I'd Rather Not (KPD Motorcycle Patrol 3)

How had I not known that she was sick?

The answer, however, was obvious. Because every time we talked, Ford always asked how I was doing. His guilt knew no bounds. And when I did finally get him to give it a rest, we talked about our buddies. Not about Oakley.

And not wanting to seem like the love-sick fool that I was—for a woman that I’d never met in my life—I’d refused to ask about her.

I pulled the stuffed bunny out of my pocket.

It’d gone a lot of places with me.

During that blast that had taken my lower legs, I’d managed to hold on to it.

From there, it’d gone to the hospital with me in Germany—apparently, I’d never let it go, and they hadn’t tried to take it away from me since it hadn’t been bothering anything—then to the hospital in Florida. That was followed by the rehab facility in Texas.

It went to every single outpatient rehab appointment, then continued to go with me to each subsequent appointment.

Now, I’d fashioned it into a keychain and took it everywhere I went.

I wasn’t sure why.

Honestly, it was dirty, had dried blood on it from numerous occasions—most of it mine—and I was fairly sure it could be a health hazard. But it’d gotten me through a lot of times.

I squeezed the bunny, then stood up and looked through my contacts on my phone.

I was on lunch break at work, which meant I had another thirty minutes max before I had to be back on the streets.

Before I hit dial on Ford’s phone, though, I paused and decided that I needed to call my doctor first.

I should make sure that I was a match.

Otherwise, calling him and telling him that I would give his sister a kidney would be just plain stupid.

We may be the same blood type—which was something I’d figured out when Ford and I had been deployed—but I was sure that other things were put into consideration before they said, “Oh, hey. Your kidney will do.”

Shoving my phone back into my pocket, I unearthed my keys then walked to my police unit.

Five minutes later, I was at my doctor’s office.

The woman that was at the front window smiled at me.

“You’re back!” she said, standing up and opening the glass window wider.

“Kind of,” I admitted. “That blood that I had drawn the other day. Is there any way that I can get them to run it to find out if I’m a match to donate my kidney to someone?”

The woman frowned, then tapped her lip.

“Honestly? I have no idea. But let me go ask,” she whispered.

Twenty-two minutes later on the dot, I called into dispatch that I was back in service.

I also had a newly stuck arm that had what felt like a pint of blood drawn from it.

The slight pain from the needle stick was comforting.

The idea that I might be a match for the woman that I couldn’t stop thinking about was exciting. I hoped beyond hope that I was.

***

Oakley

Three days later

My eyes were closed, and I was contemplating my eulogy—would it be weird to have my brother read what I had written out?—when I heard a throat clear.

I blinked my eyes open to see my savior and my nemesis standing at the door, hand raised as if to knock.

“Come in,” I said, smiling tiredly.

He didn’t waste time, marching into the room like he owned the place.

“We found you a match.” The doctor came into my room, all business. “Well, he found us, actually. He said that he saw your father’s Facebook post. He went to get tested, and he’s a match.”

I felt something inside of my chest burst with excitement.

“Really?” I breathed.

I was relieved that my mother and father weren’t here.

They’d gone to get food, and honestly, I was happy. I’d needed some time away from their sadness. It was breaking my heart that they were looking so sad all the time—and that unfortunately, I was the cause of all that sadness.

Which, I guess was to be expected. Their daughter was dying and there was nothing that they could do about it.

“Yes, ma’am,” Dr. Page said. “I have him coming in for a few more tests. But, ultimately, if everything goes as I expect it to go, you’ll have his kidney in two days’ time.”

Two days.

I had two more days and then someone was going to give me their kidney. Some stranger was going to give me a piece of him.

I felt things start to culminate inside of me, and all of a sudden, I was crying.

“Can I meet him?” I whispered. “Will he come talk to me? I want to…”

Then I began crying too hard to become understandable.

Which was about when my mother came into the room, followed right by my father.

They took one look at me and thought the worst.