Page 18 of Blue Moon Love

Whenever someone went under the knife, anything could happen. Anesthesia wasn’t an exact science. Or at least, I didn’t think it was. Some people were resistant to it. Some people had allergic reactions to it. And some people never woke up from it.

I glanced down at my phone again and saw that only two minutes had passed since the last time I’d checked. I was going to give it five more minutes, and then I was calling Taylor. She was on duty down in the E.R., so I was trying not to bother her, but I needed answers. She might not have them, but she had the access to get them for me.

I was counting down the seconds with my thumb hovering over Taylor’s name when Dr. Mathis walked into the waiting area. The last time I’d seen him was when he’d gone on a date with my cousin. It hadn’t worked out for them because she’d already hooked up with Remi. Taylor had been in denial about her feelings for Remi because he was Kane’s best friend and Kane’s new wife’s brother. She felt it was a little too close for comfort. But it seemed he managed to convince her otherwise.

My rearend flew off that chair like it was spring-loaded. “Is he okay? Is everything okay?”

Kane and Ruby stood as well, but in a much more calm, controlled manner.

“Everything went great. It was textbook. No complications. He’s in recovery now, and he’s asking for you.”

“For me?” I placed my hand on my chest and glanced back at Witty.

I was sure his grandpa should be the first person to see him. Witty winked, giving me a silent blessing to go back and see Sam first.

Dr. Mathis stayed and spoke to Kane and Witty, answering their questions and concerns about his recovery as I followed a nurse who introduced herself as Mary Beth down a long corridor to see Sam. With each step I took, my legs felt like noodles. I think it was the crash of coming down from all the stress I’d felt. Or maybe it was because I hadn’t been able to sleep last night, knowing Sam was going to go under the knife today.

The nurse walked into a small, sterile-smelling room that had soft ambient lighting. I was right behind her. As soon as I saw Sam lying on the bed, tears pooled in my eyes as relief washed over me. Even though Dr. Mathis had said everything was fine, seeing the proof that he was alive overwhelmed me.

Sam wore a hospital gown; he had an oxygen tube wrapped under his nose and an IV in his arm. And all I could think was, wow, he looks sexy. It wasn’t fair, really. If there were ever a time that I thought my hormones would give it a rest, this would be it. But apparently, they had no plans to give me a reprieve.

“He’s still pretty out of it,” Mary Beth explained after checking the bags of his IV. “We usually hold off on visitors until a patient is settled back in their rooms, but this guy was so insistent, we thought we’d make an exception.”

I nodded as she exited the room and turned back to Sam. He just looked like he was sleeping. I lowered down into a chair beside him and pulled my phone out to send out a very large group text, letting everyone know he was okay.

Mid-typing, I heard Sam make a moaning noise. I looked up to see his head moving back and forth as if he were telling someone no. “Kenna, Kenna.”

“I’m here.” I reached out and touched his hand. “Sam, I’m here.”

His eyes fluttered several times before his lids finally opened, and he turned his head toward me.

“Hi.” I smiled when his eyes met mine.

His lips curled at the edges, causing the corners of his eyes to crinkle in an incredibly sexy way. “Hi.”

“Everything went great,’ I assured him. “Dr. Mathis said it was a textbook procedure. No complications.”

“Textbook,” Sam repeated groggily.

“Yep.” I nodded, and my eyes began to water once again.

For some reason, all the feelings of that fateful night six months ago, when I’d heard there’d been an officer-involved shooting and couldn’t get anyone to tell me if Sam was okay, flooded back to me.

“Why are you crying?” he asked, reaching up and touching my face.

His finger grazed my cheek as several tears fell down it.

“I’m not.” I sniffed away my emotion.

His forefinger swiped across my damp cheek, then he put his finger in his mouth and sucked. “It tastes like you are.”

“Stop.” I pulled his hand from his mouth. “Don’t do that; it’s gross.”

He shook his head. “It’s not gross to taste your tears.”

“Yes, it is. Stop.”

“No, it’s not.” He shook his head, and his lips curled up in a bad-boy half-grin. “I want to taste more of your bodily fluids.”

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