Jaw clenching, I take a step away from her. “You should go with him.”
She doesn’t budge. I don’t want to argue with her over this, but the idea of climbing into the ambulance has me wanting to claw my skin off.
I curl my hands into fists, digging my nails into my palms.
What if I damaged him beyond repair?
Stasi moves into my space, determination on her face. She embraces me, squeezing me tight around the waist and placing her ear against my rapidly beating heart.
Caving to her touch, I burrow my face into her neck and let her hold me until I feel somewhat calmer.
“I’ll follow in my car,” I say quietly.
“Promise?”
I draw away from her. “Text me the hospital if I lose you.”
She assesses me with a frown before kissing my cheek and hurrying out the front door.
I brace my weight against the wall, practicing deep breaths. I’m ashamed of how long I stand there with my car keys in my hand, debating locking the doors and staying put.
Ashamed I almost let fear win out like it always does.
twenty-eight
Beau
All I want to do is sleep.
Unfortunately, there’s a revolving door in my hospital room and a gauntlet of tests to endure. Staff come in at the most annoying times to check my vitals and do what they call neuro checks. At one point, they wheel me off for a CT scan and then an MRI.
I know they’re only doing their jobs, but I’m exhausted and more than a little moody. Thank god they hooked me up to something good to settle the pounding in my head.
The door creaks open again, and I stifle my groan as another doctor sweeps into view.
“Hi there, Beau. I’m Dr. Malone. I’ll be tending to you in replacement of Dr. Stan. How are you feeling?”
I let my head roll in her direction. “Do you all have a camera in here to see when I close my eyes?”
She laughs. “I’m sure plenty of patients feel that way. No cameras. I’ll let you rest for a bit after this conversation. I heard you had quite the night.”
“Yeah. I’m dramatic like that.”
“A little drama spices life up.”
I level her with a serious look. “So how bad is it?”
She’s a master of the neutral expression as she comes over to perch on the edge of my bed like we’re well-acquainted with each other. “We found a small mass in your left frontal lobe. The culprit for your recent symptoms. I’d say your wrestling match was a blessing in disguise, Beau. Some patients don’t realize they have a tumor for years.”
Brows burrowing, I drop my gaze to a frayed string along the hem of the shitty hospital blanket. At first, I’m not sure I heard her right, but then I really don’t feel like asking her to repeat herself.
A fuckingtumor? When did I agree to let something like that take up residence in my head?
“So, what does that mean?” I ask, voice cracking.
“It means surgery, Beau. The good news is I’ve performed hundreds of successful surgeries just like this one. I’m hopeful I’ll be able to remove all of the tumor.”
My blood runs cold. “Surgery. Like…now?”
