“Your back is going to be fucked from sleeping in that chair,” I chuckled softly.
“It already is between riding my bike and your aunt riding me.”
“Jesus,” I scoffed. “Maybe silence might not be that bad.” I did not need to hear how Meg had played a part in blowing out King’s back. Pass.
King chuckled low. “Rest, kid. You got a big day ahead of you tomorrow.”
I sighed and closed my eyes. “Brain surgery, King.”
“Yeah,” he whispered. “But you’re strong, Grant, and you’ve got the best head doc in the state working on you. He’s the same guy who saved me.”
“But what if it’s cancer? I know everyone is walking around, acting like it’s going to be benign, but they could all be wrong.” Ever since Birdie had told us I would need to have a biopsy and the tumor removed; I was terrified. “I could have cancer.”
“Yeah,” King agreed. “You could have cancer, but you know what’s going to happen if you do?”
“What?” I croaked.
“You’re gonna fucking fight, Easy. You’re gonna beat this shit, and you have your family and club behind you who is going to fight just as hard to make sure you have the best treatment possible. This is happening to you, but you have to remember we are all here for you. Whatever you need, you’ll have it.” He reached out and squeezed my hand. “You guys were there for me every day when I had my stroke, and now, it’s time for us to be here for you.”
Fuck. It hadn’t dawned on me that King had brain surgery, too. “So you’re saying I need to suck it up, and remember I’ve got family. Also, suck it up.””
King busted out laughing. “No, that’s not what I was saying, but if that’s what you want to take from it, go for it.”
“Sucking it up might be better than laying here all night worrying,” I mused.
“Yeah,” King agreed. “Just try to sleep, and before you know it, all of this will be over,” he promised.
“Right,” I sighed.
This time tomorrow, I would be out of surgery and the possibility of cancer would be out of the picture after the biopsy.
God willing.
Chapter Five
Birdie
Have you heard anything?
I shook my head and sat back. I won’t hear anything. I’m in the ER. Easy is in surgery.
I don’t see your point. You’re the doc.
Oh, Greta. She thought I knew everything just because I was a doctor in the ER, NICU, and filled in where needed on the med/surg floor. Easy had been moved to neurology, and after the surgery, he would be in ICU. Both floors I did not work on. I’m a doctor, not a specialist. Or surgeon.
Can’t you get on the bat phone and talk to the surgeon?
There was so much messed up in that one message. Only Greta would think there was some sort of phone between doctors I could call, and the surgeon would pick up in the middle of surgery. You need to stop watching TV.
Meg and Bristol made a fuck ton of food again. Come eat when you’re done doctoring. Neurology waiting room.
I’ll try to make it up there.
No try. Just do. Greta replied.
I rolled my eyes and shoved my phone into my pocket.
Greta was a trip.
