged painfully at his abdomen.
A nurse entered, all business. Her shoes squeaked against the tile as she checked his IV. “I’ll take this out shortly. Pain level?”
Remy exhaled. “Four. Maybe five.”
“He’s fine,” Charlotte interjected, already stepping closer to the bed. “If you have Remy’s discharge papers ready, you can review them with me.”
The nurse hesitated. “Are you Dr. Mallory?”
Charlotte nodded once.
“Dr. Kawaja said you’d want to review them. We can go into the small conference room next door.”
Remy managed a crooked grin at the nurse. “My doc thinks she knows how I feel better than I do.”
“You’ll have a prescription for pain medication to take with you,” the nurse said, making a note on her clipboard. Then she turned to Elliott. “Mr. Benoit’s driver can bring the car around to the front. We’ll wheel him down there.” She looked back to Charlotte. “Do you want to come with me?”
Charlotte gave Remy a brief, reassuring squeeze on the shoulder before following the nurse out.
Remy let out a slow breath. “Skye, why doan you all go on to the car? Elliott can stay and help me get dressed.” He tipped his head toward Elliott, catching the grimace tugging at his face. “What’s wrong? You doan want to help me?”
Elliott snorted softly, shaking his head. “Of course I want to help ye. I was just having flashbacks to those early years—when David tried to make me obey doctors’ orders, and Kevin let me do whatever I wanted.”
“I remember,” Meredith said from behind him, her smile soft. “You were a terrible patient. But Remy won’t be like that, will you?”
“Me?” Remy shook his head. Pain bit down hard, and he winced. “Skye already told me what she expected, what I could get away with, and what I couldn’t.”
“That’s the caregiver Elliott should’ve had instead of an enabler like Kevin,” Meredith teased.
Kenzie raised an eyebrow. “Hey, don’t diss Kevin. The man manages my money—I need him happy.”
Alistair chuckled from the doorway. “I had a long talk with him yesterday. Brilliant man. I intend to trust him with my money.”
Elliott’s eyes softened at that. “The lad’s done well for himself and has turned into a remarkable husband and father.”
“I’ll text Liam,” Skye said. “He’ll bring the car out front.”
Elliott nodded. “I’ll help Remy dress. We’ll meet ye there.”
Skye kissed Elliott’s cheek, then leaned down, lips brushing Remy’s temple. He could feel the tremor in her breath. “Rest. Don’t be a hero.”
“Promise nothing,” he whispered, but smiled anyway.
When they all left, the silence filled in too quickly. Elliott sat in a chair, crossing one leg over the other and smoothing the crease in his khakis. Problem-solving mode. Never a good sign.
“Elliott—”
“Aye.”
“You’re thinking too hard. Be honest. Do you believe I’ll need chemo?” His voice cracked, a thin veil of terror shimmering just beneath his words.
Elliott clasped his hands. “We won’t know, lad, till the pathology comes back, and I’m not yer doctor.”
Remy stared at him. “I know that,” he snapped.
Pain shot down his ribs. “But you know things. You’ve lived through prostate cancer, and you know shit like this.
I know you doan want to get out ahead of my doctor.
I get it.” Remy shifted a little to get more comfortable.
“Just tell me what you think, and doan sugarcoat it.”
Elliott hesitated, tapping a rhythm against his thigh. “I believe ye’ll likely have Stage 1 seminoma. Ye can opt for active surveillance or have one cycle of adjuvant chemotherapy. With yer family history, one cycle is yer best option.”
Remy dragged his hand over his face and felt the sting of tears under his palm. “Thanks for the no bullshit answer.” He didn’t want to have chemo and be sick from it while he and Skye built a house and planned for their future. But he wanted to stay alive and would do whatever it took to survive.
“It might be no bullshit,” Elliott said carefully, “but it’s still guesswork. And my opinion and a dollar won’t even get ye a lottery ticket.”
Remy now had full cognitive recovery and remembered what he wanted to ask Elliott.
“I overheard Charlotte talking to Braham last night. You went to the cave under the castle to see if the light was still on, but it wasn’t.
Braham said that when you all walked out, you were the last person, and the door closed in your face.
When the door opened again, you asked how long it had been closed, and you were told it was just a few seconds. ”
Elliott’s jaw shifted. “Ye lose track of time down there, that’s all.”
“Yeah, we’ve been there. Remember Egypt? Time didn’t match on both sides.”
“Nope.” Elliott’s tone was final.
Remy’s eye twitched. “Don’t lie. You saw something. You haven’t processed it yet, and it’s eating you alive.”
“I don’t know what ye think I saw, but ye’re wrong.”
“I know you, Elliott, probably better than anyone else. We’ve been in the ditches together—more times than I can count. So, where’d you go?”
“Yer nurse’s fifteen minutes are almost up, and right now, I’m focused on ye.”
Dread crawled up Remy’s spine. “You saw Erik, and you doan want to tell me.”
Elliott’s jaw ticked, and he rubbed his hand over his face. “I haven’t told anyone what happened. I didn’t see Erik. I saw Violet, and I’ll only say that it was… breathtaking. And ye’re right, I need time to process.”
“Breathtaking? My ass!” Remy clasped his hands on top of his chest. If he squeezed them any tighter, he’d break a few small bones. “I was born at night, Elliott. But not last night. How could Violet do anything breathtaking? She’s a fucking lunatic.”
“Trust me on this.”
Remy lifted his brows, a flaring pain flicking up to his gut. “Trust you? I’ve never trusted a man who says that. It’s a sure sign that he’s lying.”
Elliott pointed his finger at Remy, his face red. “Ye’re crossing a line. Back off.”
The tone snapped Remy’s bravado in half. He opened his palms in surrender. “Sorry. You’re right. I just—she scares the hell out of me.”
“She used to scare me, too,” Elliott said. “Now I see her differently. Give me a couple of days before I try to explain.”
Remy could tell he meant it—the distant, haunted look said as much as the words. But fear prickled behind his ribs. “We’re all invested in this, and you can’t keep it to yourself.”
The nurse returned, mercifully cutting the tension. She removed the connections to the monitor and the IV. Then she went over the major points in the discharge papers. “Patient transport will be here in a few minutes. You can get dressed now.”
Elliott removed Remy’s clothes from the patient’s belongings bag and unfolded a pair of black briefs. “Okay, let’s give this a go.” He slid them up Remy’s legs. “Lift yer arse.” Remy did, and Elliott gently pulled them up over the scrotal support.
“Fuck! This is a role reversal. How many times have I helped you into a pair of briefs?”
“None that I remember.”
“Bullshit.”
Elliott snorted. “None that I recall.”
“Bullshit.”
Elliott chuckled. “Maybe a time or two.” He helped Remy with a pair of sweatpants. “I’m going to raise the head of the bed so ye can sit up and put on the T-shirt.”