Forbidden Heir (The Heirs 8)

The nurse comes to get me and leads me to another room where I have to lie down again, keeping as still as I possibly can.

This time I don’t keep myself busy thinking of Ryker, but instead, I keep replaying what the doctor said over and over.

A growth.

In my brain.

That can’t be good.

Time warps into a panicky mess, and every couple of minutes, my heart begins to race before calming again.

I don’t even know how long I’ve been at the hospital when I’m done with the MRI and taken to the neurology floor.

My stomach suddenly drops as it starts to sink in. I have a growth in my head.

Oh God. This is bad. Right? Anything in the brain is bad.

My breathing speeds up, and I struggle to keep my shit together when I’m shown to an examination room. I glance around at the desk, the chairs, the freaking blinds, anything to try and keep my mind busy.

A doctor comes in, and the first thing I notice is the intelligence shining from his eyes.

“Hi, I’m Dr. Friedman. I’m a neurosurgeon.” After we shake hands, he makes a fist and says, “You have a tumor in your right frontal lobe roughly the size of half my fist. We have to schedule a biopsy so we can get a sample of the tumor to see what kind it is.”

“What does that entail?” I ask, my voice sounding calm while everything in me just goes numb.

“You’ll be here for two days,” he begins to explain, “We’ll drill a small hole in your skull and insert a hollow needle into the incision. We’ll extract a sample of the tissue so we can send it for testing.” As the words keep coming, my mind goes into denial.

It’s probably nothing a quick surgery can’t fix.

“Is it bad?” I ask.

“We won’t know for sure until we’ve done a biopsy. We’ll be able to discuss treatment options then.”

Dr. Friedman goes on to ask me about my family history, and it’s only then I think to say, “My grandmother died of cancer. I don’t know what kind, though. I’ll have to check with my mom.”

“Find out as much about your grandmother’s history as you can. Information is always a good thing to have.” He gives me a comforting smile, which only makes me more anxious.

Dr. Friedman schedules the biopsy for two days from now. My mind starts racing, searching for a valid excuse to give my family and friends, why I’ll be gone from the office for two days. Seeing as the biopsy is on Friday, I’ll only miss a day at work. But still…

God, what am I going to tell Ryker?

Six hours later, I finally leave the hospital and drive back to the office. Knowing most of the staff at Indie Ink are getting ready to go home is a comfort. I just want to get lost in work and not think about the tumor.

Denial is a blissful thing, and right now, I’m trying to embrace it with open arms.

RYKER

Worried and unable to focus on my work, I try Danny’s phone again. Christopher said she was stuck at the bank, but damn, how long can it take to get a credit card?

When the call goes unanswered, I take the elevator up to Danny’s office. Her PA, James, is busy packing up when I reach his desk. “Is Danny back?”

He nods. “She just got back ten minutes ago.”

“Are you heading home?” I ask as I walk to her door.

“Yes, have a good evening,” he smiles as he walks down the hallway.

“You too.” Opening the door, I walk inside, and seeing Danny behind her desk, I let out a sigh of relief. I shut the door behind me, then say, “I was worried.”

She keeps staring at the file in front of her, not saying anything.

I walk around her desk and crouch next to her chair. A frown forms on my forehead when she doesn’t even notice me. “Hey, are you okay?”

Slowly, as if she’s in a haze, she turns her head, and then she blinks. “Oh… hey.”

“What’s wrong?” I ask, my eyes searching her face.

“Nothing.” She shakes her head. “Just tired.”

“Then go home and get some rest.” I rise to my feet.

Danny takes a deep breath, then shakes her head again. “I’ll be fine.” When I don’t move, she asks, “Did you need something?”

Her eyes are on the file in front of her, and for some reason, it bothers me. “Look at me.”

“Ryker, I have work to do,” she mutters, sounding irritated.

“Daniele, look at me,” I say again.

She lets out a sigh then glares up at me. “What? I have work to do. We spoke about this.”

Ignoring her words, I ask, “What’s wrong?”

“God. Nothing! I just have a lot of work,” she snaps, raising her voice at me. “Do you have to be so needy?”