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“What Nash is going through because he’s a stubborn asshole?” Zip offered.
“Uhhh,” Hoyt tried to avoid saying ‘I told him so.’
“Is it time?” Zip asked, rescuing him from having to answer.
“Yes,” Hoyt said quickly, walking up to me with a syringe. “I’m going to go scrub in and meet him in there. The nurses down here will get him ready to go.” He tilted his head. “You can come back,” Hoyt said, surprising the absolute shit out of me. “He’ll be calmer with you around, and I’m the doctor, so I get to do what I want.”
“Can I watch?” Zip blinked her eyes at me expectantly.
“Absolutely not,” was my immediate reply.
She rolled her eyes, but I saw the look of disappointment in them.
“You’ll leave when surgery starts. You’ll have to scrub in and everything. When we get him put under, then we’ll show you out. But… I’ll give you his balls in a jar.” Hoyt grinned. “You can carry them around with you in your purse.”
I had a feeling that she would, too.
“Wouldn’t they rot or something?” she asked, not immediately saying no to the idea.
“Actually,” Hoyt was already shaking his head, “no. Not when we put them in this certain solution to hold them stable.”
“Ahh,” she said. “In that case, I’ll take you up on that offer.”
And there it was, her morbid acceptance of the ‘gift.’
I was already opening my mouth to reply, when I felt a rush of ‘I don’t give a fuck’ start to cruise through my blood stream.
Whatever medicine Hoyt had given me had started to take effect.
I was a whole lot more ‘I don’t give a fuck’ and a whole lot less ‘she needs to leave.’
That had to be why I caught her hand and held it tight. “Don’t leave me.”
Her eyes widened.
And before I could think better of it—if I was even capable of it at this point—I said, “I want to do what we did all over again when I’m out.”
She snorted. “I don’t think that’s going to be possible for a while, big guy.”
I closed my eyes, never let go of her hand, and didn’t say another word.
She was there with me throughout.
She didn’t go into the OR with me, though.
She stopped at the door and pried her hand from mine. “I’ll be here when you’re done.”
I immediately wanted her hand back.
I missed it when she was gone.
“You ready to go, brother?” I heard.
When had I gotten in here?
“Sure,” I said. “Don’t take anything else that you don’t need to, though.”
My brother, whom I could only see a small portion of his eyes, snorted. “I’ll try.”
Then the anesthesiologist was telling me to count back from ten.
I never made it past seven.
• • •
It felt like I’d just gone to sleep when I woke back up.
My brain was fuzzy, I was overly warm, and there was an annoying tug in my stomach/groin area.
I blinked open my eyes, then immediately closed them when the harsh fluorescent light above my head blinded me.
And since I couldn’t open my eyes, I decided to use other senses, focusing in on the soft voices that I could now hear overly well.
“You’re sitting here shaming vanilla sex,” I heard said.
Was I hallucinating?
Was I dead?
“I’m not shaming but…”
It definitely sounded like shaming from my vantage point.
“It’s not my fault you have to have your leg in a bear trap, and get repeatedly punched in the face, to come,” the sweet voice continued. “But seriously. Vanilla sex isn’t a bad thing. We both enjoy it.”
Zip.
And who was ‘we both?’
“Maybe all I’m saying is you haven’t had anything more experimental,” my brother, Tyson, said. “You could love it.”
That was my brother.
The instigator.
I’d always said that he should’ve joined debate club in high school.
He liked to argue for the sake of arguing sometimes.
And the term ‘don’t beat a dead horse’ was definitely coined just for him.
There were times that he was arguing, and knew he was wrong, but just liked to get other people’s reactions to him not giving a single inch.
It’d gotten him many bloody noses in his lifetime, and he deserved every single one of them.
“Based on how much I hate when my jump rope hits me on the back of the thigh during double unders, I can, with a full and honest heart, say that I’m not into being hurt during sex.”
I nearly snorted myself.
I blinked open my eyes and this time, the lights didn’t quite blind me.
I was on my brother’s side for once.
“Getting whipped by a rope during a workout, and getting spanked during foreplay or sex, are two completely different things,” I rasped. “I’d show you, but my groin hurts so bad right now I’m about to throw up.”
And I was.
The longer I sat there, the worse it was getting.
“Oh!” she jumped up and moved toward me, her beautiful face filling up my entire field of view.
