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“Pips?” he grinds out.
“I tripped over a woman’s foot,” Poppy answers mournfully.
Dr. Rexwell nods, making notes and asking about the rest of the night.
“My educated guess is you tripped, aggravating your ankle, but no apparent discomfort. The internal irritation picked up while you danced. It began in the ankle, moved to the heel and Achilles. You kept going, and your muscles tried but couldn’t support it.”
Dante’s eyes meet mine, and he knows. Tasha triggered this. I kiss across her head to try to not give in to his fury.
Poppy quivers, remaining quiet, and clutching tight while Rexwell explains his plans for more tests before surgery.
“Mrs. Graham, I’m need you to stand and try to put weight on your right leg.”
She nods, and I swing off the bed, holding her waist to ease her up. She balances well at first, but the slightest pressure on her right sends her toppling into my side.
The Dr. crouches down, cupping her calf and easing her foot to the floor. “Let’s do toe, ball, heel. You should know that pretty well.” He grins up at her. “Don’t force it, but give me as much as you can and tell me the instant you feel pain. Not pressure, but pain.”
She does as he instructs and gets her heel to the floor, barely shifting her weight before she hisses. “There.”
“Do you feel this?” His fingers dig into her calf.
She nods.
“What about this?” He repeats the same with the sides and back of her knee.
“Yes.” The muscles in her forehead strain.
“Bear with me.” He releases her leg, pulling a marker out of his pocket and marking her skin.
“You done yet?” I grate out.
“You did great. Let’s get you back in bed.”
She leans in, relying on me to get her situated.
“We’re going to use those marks today for isolation points in our scans. I’ll put in the orders now, and a nurse will be in with the schedule. We’ll also get you something for the pain.”
“Ryanne, will you help me to the bathroom?” Poppy asks.
“I’ll do it.”
“Actually, I’d like to speak to you once more in the hallway.” The tone in his voice sends a chill down my spine.
“We got this, Evin,” Dante assures me.
I don’t have it in me to protest, so I head out of the room and back to where Poppy’s images are hanging.
He puts his paperwork down, takes off his glasses, and rubs his eyes before looking back at me. “Do you know if Miss Malone was planning to have children?”
My body jerks with the brunt of his question. “What the fuck? Is this surgery dangerous for her to have kids?”
“No, but Miss—”
“It’s Mrs. Graham. Poppy is my wife.”
“I apologize. Her insurance paperwork indicates she’s single. It listed you as an emergency contact.”
“I’ll get it handled, but what the hell does it have to do with her having children?”
“It’s standard to conduct a series of tests when admitted, especially when it’s a work-related injury.”
“If you’re looking for alcohol or drugs, it’s a waste of your time.”
“She was clean of any substance. However, there are other tests as well, one of them being a pregnancy test. Her initial labs showed escalated levels of the HCG hormone in her blood.”
The news hits me full force and I stumble back, my heart hammering. “She’s pregnant?”
His expression remains indifferent, but the flicker in his eye is my answer. “She may have been. The baseline levels were compatible with early stages. Depending on her cycle, she would have most likely realized a late period soon if the pregnancy was viable. Unfortunately, we will never know. The labs from this morning show a decline in HCG levels.”
“Fuck me.”
“I’m sorry we can’t be more specific. The levels alerted us, but the premature timing doesn’t allow for us to make that call one-hundred percent.”
“The fall made her body reject the pregnancy?”
“It could be the fall, or it could be Mother Nature. We will never know.”
“I don’t want her to know.”
He quirks his eyebrows. “No?”
“Not yet. Especially since it’s hypothetical. Her mind needs to be focused on the surgery. She has enough devastation to deal with. When I think the time is right, I’ll break the news.”
Which may be never. I refrain from saying out loud.
“Poppy is my patient, and under obligation, I must be upfront about her medical status.”
“I get that,” my voice vibrates with rising anger. “You also have an obligation to her mental status, and right now, she’s barely hanging on. She’s not stupid. She’s in that room dealing with a broken heart and the fact that her career as a dancer is over. We weren’t trying, but that doesn’t mean losing a baby she didn’t know about won’t shatter her.”
He studies me, showing no sign of sympathy, but gives a curt nod.
“Appreciate it. Now, give me a rundown of what we’re looking at.”
