Page 17 of Blue Moon Love

“It’s Jonah Walsh.”

Her eyes shot up to meet mine, and I knew I’d just hit the nail on the head.

“How did you know?”

That was as good as admitting that he was the person that she was blushing over. Her confirmation felt Mike Tyson was using my nut sack as a speedbag.

“I have my ways,” I responded with my patented reply.

Before I could ask any follow-up questions like what the hell Jonah I-played-for-the-NFL Walsh wanted, the metal rings scraped against the bar as the curtain was pulled back, and Taylor, Kenna’s cousin, and Kane’s baby mama, appeared.

“It’s your ACL,” Taylor stated, confirming what I already knew.

“Surgery?” I asked.

“Yep. We can get you in tomorrow morning with Dr. Mathis, whom you met, Kenna.”

I glanced over at Kenna. She tilted her head to the side like the RCA dog in the ad campaign, where he looks into a phonograph.

“Dr. Carson Mathis,” Taylor said his name slowly.

A knowing smile curled on Kenna’s lips.

Who the fuck was Dr. Carson Mathis? And why did he make a grin appear on Kenna’s lips? First Jonah I-played-in-the-NFL Walsh, and now Dr. Carson I-make-Kenna-grin Mathis. These assholes were coming out of the woodwork.

“Dr. Mathis is an incredible surgeon,” Taylor assured me. “He’s the best in his field.”

“But why surgery?” Kenna sat up straighter in the chair. “When you hurt your ACL in high school, you just had to rest and do physical therapy.”

“That was a minor tear,” I explained.

Taylor clicked on the lightbox that hung on the wall and placed the images from my MRI on it. She explained to Kenna exactly what the surgery was going to fix and why I needed it. I’m sure if it were another patient, she would have waited for the doctor who was going to do the surgery to explain everything, but there were benefits to having a family doctor.

She was going through the procedure and expected recovery in detail for Kenna’s benefit. I knew exactly what was ahead of me. After I’d injured my ACL in high school, I’d researched how severe it could have been in an attempt to stop feeling sorry for myself. So, because of that, I knew I would be down for at least a couple of weeks after surgery. I’d have to have PT, and I would probably be on desk duty for a while.

These were the times I wished I still had parents or siblings who were alive. I didn’t. The only family I had was Witty, who lived in a retirement home and had his own health issues. I hated relying on people for things, but I tried to change my perspective and turn my situation into a positive. I lived in Wishing Well, and this town took care of its own.

Plus, I had Kenna. She would always be there for me. Maybe not in the capacity I wished she was, but I knew she’d make sure I was okay. Just like I’d always make sure she was. She was my family… I just wished I could make it legal, put a ring on it, and call her my wife.

9

KENNA

“Worryin’ is like sittin’ in a rockin’ chair. Don’t matter how fast ya go; it won’t get ya anywhere.” ~ Archie “Witty” Whitlock

My foot tapped on the waiting room's white and gray vinyl flooring. Taylor had explained that the surgery could take up to two hours. I checked my phone again, and I saw that it had been two and a half hours.

Something was wrong.

I glanced around the small space, and no one else in the waiting room appeared to be panicking.

My mom was totally enthralled in her newest nail-biter read, California Bear, by her favorite author, Duane Swierczynski. She loved thrillers and anything that had to do with serial killers, much to my dad’s chagrin. After a career in law enforcement, the last thing he ever wanted to do was watch, read, or listen to True Crime. He preferred spending his time watching and listening to sports podcasts, but when he did watch programs on TV, or watch movies, or read, he enjoyed westerns, comedies, and science fiction. When he wasn’t indulging in those genres, he played video games on his phone. Which is what was keeping him occupied now. He sat beside my mom with his glasses on, playing Candy Crush.

Kane and Ruby were huddled in the corner, being newlyweds. And Witty, who I’d picked up on my way to the hospital this morning, had dozed off next to me. Milo was on duty today; otherwise, he’d be here.

I had a list of people who wanted me to text them once I heard any news. The only problem with that was that everyone assumed I’d forget, so they kept checking in. It wasn’t helping. Each time one of their messages came through, it only added to my anxiety because I had nothing to tell them.

I felt like I was coming out of my skin. I didn’t care that it was a ‘routine procedure’ or that he was a ‘healthy man in his prime’ so there should be ‘no complications.’ I didn’t care about any of the buzzwords that Taylor had used to try and reassure me.

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