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“Your boyfriend? Anything serious?”
I’d forgotten just how much he’d already told my parents.
“Splenectomy.”
“It’s not an unusually complicated procedure. He’ll be fine. How are you doing afteryoursurgery?”
“I’m almost back to normal, and the girl’s transplant was successful.”
My mother checked her watch.
“Mom, there’s something I’ve wanted to talk to you and Dad about, and I was wondering whether we could have dinner? At home. Your home, in the Hamptons.”
She smiled so widely I thought she’d lose her balance. “Come this weekend. Bring your boyfriend too, if he’s well.”
“No, he won’t be there. I need to speak with you alone.”
“Are you in trouble?” Her gaze skidded to the clock on the wall.
“Not at all. You should go. I don’t want to keep you from work. But let me know what time works.”
“Sounds good. See you soon.”
My mother disappeared around the corner, and I let go of a shaky breath.
“You did great.” Teresa smoothed her hand over my back. “They’ll be ecstatic to learn they’re grandparents.”
I hoped she was right. We waited another two hours before the doctor told us the surgery was successful. Teresa agreed to pick up Foxy from Mrs. Brewers, and I stayed with James in his room as he slept. I sat by his bedside, holding his hand and wishing he knew the truth already. His son needed him. We all needed him.
He stirred by nine in the morning. I lifted my head off the bedside and my eyes shot open.
“Hey, James.” I touched his face. “There you are.”
“What happened?”
“Your spleen ruptured. You had emergency surgery, but everything’s okay. Hold on, let me get the doctor.”
He grabbed my hand. “No, stay with me.”
I sat by his hips, careful not to hurt him.
“Do I have a scar?”he asked.
“Not one as badass as mine. You’re lucky they got you laparoscopically. Only three tiny incisions.”
“Shoot.”
“Surgeries are not a competition,” I chuckled.
He pulled his hand across his eyes, as if clearing a fog. I lowered his arm back to the bed.
“Be careful with the IV. You scared me,” I whispered. “I don’t know what would have happened if I’d lost you.”
“Is that a way of you telling me you care?” he asked.
“You know I care. I more than care—”
“You just can’t say it.” His brows narrowed. “Because something is stopping you.”
