Page 153 of If You Claim Me
Isabelle releases me, and we continue down the hall until we reach a Tim Hortons. I get coffees and Timbits for everyone.
Portia accepts a coffee and so does Connor, and I leave the others sitting on the table, in case anyone changes their mind. Then it’s back to waiting, the knot in my stomach constantly growing, my fears compounding. Two hours into the surgery, a nurse comes in with an update. Her posture and expression make my already roiling stomach sink.
“The doctors are working hard to replace the valve, but it’s been touch and go,” she says. “We lost Lucy briefly, but she’s stabilized now.”
Everything inside me goes cold.
“Can they still replace the valve?” Portia asks.
“They’re doing their best,” the nurse replies.
Connor runs a rough hand through his hair. “This is supposed to make her better, not fucking kill her!”
“Connor, get ahold of yourself,” his father snaps.
I settle a gentle hand on his forearm. His sleeves are pushed up to his elbows, some of his tattoos on display. “Let’s go for a walk.”
“I don’t want to go for a walk! I want the doctors to do their job!” he barks.
I pull back, hands raised. “Yelling at them, or me, won’t make the outcome any different.”
His anger quickly morphs to guilt, and he looks away.
Isabelle and Portia are wide-eyed. His mother looks embarrassed, and his father smug. Like the outburst is expected.
“You’ll have to excuse our son. He has a temper,” Duncan says to the nurse.
“He’s hurting and afraid,” I counter. “Look at yourselves.” I motion to the four of them, sitting in a row, with no space for their son. “What did you expect when you turned him into an island?” I turn back to Connor and extend my hand. “Let’s go for a walk.”
He complies, but he still doesn’t meet my eyes. And I don’t know the impetus behind his actions.
In the hallway, his gaze remains on his feet, jaw tight. “I’m sorry I yelled at you. You didn’t deserve that.”
“Me too, and no, I didn’t.” I turn to him. “But this is a really difficult situation. What can I do, Connor? What do you need? I’m trying, but you’re shutting me out.”
“I just need her to live.” He pulls me against his chest. “I need her to stay. I need this not to be the end.”
I nod, my cheek rubbing over his shirt. Selfishly, I want the same things—not just for him, but for me, too. Because without her, where will we be? I can’t get him to talk to me. He’ll hold me now, but he won’t give me more of himself.
We loop around the hospital a couple of times, and then return to the waiting area. The next two hours feel endless.
When the doctor finally comes in, Connor grips my hand, squeezing so tightly my bones grind together.
“She made it through,” she tells us.
The room exhales a collective breath.
“Thank God.” Connor deflates.
“She’s not out of the woods yet, though,” she cautions. “Thenext few days are crucial, and we’ll be keeping a close eye on her.”
“When can I see her?” Connor asks.
“She’s still coming out of anesthesia, but you can go in and say hi. Two at a time, though. And only for a minute.”
“Go with Isabelle,” Connor’s father says flatly.
Connor doesn’t argue, and he doesn’t look at me as he leaves the room, following his sister.
