“How…” I cursed as she ran a hand down my chest and cupped me. “Quiet are we talking? Like church quiet? Library quiet? Parents are downstairs quiet—holy shit—” Her hand moved beneath the blanket and under my hospital gown, finger gripped around me and slowly began something I knew I wouldn’t ever want to end.
“This quiet.” She kissed my mouth and pulled back. “See? No screaming.” A pitiful moan escaped my lips followed by another dirty curse as she moved faster. “No yelling.” She gripped harder. “Just. Silence.”
The buzz of the hospital was the only sound.
That and my heavy breathing.
Just as a knock sounded at the door.
She jerked her hand away and covered my lap with a blanket and pretended to be stacking marshmallows again while I was left wondering what horrible existence I must have led to deserve the type of pain I was experiencing. Not just pain, lust, blinding lust.
Shit.
“Doc.” My voice came out hoarse, great. “How’s it going? How are the kids?”
His eyes narrowed. “Are you hot?”
“So hot,” Fallon said under her breath.
I was going to strangle her.
“Yeah.” I cleared my throat. “I’ll open a window later.”
“They don’t open.” Still deadpan. Why couldn’t they have given me the funny surgeon? The one who works on kids and hands out lollipops with stickers that say I have an ouchie.
“Right. A walk then.” I tried to tell my dick to stop straining against the blankets in blind search of Fallon. “Walks are. Awesome.”
Fallon giggled.
I elbowed her.
The doctor’s raised brows showed boredom and a bit of irritation as he crossed his arms and sighed. “With your permission, we’ve elected to do surgery.”
“Surgery.” I repeated. The word tasted funny as it crossed my lips. “Do you think it’s completely necessary?”
“Dr. Thomas has consulted on your case, and she feels if you were to leave today, it could stop growing, maybe heal itself, but if it doesn’t, it will eventually kill you. Perhaps now? Perhaps years from now. The point is, you need to get to Portland as soon as possible.”
Fallon gripped my hand in hers.
“Portland.” I sighed. “Okay, so are you guys discharging me now or—”
“We have an ambulance waiting to take you. Dr. Thomas and her team are already prepping for surgery this evening. No eating anything until after surgery, you can have clear liquids and ice chips.” He nodded. “Any questions?”
“Yes.”
He turned, paused.
“What are my chances in surgery?”
He frowned. “Dr. Thomas is one of the top brain surgeons in the United States, you’re very lucky she chose to stay in Portland for—”
I waved him off. “I don’t need to see her degree. I’m sure she’s great. What I want to know is, what are the chances that surgery will go well? That I won’t wake up needing to be spoon-fed oatmeal every morning while someone changes my diaper?”
His eyes darted to Fallon and then back to me. “Attitude is everything, Mr. Andrews. If you believe it will go well, it will. If I tell you your chances are ten percent, you may give up.”
“Ten percent?”
He cracked the first smile I’d seen grace his grumpy face. “See? Already you look defeated. And ten percent is a made up number. You’ll be happy to know Doctor Thomas has a ninety percent success rate with cases like yours. You’re in very good hands.”
I exhaled. “Okay.”
“She’s not family.” He directed this at Fallon. “She can’t ride in the ambulance.”
“I’m the only family he has,” Fallon said in a stern voice. “If you need me to go marry him right now so I can jump in that ambulance that’s fine by me. But sometimes you don’t need blood to be family. Family is a word that means life or death, and this is one of those situations, which means I’m family.”
His shoulders tensed. “But the fact still remains, you aren’t family.”
“I’ll ride with her.”
Yeah, he was going to murder us before I even made it to surgery. “You can’t just drive to the hospital!”
“Who said anything about driving?” I shrugged. “It’s less than two hours away.” I squeezed Fallon’s hand. “We’ll get there just as fast.”
“But we can’t monitor you.”
“I probably need those discharge papers now,” I said in a cold voice. “Since my family…will be taking me to Portland.”
With a scowl, he looked heavenward. “You’ll have to sign off that you left AMA—against medical advice.”
“I won’t sue you.”
“You still need to sign.”
“Done.”
He muttered a curse under his breath and started toward the door. “I’ll have someone check you out and give you the address along with your papers, remember no solid foods, only clear liquids.”
The doctor’s soft-soled shoes slapped heavily against the shiny tile floor as he stomped from the room.
A sense of relief settled over me.
Ninety percent.
That was better than ten.
“Sorry,” Fallon interrupted my thoughts. “I was just…angry he wouldn’t let me go, I mean clearly he doesn’t realize that I’m your assistant.”