Page 163 of Boyfriend of the Hour
“Meniscal tear?” Nathan guessed.
“Very good,” Brunson said. “Better than my former resident could do, and you’re in plastics.” She looked at me apologetically. “You’ll be happy to know he left the program last month. Won’t be missing any more stupidly obvious injuries anymore.”
“Claflin wasn’t that bad,” McAndrew said kindly, though it was obviously a joke.
“He was a pain in my ass. I don’t have time for that kind of mediocrity,” Brunson said as she turned back to the screen. “There.” She pointed at the second screen. “Do you see that white line? There’s a small one in the first image, but the ACL tear is so obvious that the radiologist missed the one in your meniscus, and apparently, so did your surgeon. And then, while you were rehabilitating the knee, you actually made the meniscal tear worse.”
“The pain would have been in a similar spot too,” McAndrew added. “So there you have it. Now, do you want the good news?”
Nathan and I both immediately pivoted to him.
“There’s good news?” I asked.
Beside me, Nathan was already smiling.
“There is,” McAndrew said.
“The good news is, he can fix it,” Nathan provided.
“Hey, man, that’s my line.” But McAndrew was chuckling. “But, yeah, it’s a relatively easy fix. The tear is small, and it’s in the vascular section—that’s the part that blood can get to and help it heal—and I’ve actually pioneered some recent treatments with stem cell injections I think you’d be perfect for. We’ll just trim it off, give you an injection, and you should be good to go.”
“Prognosis?” Nathan wondered.
McAndrew shrugged. “Simple meniscectomy. Possible repair if I see any complications, but she should be able to walk out of surgery the same day and start PT. Generally, my patients recover from this sort of injury in six weeks, Joni. It might be a bit longer, given the extra stabilizing needed for the ACL, but I’d say you could be back to regular activity within a few months, barring delayed progress with your ACL. Running, yoga.” He looked at me knowingly. “Dancing.”
I sank back into my seat, feeling like I’d been punched in the gut. Nathan automatically reached for my hand and squeezed.
“You’ll need to be careful, still,” McAndrew said. “It’s important not to rush things. You don’t want to re-tear it.”
But I was already shaking my head.
“Oh, no,” I said, my eyes brimming with tears. “Six weeks is nothing. Not when you just gave me back the rest of my life.” I grinned. “Not when you just gave me hope.”
THIRTY-TWO
SISTERS IN ORDER OF MOST TO LEAST ANNOYING (TODAY)
#1 omg still Lea
“Girl, I don’t think I’ve seen you do the most like this since prom.”
Rochelle sat beside me in Nathan’s living room, getting her nails done with rhinestones while I sat very still as my manicurist painted gold French tips on mine, complete with sculpted gel extensions.
I’d asked for classy, but like a royal. Like Rihanna at a Met gala or Zendaya at her premieres. Someone everyone would look at and want to be, rather than the girl everyone felt sorry for. Someone Nathan would be proud to have on his arm.
Kiara, our girl from back home who owned a salon we’d been going to since we were fourteen, had taken my hard-earned lap dancing money and set aside her entire Saturday to get me ready—and threw in a manicure for Chelle just for kicks. She knew exactly what I wanted, asked for pictures of my dress, and had gone straight to work.
Even Nathan hadn’t seen the floor-length gown since it had only arrived from the Bergdorf’s alterations department thismorning. Since we were meeting at the gala itself (he had to work until just before), a car was arriving for me at seven on the dot. Which left me four more hours to get ready for what suddenly felt like the most important performance of my life: my debut as Nathan Hunt’srealgirlfriend.
Oh God.
The truth was, while I was admittedly a bit overwhelmed, I’d also been walking on clouds since meeting Nathan’s doctor friend earlier this week. Dr. McAndrew said he would be looking to fit me into his surgery schedule as soon as I could come up with the funds. Yes, it would be a while off. Yes, it would mean a few more months of working Kyle’s smarmy little game nights to get the money together. But not even getting yelled at by a drunk at last call could dampen my spirits. For the first time in months, I had a plan, a boyfriend, a purpose. I had a life I could almost be proud of.
Or at least I had a vision of one.
“Well, I won’t be doing it again for a while,” I said. “The rest of my money has to go to pay for surgery.”
“I thought your man said he would pay for things like this,” Kiara said as she painted a thin stripe of gold at the tip of my nail. “Don’t cut my gravy train, babe.”
