Eddie nodded. “Makes sense.”
“In the morning, we should take turns going home and taking showers and changing. Tomorrow is my day off anyway, so I’ll be here.”
“I’m off shift for three days,” Eddie said, his mind recalling his schedule. “We’re going to have to take time off, though, aren’t we?”
Mick nodded. “While she’s in the hospital, I can pop in and out during the day to check in on her and you can come in after work and spend the evenings with her. Once she’s out of here, she’s going to need help, especially with all this going on,” he added, his fingers drawing a line down the center of his chest.
Eddie’s stomach had rolled when he’d seen the incision between her breasts. The reality had hit him hard. Mick and Allison had had their hands in Whitney’s chest. They’d patched up her lung and a whole host of other organs.
“How are we going to tell her about the ovary?” Eddie cringed at the thought of telling Whitney she’d lost such an important piece of herself. Her spleen had been removed, too, but honestly, who missed their spleen? But an ovary? A woman would definitely miss her ovary.
“The same way we tell her about everything else,” Mick said matter-of-factly. “We don’t make a big deal out of it or freak her out. Yes, her fertility will be diminished by the loss, but she still has one good ovary, and the repair to her uterine artery was good.”
“Will it be dangerous for her to get pregnant?” Eddie worried about her future. She’d made it abundantly clear she wanted to be a mother.
“Not once she’s healed.” Mick scratched his chin. “Daniela”-he looked over-“Dr. Cardenas, did a consult while we were in the OR. She’s a damned fine OB/GYN. She tells me that in a year or so, Whitney’s risk would be very low. She’ll be monitored a bit more than other women, but there’s no reason to anticipate problems.”
“I’m glad,” Eddie said with a breath of relief. “I want her to have everything she wants.”
Mick smiled and reached over to take his hand. “I know you do.”
Eddie got quiet as guilt gnawed at him. “I feel like a lot of this is my fault.”
Mick frowned. “You’re fault? How the hell do you figure that?”
“I should have spoken up about O’Halloran. I should have asked the chief to make him wait before rushing into that damn bank.” Eddie swallowed hard. “I shouldn’t have blown up the other night. Maybe she wouldn’t have gone to the bank. Maybe she’d have been out having lunch with you or me.”
“Or maybe she’d have stepped onto a crosswalk and caught a bus in the face.” Mick scowled and shook his head. “Eddie, shit happens. This isn’t your fault. It’s not my fault. It was a bunch of dumb-ass robbers and a jackass SWAT guy. Let them shoulder the blame.”
Eddie smiled at Mick. He always knew exactly what to say. All those worries and regrets from earlier in the day hit him right in the solar plexus. Today he’d faced the stark possibility of Whitney never knowing how much he loved her. Never again, he decided, and leaned over with his good hand to interlace his fingers with Mick’s.
“I love you.” The words came out a bit more gruffly than he’d intended, but they were out.
Mick grinned. “I know you do.” He pecked Eddie’s cheek. “I love you, too.”
“Well, don’t get all mushy on me,” Eddie said with a little growl. He wasn’t big on public displays of affection.
Mick snorted and rolled his eyes. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”
Eddie chuckled softly and settled back against his chair. His anxiety for Whitney had lowered substantially. She wasn’t out of the woods yet, but he had reason to hope she soon would be. Mick’s assessment of the situation calmed him. He trusted in Mick’s professional judgment.
Eddie inhaled deeply and enjoyed the sensation of Mick’s fingers against his. He leaned his head against the headrest and let his eyes close. For the first time in almost a week, Eddie was surrounded by the two people who owned his heart. It wasn’t as nice as sharing a bed, of course.
But it was close enough.
Whitney struggled against a weird blanket of confusion. She hovered in a dreamlike state, half awake yet still half asleep. Her eyelids fluttered. Every blinking movement scratched her dry eyes. Bright light burned her retinas when she finally opened her eyes fully. She winced and closed them again.
As the fog lifted, Whitney became aware of a dull, deep ache in her chest. The annoying beep of a machine drilled into her eardrums. There was a strange low hissing sound, too.
And something in her throat.
Panic gripped her belly. Her eyes flew open as she raised her hand to slap at her face. She encountered a strange tugging sensation along her elbow and looked at her arm. An IV line ran from the crook of her elbow, over the rail of a bed, and up to a pole. Wild and afraid and still confused, she glanced around the room. The thing in her throat hurt and made her gag. She wanted it out. Now.
“Whitney,” Mick’s calming voice filtered through the fear. “Don’t do that. Just relax.”
Her gaze whipped to the left side of the bed where he sat. Slowly, Mick rose from the chair next to her bed. He brushed hair from her face and smiled down at her. “We’re weaning you off the ventilator, sweetheart. I know it’s uncomfortable, but it won’t be much longer. Maybe an hour or so.” He kissed her forehead. “You’re doing so well, honey.”
She tried to swallow but gagged again. Her eyes watered. That panicky feeling punched her gut. She didn’t know if she could last another hour.
Mick placed his cheek against hers and stroked her face. His lips hovered near her ear. “I’m right here, Whitney. Breathe deep through your nose. Relax your throat.”
Even in the frustration of that moment, Whitney thought of how terribly tawdry that sounded. Mick must have recognized it too because he chuckled. “Sounds like something Eddie would say, huh?”
Whitney would have laughed, but that damn tube down her throat made it impossible. She clutched Mick’s shoulder, her fingers curling in the blue fabric of his scrubs as she held on for dear life and prayed the doctors would decide to remove the tube soon.
Mick talked in that soothing voice of his. He told her about coworkers who had come to visit and the plants Eddie had taken home and repotted for her. He gave her the latest gossip from her favorite bloggers and the rundown on the missed episode of her vampire show. Somehow she made it through the ventilator weaning, and just when she thought she wouldn’t make it another minute, a new doctor entered the room with a young woman in tow.
The doctor smiled and introduced himself. “I’m Dr. Penkala. This is Terri, the floor’s respiratory tech. You’re doing beautifully, Miss Montcrief. The ventilator hasn’t kicked in once to breathe for you, so we’re going to pull this tube, okay?”
Near desperation, Whitney nodded. Mick stepped aside to let Terri squeeze in beside the bed. She punched some keys on the ventilator’s screen and started unhooking tubes. Whitney closed her eyes, not really wanting to see any more of this than necessary, and waited. There was an odd sensation in her throat as if something had deflated.
A few seconds later, Dr. Penkala instructed her to breathe deep and then cough as the tube was removed. Someone put a pillow against her chest as if to brace her. Whitney did as told and coughed as the tube slithered out of her poor, abused throat. Discomfort was an understatement. She gagged and nearly puked as the tube came free. Inhaling deeply, Whitney felt that strange ache in her chest.
Dr. Penkala stuck the business end of his stethoscope in his ears and leaned forward to listen to her chest. She glanced down for the first time and saw the ugly incision mostly covered by the ugly hospital gown. Her gaze shot to Mick’s face. She hoped her eyes telegraphed how upset she was. What the fuck is this?