by Tawna Fenske
Stop talking, Blanka. Stop talking.
But of course, I don’t. “Autassassinophilia can overlap with other fetishes like being turned on by the thought of drowning or choking,” I continue, wondering if there’s some medical intervention I could get to stitch my lips together.
Jonathan laughs again, but he’s not laughing at me. And the heat in his eyes isn’t vanishing. If anything, it’s blazed from a smolder to a full-on flame. “Maybe I just want to kiss you because I’m insanely attracted to you.” His voice is a low rumble I feel deep in my belly. “What’s the scientific term for that?”
My palms go clammy, and my heart is doing jumping jacks in my chest. I’m not sure I remember how to breathe.
But I somehow remember the textbook explanation of human male arousal. “I suppose it depends on whether you’re talking about the mental component—the cortical responsiveness to sensory stimulation—or the physical component involving penile sensitivity, neural response to stimuli—”
By some miracle, I stop myself before blathering on about impending orgasm. The urge to slap duct tape over my mouth is overwhelming.
Jonathan has a better idea.
He steps forward, so close our bodies nearly touch. He lifts a hand, and I think he’s going to touch my face. I want him to; I want it so badly that I hear myself gasp. My pulse is jumping, and I’m positive he sees my pupils are dilated, how my breath is coming faster, how the textbook definition of arousal is playing out in full-color 3D.
He tucks a strand of hair behind my ear, and I blast through the entire sexual response cycle right there in the hospital hallway.
“Okay. Kiss me,” I whisper.
He doesn’t need to be asked. He lowers his face to mine, tilting so our mouths connect. I go up on tiptoe to meet him, pressing my lips to his.
Then we’re kissing, slow at first, like we’re both afraid this might be a joke.
But no one’s laughing as his tongue grazes mine. All uncertainty melts away as he pulls me to him, and we dissolve into each other.
I’m the one who deepens the kiss, lacing my fingers into the feathery hair at his nape. There’s no awkwardness like there sometimes is with first kisses. Just softness and heat and so much desire I can scarcely keep standing.
Maybe he senses this, because he backs me up against the wall and braces us between the elevator buttons and a portable defibrillator. It’s the least erotic spot imaginable, so why does my whole body turn to liquified lust?
Each stroke of his tongue, the glide of our mouths together, feels like we’re made to fit together. His hand nestles in the small of my back, and I arch into him like a key sliding into a lock. A soft moan ripples between us, and I’m not sure if it’s me or him.
“Blanka,” he murmurs, kissing me again. “This is crazy,” he breathes. “I want you so m—”
“Okay, I found you in the living donor database and—oh, I’m sorry.”
Bradley’s voice bursts the hot balloon between us, and Jon and I spring apart. I smooth my dress down with sweaty palms, conscious of the fact that my updo is now updone. Undone? Heat floods my face, but no one’s looking at me.
Jon’s looking at Bradley, and Bradley’s looking at a clipboard in his hand and shaking his head in wonder. When he meets Jonathan’s eye, I know. I know what he’s going to say.
“You’re a match.”
Jonathan takes a deep breath. “A match.”
“With Isabella. For kidney donation.” Bradley looks from Jon to me, then back again. “It’s only preliminary, and there are lots of other steps, but we might be able to fast-track this if you’re serious. If you’re really ready.”
Jonathan nods slowly, his eyes glazed and glittery. His hair is spikey where I ran my hands through it, and I wonder what’s going through his mind.
When he looks at me, my heart takes off sprinting.
“I’m serious,” he says. “And I’m ready.”
A shiver rakes down my spine, and I can’t tell if it’s the good kind or the scary kind.
Chapter 3
Jonathan
“You’re going to do great, baby.” My mother kisses me on the cheek, and I breathe in the scent of the face lotion she’s used for as long as I remember. Sweet cream and something earthy like oak leaves, and I float back to bedtime tuck-ins as a little boy.
“We’re proud of you, Sea Dog.” My stepdad leans in and ruffles my hair, his childhood nickname for me as soothing as my mother’s hug.
Tears glitter at the edges of his eyes, which gets me choked up, too. Chuck’s a big guy, six-five and a retired Admiral in the U.S. Coast Guard. It may have been my biological father who took me on a boat the first time, but Chuck’s the one who taught me to read the sea.
And to be a good man, which is the better lesson anyway.
“Come on, guys.” I pull it together enough to scoff. “You heard the doctor. It’s a simple procedure. They do these all the time.”
“A mom can still worry about her baby,” my mom points out. “It’s in the rule book.”
“And you’ve had weeks to worry,” I remind her. “You should have it out of your system by now.”
“Never.” She sits back in the guest chair beside my hospital bed, Chuck’s hand cupped around her shoulder. There’s moisture glinting in her eyes, though she’s trying to hide it. “I might be a nurse, but I’m a mom first. And moms are allowed to be emotional for their babies.”
She’s not the only teary-eyed female who’s been in my room these last few weeks. The moment Bree learned what went down at her reception, she slugged James in the gut for not telling her sooner. Then she herded everyone to the hospital before loading the whole family on a private jet so we could meet the transplant team together. My stubborn, very pregnant sister has refused to leave for her honeymoon until she knows we’re on the road to recovery.
Summoned by the power of my thoughts, Bree’s voice echoes in the hallway. “He can’t have any cupcakes until after the surgery. You heard what the doctor said.”
“I know.” Mark’s voice is a low rumble, overlaying the sound of rustling cardboard. “That’s why I’m eating them out here.”
My mom smiles and stands up with Chuck right behind her. He starts for the door, his posture military straight even though he retired a month ago. My mother watches him go, hesitating.
“Everything okay, Mom?”
She turns back to me and smooths her expression. “Everything’s great, baby. Did I mention we’re proud of you?”
“Maybe once or twice.”
I know I’m not imagining things. Something’s bothering my mom, and it’s not the fact that I’m lying on a hospital gurney with a bunch of tubes attached to my body. “Is Chuck’s health okay?”
“He’s fine, sweetie. Everything’s fine.”
“So tell me what—”
“You need to rest.” She leans down and kisses me on the temple. “Just think about you right now. About staying strong and healthy and getting through this operation.”
My siblings’ voices get louder in the hallway, and my mom’s smile almost reaches her eyes. She squeezes my hand, then turns and walks out the door.
Seconds later, Bree sweeps in with Mark, James, and Sean behind her. Sean’s sandy hair is rumpled like he’s been running his hands through it, though I suspect it’s Amber who did the rumpling. The newlywed vibe is strong with those two.
James is all business, yanking at his tie like he does when he’s on edge. “I confirmed with Doctors Prescott and Warren that the success rate with laparoscopic procedures is quite good, and Legacy actually performed the first one ever done in Oregon,” he says. “They’re the only Oregon transplant center to be a member of the Alliance for Paired Donation and—”
“Give it a rest, Iceman.” Bree steps in front of him and bends to give me a hug. Tries to, anyway. She’s still not used to the baby bump adding girth to her middle, and we end up doing an awkward one-armed squeeze thing. “We were just in Iz
zy’s room. She says to tell you it’s okay if you want to back out. That she understands if you change your mind.”
“Got it.” I’m not changing my mind. I’ve told Iz that three thousand times, but what’s one more? “Tell her I’m still in.”
“That’s what we told her,” Sean says. “That your crippling empathy wouldn’t allow you to back out even if you wanted to.”
Bree rolls her eyes. “Leave it to a guy to make his nicest trait sound like a disease.”
“I thought my nicest trait was my ass.” Gotta lighten the mood somehow.
“Yeah, well, the hospital’s not doing ass transplants this week,” Mark replies. “So thanks for hooking Izzy up with the kidney.”
“No sweat,” I tell them. “Any of you would do the same.”
I don’t know for sure that’s true, but I think it is. We’re spared from discussing it when a nurse rolls in with Izzy in a wheelchair. “I told you, I just need to check with him one last time.”
“Ma’am.” The nurse looks pained. “You’re not supposed to leave your room this close to the procedure.”
Izzy’s green eyes fill with gratitude, and she turns them from the nurse to me. “I know,” she says. “Thank you for filling my last request.”
Mark frowns. “Don’t say it like that. It’s fucking grim.”
“Only because you went there.” Sean shakes his head. “Shut up and let her talk.”
They all shuffle back as the nurse wheels Izzy to my bedside. Her ladyship is pale and drawn but still manages to look regal. “Jon.” She takes my hand, the one not hooked up to an IV. “You’re sure about this? Because if you have any doubts at all—”
“I’m sure, Iz.”
Weeks of blood tests and shared medical appointments have taken us from formality to single syllable monikers. Talk about progress.
Izzy’s eyes fill with tears. “I just don’t know how I’ll ever repay you.”
“I think I saw corn nuts in the vending machine,” I tell her. “Buy me a pack and we’re good.”
She sniffs and smiles. “You can’t eat anything until afterward. Not even Jell-O. Isn’t that barbaric?”
“Barbaric,” I agree. “Next thing you know, they’ll be harvesting our organs.”
That gets a smile from the nurse pushing Izzy’s chair. “All right,” she says. “We really need to take you back. Say your goodbyes.”
“Not goodbye,” Mark insists. “Don’t fucking jinx things.”
James sighs. “Can we try not swearing at medical personnel?”
The nurse smiles. “Under the circumstances, I think cursing is okay.”
“Damn straight,” Sean agrees. “Especially when someone’s about to manhandle your siblings’ guts.”
“That is the clinical term for it.” I squeeze Izzy’s hand. “Gut manhandling. It says so right on the chart.”
For some reason, this makes Bree tear up. She bends down to hug me again, and again, the bump gets in her way. “You need to get through this fast and come home,” she sniffles in my ear. “Someone’s gotta keep us laughing.”
Home.
The word hits me with a gut-punch of emotion I can’t identify. I’ve spent the last decade jumping from one humanitarian mission to another. Somalia. Guatemala. Post-Katrina New Orleans. Anyplace they need someone with two good hands and the urge to be useful. The boating background helps, though it’s my stepdad’s lessons about service that drive it home for me.
I’ll never forget the pride in Chuck’s eyes when I announced I was joining the Coast Guard. Then later, the day I declined my father’s request to join his yacht racing team and signed on instead with a tsunami relief organization. I was home on break, and Chuck helped with the paperwork at the kitchen table. Later, I heard the words he murmured to my mother in the kitchen.
“Always knew he’d grow up to do great things in the world.”
My heart nearly exploded with pride. Maybe I grew up spending summers with another father, attending fancy prep schools paid for by Cortisones Bracelyn’s billions. But Mom and Chuck never let me feel less loved than the kids they had together. They never cared that I had a different last name, a different tangle of DNA wrapped around me like an itchy scarf.
James pulls out his phone and holds it up next to my hospital bed. “They found your replacement. You were worried about leaving your crew high and dry, so I asked them to keep me apprised of the situation.”
“Which means one less thing for you to worry about,” Bree adds. “Sea-Watch will be okay without you for now.”
My heart twists at the mention of the humanitarian group I’ve volunteered with for the last few years. It’s good they found another captain. Good that they’ll be able to continue the missions without me.
“You’ll be back out there in no time.” Sean gives a firm nod. “If that’s what you want.”
“It is.” Of course it is.
My brain flashes to Blanka, to that kiss in the hospital hallway. I push the thought aside and focus on my siblings. On these final moments before I’m wheeled back to surgery.
“I love you.” Izzy swipes a hand at her eyes, then leans close to give me a hug. “I’m glad I met you. And I’m so lucky you’re my brother.”
“Don’t mention it.” I pat her on the back, conscious of the thinness of her frame and the dull ache in my core. “Go on,” I tell her. “Get back to your room before they find you missing and start ripping out someone else’s kidney by accident.”
“Okay.” She sniffs and sits back in the wheelchair. “Thank you.”
“Welcome,” I tell her. “I love you, too.”
The nurse pivots and wheels her away, while the rest of my siblings start shuffling to their feet.
“We should go, too,” Bree says. “You’re going to do great.”
Mark grunts and swipes the back of his hand across his brow. “Fuckin’ A.”
James slides his phone back in his pocket and clamps a hand around my shoulder. “We’re proud of you,” he says. “I hope you know that.”
“I do.” All this sappiness is making my throat hurt. “Just don’t go expecting me to give the rest of you any body parts.”
Sean laughs and bumps my knuckles with his. “Nah, but I will expect your collection of remote-controlled boats if you die. What?” he says when Mark punches him in the shoulder.
Mark’s brow furrows. “Not funny.”
“It was pretty funny,” I say.
Bree sniffs and leans down to give me one more hug. “Hurry and get healed,” she says. “This family needs its jester.”
Another twist of emotion pinches my throat as I hug my sister back. “Aye-aye, captain.”
There’s another round of hugging before everyone shuffles out. Bree glances one last time over her shoulder and blows me a kiss. I pretend to catch it, stuffing it in the breast pocket of my hospital gown right above my heart.
I can still feel it as their footsteps fade down the hall.
And then I’m alone. I glance at the clock, wondering how long I have until the doctors come wheel me away.
I look down at my abdomen. Its covered by my hospital gown and a layer of bland bedding, but somewhere underneath it lies my kidney. It’s an organ I’ve rarely given much thought to, and I’m about to say goodbye to it.
“Hey, kidney.” I say the words out loud, needing to make the most of these last moments. “We’ve had a good run together,” I continue. “You’ve done your job, even when I put you through that string of bachelor parties in our twenties.”
I’m probably imagining the small twitch in my low back, in the space just to the left of my spine. Until recently, I couldn’t have pointed to my kidneys or told anyone what they do. Now I’m having full conversations with mine.
“Anyway,” I continue, “I want you to take care of Isabella. She’ll give you a really great home. Eats clean, doesn’t drink alcohol. She’ll be way nicer to you than I’ve been.”
I picture my kidney sitting cr
oss-legged on a barstool, absorbing my words. A pensive little pinto bean.
“Isabella’s great,” I continue. “Smart and kind and funny.” A lump forms in my throat, but I push on. “You’ll be really happy with her.”
“Who are you talking to?”
I glance up to see Blanka in the doorway. Joy spurts through my veins, and I break into a big, dopey grin.
“I was giving my kidney a pep talk,” I explain.
She lifts one eyebrow. “I can come back.”
“Nah, come in.” I pat the bed beside me. “We’d just about finished our conversation.”
She smiles as she steps into the room wearing rolled up jeans and a loose white top with the front tucked behind a wide leather belt. I can’t tell if she’s wearing makeup, but I don’t think so. Maybe just the lip gloss that tastes like peppermint. As I stare at her mouth, that tiny gap between her teeth makes my guts twist in a spot that’s nowhere near my kidney.
Settling onto the chair beside my bed, she folds her hands in her lap. “Did your kidney have any parting words?”
“It’s a lousy conversationalist, actually. Keeps interrupting, rarely makes eye contact.”
“Good thing you’re getting rid of it.” She smiles again, and I go melty all over again at the sight of that gap. “Oh! Here, I almost forgot.”
She fishes into a small leather purse and pulls out a bag of cough drops. “I’ve been reading a lot about kidney transplants,” she says. “Your throat will be sore afterward from the intubation, but coughing can be painful, so—” she shrugs and sets the bag on the bedside table. “I thought this might help.”
“Thank you.” I’m touched by the gesture. That she’d go out of her way to think of it. “Thanks for being here so much these last few weeks. We’ve all really appreciated it.”
“No problem. I had tons of vacation time, and my boss practically ordered me to take it.”
“Your boss has a vested interest in kidneys?”
She shrugs and tucks a loose bit of blond hair behind one ear. “At my last performance review, she pointed out that I had nearly a year’s worth of unused PTO. This has been a good use for it.”