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So, I relieve the pressure, suck in several deep breaths, blowing them out so fucking slowly that I feel as though I’m going to pass out. But fear of losing consciousness means that I regain enough control to stifle the sobs, to dash the backs of my hands across my cheeks, to dry the tears.
And it means that by the time Roxie is wheeled back into the little room that’s become our sad little home for these early hours of dawn, there’s not a trace of my moment of weakness.
But why do I have the feeling that Stefan sees it anyway?
Nineteen
Stefan
The tech clicks her tongue as she looks at the screen and sighs.
“What?” I ask, leaning in, trying to make heads or tails of the grayscale images of my daughter’s insides.
“I can’t read them,” she says, nodding to the screens. “The radiologist has to do that, but if I was a betting woman, I’d say that appendix needs to come out, and come out soon.”
Surgery.
My little girl was going to have surgery.
Christ.
That unleashes a tendril of fear in me like no other.
“Breathe,” the woman says, clamping a hand onto my shoulder. “You’re here, which is exactly where you need to be.”
I nod, take that breath she advises.
“Good,” she tells me before dropping her hand and clicking the mouse, tapping at the keyboard. “Okay, it’s off to the radiologist, let’s get you two back to your wife?—”
“Ex-wife,” I correct instinctively.
Instinctively…but completely unnecessarily.
“Right,” she says, clearing her throat. “Let’s…um…get you two back.”
I nod woodenly but manage to not make myself sound like more of a douchebag as we walk back into the room and help Rox back onto the gurney. I stride silently beside them on the way back down to the ER.
It takes just one glimpse of Brit sitting in the chair, shoulders stiff, but posture so fragile to know that the smallest shove will send her toppling to the ground, shattering into a million pieces.
She smiles—a blisteringly fake one—when we walk back into the room, and moves over to Roxie, gently taking her hand.
“Hi, Mom,” Rox says quietly.
And that right there would be enough for us to know that something is seriously wrong with our daughter. She’s never quiet. She’s never still.
“Hey, baby girl,” Brit whispers. “We’re going to get you all sorted, okay? You’ll be feeling better in no time.”
“Okay,” Rox murmurs, lids drooping.
“Rest now, sweetheart. Your dad and I have you.”
Roxie’s eyes slide closed, but her lips curve up, and she gives a slight nod before slipping off into sleep.
“What is it?” Brit asks, pushing up from her chair with a wince and moving over to my side.
I tilt my head for the hall, not wanting little ears to hear something they shouldn’t, not until we’re certain, and when we’re out of range, I quietly relay the information.
Brit bites her lip. “But how long will it take for someone to tell us if she needs surgery?—?”
