Page 173 of Halo

“Leah Grace, let me see your cards.”

“Are you questioning my integrity?” A small giggle bubbles out of her.

“No, I'm questioning the amount of Dilaudid currently coursing through your system.” I hold out my hand.

She gives me a high five.

I chuckle. “Leah. Cards. Now.”

“Alright, alright …” She giggles again, passing me her cards. “Man, you really have the dad voice nailed down. I should start calling you Daddy—”

“No, ma'am. You are not about to start calling me Daddy.”

A mischievous grin spreads across her face. “What? You don't want to be my Daddy?”

“Leah …” I warn.

“My Big Daddy? My Big Daddy Crawford?”

“Jesus, Leah …” I chuckle, shuffling through her cards. “And for the record, you have not one, but two fours. And you're holding a joker hostage—”

“I've got it!” She snaps her fingers. “Crawdaddy!”

I purse my lips together, trying not to laugh.

It took Leah longer than expected to fully wake up after surgery yesterday. She finally opened those big brown eyes last night, groggy and confused, but awake. Ever since, she's barely let go of my hand.

I don't mind that part one bit.

This morning, she managed a few bites of her liquid breakfast before PT came to get her moving.

Getting out of bed was rough. She kept apologizing for crying in pain. As if she didn't just have major abdominal surgery. As always, she's a trooper. And strong. Once she was upright, she made it all the way down the hall and back.

Now we wait.

There's no final pathology report yet. That might not come until the end of the week—possibly next. Until then, Leah is recovering here at the hospital with a patient-controlled analgesia pump keeping her pain manageable.

The Dilaudid is making our interactions lively, that’s for damn sure.

“You get it? Craw and daddy?” She dissolves into giggles, then immediately winces, clutching her stomach. “Ow-ow! Stop making me laugh!”

“I'm not.” I hand her her pillow, reminding her to brace her wound when she laughs. “You're entertaining yourself.”

A soft knock interrupts us.

“I hope that's more Italian ice.” Leah looks hopeful toward the door.

A woman with ebony cropped hair steps inside. “Sorry to disappoint. I’m Diedra, one of the ostomy nurses. I’m here to go over some stoma care with you.”

The suspicious tissue on Leah’s bowel meant they had to resect part of her colon. Instead of reconnecting it right away, they brought the healthy end through her abdominal wall, creating a stoma that empties into a colostomy bag. It’s temporary, giving her bowel time to heal before another surgery can put everything back where it belongs.

I glance at Leah. “Are you coherent enough for this?”

“Absolutely.” She nods, then points toward the door. “But you? Uh-uh. You can leave.”

My eyebrows pinch together. “You can't be serious—”

“I’m very serious ...”