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He’s panting again and turns back toward me, this time pulling my hand wrapped around his into his chest to hold against him.
She asks some more questions about allergies, surgeries, diagnoses.
“Okay, I have a feeling we’re dealing with appendicitis. I’m also going to get some imaging done to see if we can see anything, okay?” Dr. Prow says. “Do you have any questions for me?”
Paul shakes his head, and the doctor pats Paul’s foot, says “Hang in there,” and leaves again.
I lean my forehead against his and watch his face as he deals with the pain.
“Is there anything I can do?” I whisper.
“Just don’t leave me,” he whispers back. I wish I could crawl onto the bed with him, but I don’t want to jostle him since moving seems to be making it worse. So I just hold him the best I can, kissing his forehead and running my fingers through his hair.
* * *
I don’t know how long it takes for a man in green scrubs to come in and talk to Paul about surgery and fill out paperwork, but it feels like hours yet only a few minutes. The surgeon and the anesthesiologist both have crap for him to sign and questions for him. Apparently, they are pretty sure he has appendicitis and will need surgery. Once the papers are signed, one of the ER nurses takes blood for labs and gives him morphine for pain before taking him to get imaging done.
He's high as fuck, which is amusing. I’m so relieved he’s feeling better, but this waiting shit sucks. I want definite answers. I want to know he’s going to be okay.
“Are there clouds in here?” Paul asks, staring intently at the ceiling. “Are we outside?”
I snort and shake my head. “No, that’s the morphine.”
“Morphine . . . what does it make you morph into?” He turns his head to stare at me.
“You’re adorable.” I lean my elbows on the mattress and smile at him. He’s so relaxed. For once there isn’t anything going on in his brain. His eyes are glassy, but his smile is easy. It’s sexy, that quick upturn of his lips. I want to kiss him.
“Why are you so fucking beautiful?” Paul blurts out much louder than necessary since my face is two feet from his.
“You’re high.”
“Does that change your bone structure?” Now he looks confused, which makes me laugh at him.
“Only you would be high as fuck and talking about bone structure.” I shake my head, but he reaches for my chin and pulls me into a kiss. I expect it to be a quick press of lips or sloppy from the drugs, but it’s neither. Paul makes love to my mouth, sucks on my tongue, and explores every corner of me.
Would he still be demanding and bossy, or would he want me to take the lead? The kiss is deep but slow. There’s no rush, no fire lit in my blood demanding I fuck until I can’t stand. It’s love and comfort and a slow burn kind of heat. The kind of languid kiss you can get lost in and forget about time.
The screech of the curtain sectioning off the bed sounds, and I jump back from Paul, my face immediately flushing hot. I hate that I have to hide him. It was his decision to keep us quiet, but it still sucks. I want to show everyone how proud I am that he’s mine.
“Okay, Mr. Johnson, it looks like your appendix is very infected and swollen. We’re going to give you some antibiotics through your IV, then get you moved to the OR for surgery. With as enlarged as it is, it needs to be removed.” Dr. Prow stands with her hands in her pockets as she delivers the news.
Anxiety has my knee bouncing, and there’s a boulder in my stomach. Fuck. My head buzzes with what ifs and what happens next. Even though he filled out the paperwork, I was hoping he wouldn’t have to have the surgery, that some antibiotics and pain meds would be enough. Surgery is scary as fuck.
“How long is that going to take? When will he be discharged?” I ask the doctor.
“We’ll give the antibiotics a bit to get into his system, then the surgery should be quick, as long as there aren’t any complications. The surgeon will have more information on discharge.”
A nurse comes in, tells us she’s putting broad spectrum antibiotics in Paul’s IV, uses a syringe to add it to the line, then leaves again.
“Any other questions for me?” Dr. Prow looks between us expectantly.
“Can I play hockey tomorrow?” Paul asks.
She laughs and shakes her head. “Uh, no. You won’t be playing hockey for a few weeks.”
“Ah man. That sucks.” Paul groans and lifts his hands, only to drop them back to the bed.
Right. Hockey. I have to call Coach.
