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“Thank you.” I nod to her, and she leaves the room. “I’m going to call Coach. It’s time for gym anyway.” Somehow, we’ve been here for three hours already.
Digging my phone from my pocket, I find our head coach’s number, suck in a deep breath, then hit call.
My knee is still bouncing, and I lean my forehead against the mattress while I wait for the grumpy man to answer.
“Oiler, where the hell are you and Johnson?” he barks.
“The ER, sir. Johnson has appendicitis.” Paul’s fingers run through my hair and to my neck, making me shudder.
“How long have you been there? Is he okay? Is he having surgery?” The tone change is immediate, and he’s in problem-solving mode.
“A few hours, I think we got here about three a.m.?” I glance up at my husband and find him dosing off. “He’s high on pain meds, but he’s okay. They’re going to take him back for surgery in a little while. They just gave him antibiotics.”
“Are you going to be able to play tonight?” he asks, and I can hear the scratch of a pen on paper as he probably takes notes.
“Yeah, I’m fine to play.” I’m always fine. Even when I’m not.
“Are you still at the hospital?”
“Yes, sir.”
He sighs, and I swear I can see him pinching the bridge of his nose.
“Listen, son, I know you guys are close. I’m not going to tell you to leave him there alone, but if you’re playing tonight, you gotta have your head in the game. You hear me?”
I take a deep breath and sit back in my chair, staring at the man that has taken my heart and run away with it. He’s my life, my air, the reason my heart beats.
“Once I know he’s okay, I’ll be good, Coach. I promise.”
“Good. Get some rest and eat.” He ends the call, and I’m left mentally drained while anxious at the same time. I want to pace, demand an update that doesn’t exist, yell, and crawl into bed with the man who anchors me. I don’t know how to do this. How to be an adult. Paul is the adult, the comfort, the level-headed one. I’m a fuckup. A clown. No one takes me seriously.
Needing to move, I stand and pace next to his bed. It’s only a few feet, but it’s better than nothing. It gets my body moving, gives the nervous energy an outlet, and makes me feel like I’m doing something.
I don’t know how long I do it, lost in my head, and the worry. Is he going to be okay? Will there be complications? How long will he be in the hospital? Will I be able to sleep without him in our room? How long will he be down? Will he be able to play hockey next season?
A different nurse comes in with some kind of fabric hat on and looks at me. “Hi, I’m Allison.” She smiles at me. “I’m here to take Mr. Johnson upstairs. You are welcome to follow us up. I’ll point out where the waiting room is.”
My stomach clenches, but I nod.
Paul has already changed into a gown, so I grab his bag of stuff and follow along behind the wheelchair they transfer him into.
“Do you do this surgery a lot?” I find myself needing reassurance as we move through this.
“Yeah, it’s pretty straightforward. With the laparoscope, it only takes fifteen to twenty minutes once he’s out. Healing is much faster too.” She smiles at me, and I breathe a little sigh of relief.
“Thank you,” I mumble to her, trying to keep my emotions in check. I don’t know how to do this. How to handle this. I should call his grandma.
Allison points out the waiting room for me to sit in and lets me kiss Paul’s head before pushing him down the hallway and through the doors that say No Entrance.
With a knot in my throat, I type in Paul’s password and call his grandma.
“Good morning, Pauly.” Her warm voice fills my ear, and I break into tears. “Pauly? Paul, what’s wrong?”
All the fear and stress that’s been forced into the back of my mind for hours escapes my grasp and floods my brain. Suddenly I have no control over myself or my emotions. I’m sitting in this fucking waiting room, sobbing, rocking back and forth while folded in half.
I can’t lose him. I just can’t. I need him so badly it hurts.
“Brendon,” I barely manage to get out.
