Forbidden Heir (The Heirs 8)

It’s just a biopsy. Nothing huge. They’re just going to drill a freaking hole in my head and then rip a piece of the growth off.

Nothing to worry about at all.

Signing myself into the hospital, I hover over the question asking for my next of kin details.

My heart twists painfully as I think of which name to fill in. I don’t want my parents to find out something went wrong via a sudden phone call. Christopher just had a lot of his own trauma to deal with.

Pressing the pen to the paper I write, Tristan Hayes, thinking he’ll be able to handle the shock best out of everyone.

When I’m done with all the paperwork, I’m shown to a private room. VIP status has its perks. At least I don’t have to interact with other patients while I wait.

“The biopsy is scheduled for ten am. Make yourself comfortable,” the nurse says. I sit down on the bed and stare at the bedside table while she takes all my vitals and wraps hospital bands around my wrist. “There you go. Watch a little TV or take a nap.” She gives me an encouraging smile.

“Thank you.”

When she leaves, I kick off my shoes and lie back on the bed. I stare up at the ceiling for a couple of minutes.

Maybe I should’ve told Ryker.

I shun the idea as quickly as it came. I don’t want to cause any of my loved ones unnecessary worry.

My phone beeps, and after digging it out of my handbag, I see there’s a text from Ryker.

R: Enjoy the spa. Get a lot of rest. Love you.

A sad smile tugs at my lips.

D: I lied. I’m so sorry. I have a growth in my fucking head, and I’m scared to death. God, I wish you were here to hold me and tell me it’s going to be okay.

A tear sneaks from my eye as I press delete on what I typed.

D: I will. I love you so much. Thank you for putting up with my mood swings.

I wipe the tear away as Ryker replies.

R: I didn’t do much, but I’m here for whatever you need. You don’t have to carry everything on your own anymore. I know you’re badass, but you can lean on me whenever things become too much.

Another tear spills over my cheek as I soak in his words.

D: I need you. I can’t do this on my own.

D: See why I love you so much? There you go sweeping my feet from under me again. Talk to you on Sunday. xox

I turn off my phone and throw it back in my handbag, and then I focus on regaining control over my emotions.

You can do this, Danny.

You just have to.

“Ma’am… ma’am.”

A tapping on my arm has me blinking against the bright light above me.

“What’s your name?”

“Danny,” I grumble.

“Can you remember what day it is?” the voice asks again.

“Uh… Friday?” My sight comes into focus, and I see a nurse next to the bed.

“Can you move your left arm for me?” I do as she asks. “Wiggle your fingers.” We go through the same process with my other arm and legs as well.

“How do you feel? Any pain?” she asks.

“Just sleepy,” I mumble.

“Okay. Rest a while. Dr. Friedman will be with you shortly.”

Minutes later, I feel a hand on my shoulder, and when I open my eyes, Dr. Friedman says, “Hi, Danny. How are you feeling?”

“Okay,” I murmur, still a little out of it.

“You’re in the recovery room. We’ll move you to the ICU soon, where you’ll spend the night. It’s just for precaution. Okay?”

“Okay.” I wet my lips, then ask, “Did you get what you needed?”

Dr. Friedman places his hand on the bed, his eyes locking on mine. A weird sense of dread chases the last of the grogginess away.

“We manage to get a viable sample of the tumor, and I’ve already sent it to pathology. Everything went well. Get some rest. Okay?”

Slowly, I nod, and soon after the doctor leaves, I drift off to sleep.

I have to wait a couple of days for the results, and with a box of pain meds for the headaches, I’m discharged.

I got a ton of sleep at the hospital, but I’m still exhausted when I get home. I place my overnight bag in my bedroom, then sit down on the edge of the bed.

Somehow… I have to find a way to act as if nothing is wrong. My family and Ryker will pick up on the slightest thing.

I let out a sigh as I slump back on the mattress.

I close my eyes and rest my hands on my stomach, focusing on my breaths.

You don’t know if it’s bad.

It can be nothing, and with a quick surgery, it can be removed.

It doesn’t help you stress about something you have no control over.