“Hi,” I reply, eyeing the syringe in her hands nervously.
She seems to notice. “Squeamish about needles?” she asks sympathetically.
I flush in embarrassment. “Sorry,” I say awkwardly.
“Well, I’ll be gentle,” she promises, “but it looks like your husband is finishing up already.”
“My husband—oh,” I remember the cover story I’ve used, and assume that she’s been told the same thing that we told the doctors upstairs. “Yes, I know it will be fine; I’m just a little nervous.”
“Sir,” the nurse calls, grabbing Tyler’s attention as he walks past this cubicle and toward the waiting room, “I think that it would be a good idea to hold your wife’s hand for this part.”
Tyler nods, then stands next to me, rubbing one hand over my free arm. My eyes are glued to the spot on my elbow the nurse is about to poke until Tyler tilts my chin the other way to look him in the eyes.
“Don’t look at that,” he instructs calmly. “Look at me.”
I let myself get lost in his brown eyes while the nurse sticks me with the needle, and I flinch. Tyler grips me tighter and soothes me with encouraging whispers until she takes the needle out of my arm.
“You’re all done, honey,” she says. “The samples will be sent straight to processing, and someone will let you know the results by the end of the night.”
We thank the nurse, then head back into the waiting room.
“Mel, it’s getting late,” Tyler says to me, shaking me from my thoughts, which are nothing more than spiraling worry.
I glance at my phone and see that it’s after midnight.
“I didn’t even realize,” I confess. “I’ve been so caught up in everything else. I’m sorry; if you want to go home, you can.”
Tyler shakes his head immediately. “No, that’s not what I meant,” he says, as if offended that I even made that assumption. “I was just wondering if you needed anything from your apartment. I could go grab you a change of clothes, or a phone charger or something.”
“Oh,” I mumble, blushing slightly. I don’t really care about my clothes or my phone right now. “I’m okay. I have everything I need for tonight.”
“I can grab us some takeout, if you’re up to eating,” he offers, and I turn my nose up.
“I’m really not hungry,” I reply, “but thanks anyway. You really don’t have to stay, Tyler—I’ll keep you updated on anything that changes, if you want to get some sleep. I know you have work tomorrow.”
“Hey,” he objects sternly, taking my cheek in his hand gently, “I’m not just here for Jackson, Mel. Someone needs to be here to make sure you’re okay. I want to make sure you’ve got everything you need.”
His kindness is overwhelming. I’m not used to people taking care of me like this. For the past few years, I’ve been on my own, taking care of Jackson when I could. Never in my life have I been used to someone watching out for me like Tyler is trying to do right now.
“I can’t thank you enough,” I tell him. Stretching, I feel my sore, tense muscles relax a bit, and the tiredness that washes over me afterward. “God, I’m exhausted,” I tell him.
Tyler tugs me to the side to rest my head on his shoulder in the uncomfortable hospital waiting room chair.
“Why don’t you try to get some rest,” he suggests. “I’ll wake you up if a doctor comes.”
I nod, my eyes closing on their own.
When I wake up, it’s to Tyler shifting to sit up straighter to talk to a doctor. Before he can even move to wake me, I’m rubbing my eyes and clearing my throat to talk to the doctor. The clock says that I’ve been asleep for over two hours.
“Family of Jackson Page?” the surgeon asks, and I nod nervously. “He’s out of surgery. It went as well as we could have expected, and he’s in recovery. We’re just waiting for him to wake up before we can transport him back to his room.”
I could cry with how relieved I feel. “That’s amazing news,” I say, choking back tears, “thank you.”
The surgeon nods cordially, turning a few pages in his clipboard to read a new document.
“I’ve also got the results of both of your donor match results,” he says. “Which one of you is Mel Page?”
“I am,” I reply. “Am I a match?”
Heartbreakingly, the doctor shakes his head.
“Unfortunately, you weren’t. The chance of…”
My ears ring through the rest of his explanation after; I feel like I’m underwater.
“Mel, did you hear that?” Tyler asks, and I blink to clear my head.
“Hear what?”
“The surgeon said I’m a match.”
My jaw drops. “What?” I ask, completely dumbfounded.
The sinking feeling leaves my stomach, and my fingers begin tingling as adrenaline rushes through my body.
“There are,” the surgeon interrupts, “still a few more tests that your husband will have to undergo to ensure that he is physically eligible to donate—but, yes, his kidney is a viable match.”
“And you, Tyler…” I can’t seem to bring myself to finish the sentence, but I have to know the answer. “You really want to do that? You’re willing to give up your kidney for him?”
Tyler frowns. “Of course I am,” he replies without missing a beat.
“But there are all kinds of risks with surgery,” I warn, “and plus, doesn’t living with just one kidney put you at risk for…I don’t know, infections and stuff?”
“Mel, relax,” he placates, brushing my hair away from my face with a tender hand. “I’m perfectly healthy, and I’m fit and active. The lifespan of someone with one kidney is normal; they told us that, remember? I’m going to do this.”
“I just…I really thought you two hated each other,” I say, still in shock.
“I don’t hate him,” he reassures me. “I want to do this for him. And for you.”
“Well,” the surgeon cuts in, “sir, if you’re ready, I’d like to get you checked in to begin your preliminary testing. Time is of the essence.”
“Do you want me to go with you?” I ask.
Tyler turns to me and presses a kiss to my lips, slow and caring.
“Go to Jackson,” he tells me, “and don’t worry. I’m fine on my own. I’ll be back in no time.”
Tyler follows the surgeon and I watch him go until he disappears behind a door. I send up a quick prayer to the universe that everything will go smoothly for him, then make my way over to see if Jackson has woken up yet.
Chapter 23
Tyler
I spend the next several hours undergoing tests to ensure that I’m healthy enough for surgery, and that my kidney is fit to donate. Finally, after an exhausting barrage of medical devices, I’m allowed to rest in my hospital bed and watch some late-night television until the doctor comes in once again.
“Mr. Cross,” the surgeon greets, “the results of your tests are back, and everything looks good. After you sign these consent forms, we’ll be ready to take both of you in for surgery.”
The form is long and contains more information than I’ve ever written out in my life. I swear, this hospital knows me better than my own mother. I barely even register the knock at the door of my hospital room until I hear a familiar voice.
“Hey,” Mel greets, “mind if I come in?”
“Of course not,” I say, motioning to the chair by the bed. “I thought you were with Jackson.”
Mel shrugs and smiles at me as she takes a seat. She looks exhausted—she clearly hasn’t slept since I left her, and the habit she has of twirling her hair with her fingers has left some parts of it messily curled. Her face looks tired and pale, but she’s still gorgeous even with everything working against her. As for me, I’m already wearing an unflattering hospital gown, barefoot and uncomfortable in the bed.
“He’s still asleep,” she explains, “and I wanted to come to tell you good luck before you went under.”
I chuckle. “Thank you,” I sa
y, running an anxious hand through my hair. Even though I’m confident that I’m making the right choice, and I have no second thoughts about what I’m doing, I can’t help but be nervous.
“Love the outfit,” Mel teases, her tone trying for jokey but falling short. I realize that she’s trying to be lighthearted for my sake.
“Yeah, I’m not so sure,” I reply. “I think it’s too much like what I sleep in.”
Mel laughs, a sound that’s much needed for both of us.
“Well, the color is good on you,” she says.
“Mr. Cross,” a nurse calls, knocking on the door, “I’ve been told that it’s time to take you in. Are you ready?”
When I wake up, it’s in a different room than that in which I fell asleep. The walls are white and everything smells sterile. I come to slowly, feeling a bit hazy and drowsy as I try to remember where I am and what happened.
“He’s waking up!” a sweet, melodic voice says.
“Mel?” I ask, prying my eyes open to look at her. There are tears in her eyes, but she’s smiling. I hope that’s a good thing.
“Hey, sleepyhead,” she greets happily. “Good to see you’re awake. You know where you are?”
It takes a moment for me to sort through my thoughts, but once I do, I nod. The accident, the surgery, the transplant.
“I’m glad,” she sighs in relief. “Are you in pain?”
Oh, absolutely. Everything aches as if I’ve just had a really intense workout, and my abdomen is extremely tender.
I shake my head no, knowing that if I say yes, she’ll call a nurse to give me more painkillers, and that will likely put me back to sleep. I mustn’t be too convincing in my reply, though, because Mel looks skeptical, so I decide to change the subject.
“How’s Jackson?” I ask. My throat is dry, noticeably so, and Mel hands me a small cup full of ice cubes. I take one and begin to suck on it.
“He’s doing really well,” she says, and I can see her eyes light up. “He woke up about ten minutes ago. The doctors are really optimistic. And it’s all because of you.”
I shake my head, unwilling to accept praise of which I’m not deserving.
“Mel, you’d have done the same thing if you’d been a match,” I remind her.
She looks at me sternly, stilling my shifting in the bed.
“He’s my brother,” she points out. I open my mouth to argue, but she rolls her eyes and cuts me off. “Just make this easy on both of us and accept the compliment,” she commands.
“Fine—if you want to tell me how amazing I am, feel free.”
“I do,” she says, “but your doctors say that you should be resting. I don’t want to keep you awake.”
“I’m not tired,” I lie. Talking to Mel is preferable to sleeping, but she looks even more exhausted than I feel.
“You know, I’ve been sleeping for the past—how long was the surgery?”
“Three hours,” Mel replies tiredly.
“Right,” I continue, “so, I’ve been sleeping for the past three hours, but you haven’t slept at all, have you?”
She shakes her head. “How could I sleep?” she asks, motioning to my bed and to the hallway—I’m assuming at Jackson’s room. “I’ve been going crazy with nerves. My mind wouldn’t rest until both of you had woken up.”
“That reminds me,” I cut in, “if Jackson is awake, why are you in here with me?”
Mel looks sheepishly down to her feet. “He told me that all the pacing I was doing was making him nervous,” she replies, “so he kicked me out until you were awake.”
I laugh, regretting it instantly when the motion pulls at my stitches. I groan in discomfort, and Mel frowns worriedly, but I shake my head before she can voice her concerns.
“I’m fine,” I reassure her. “Hey, why don’t you go see your brother?”
“Tired of me already?” she asks jokingly, but there’s a bit of genuine hurt in her tone.
I press the call button, and a nurse enters quickly, a cheerful smile on her face.
“You need something, sweetie?” she asks, and I nod.
“I was wondering if I could go visit my friend,” I announce, shocking both the nurse and Mel.
“Oh, honey,” the nurse objects, “your stitches are so new, are you sure you want to be up and around already?”
I’m already sitting up, albeit gingerly, so the nurse takes that as answer enough and jogs to get a hospital wheelchair. She wheels it back in and I allow her and Mel to help me into it before Mel walks behind it and begins to wheel me to Jackson’s room.
His room is only a few doors down, so the walk isn’t far, and I don’t even have time to prepare what I might say upon seeing Jackson before we’re there. He already told me that there was no grand gesture that could make him forgive me for what happened. When I’d tried to give him the position in the company that he deserved, plus compensate him for everything he’d missed over the years, he’d taken the gesture as trying to buy his forgiveness.
Not to mention, that’s why we’re here in the first place. If I hadn’t screwed up so badly, both last night and five years ago, Jackson would be fine.
When Mel wheels me into the room, there’s an awkward silence for a good several beats. Jackson is still lying in his hospital bed, playing on his phone.
“Hi, Jackson,” Mel greets. “Tyler just woke up.”
Jackson nods, waiting for me to speak. I know I have to choose my words carefully.
“I wasn’t trying to buy your forgiveness with the offer I made you last night,” I say, waiting for a reaction and getting none. Jackson’s expression is unreadable. “You ran out before I had a chance to tell you that. But that’s not what I was trying to do. And I wasn’t trying to buy your forgiveness with the kidney, either.”
At that, Jackson can’t help but burst into laughter. Tears gather in his eyes, both from laughing and pain, and he keeps laughing until I can’t keep a tentative smile off my face, either.
“Oh my God,” Jackson gasps. “Stop, it hurts!”
“Sorry?” I say awkwardly, unsure what I’ve done wrong.
Jackson wipes the corners of his eyes with the white edge of his hospital sheet. “You think that I’m still going to be mad about that?” he asks, and I shrug honestly.
“I wasn’t sure,” I admit. “It seemed like no matter what I did, I couldn’t make the right move. I didn’t want you to think I was making some kind of calculated, evil power decision.”
Jackson shakes his head. “Tyler, I nearly died,” he says somberly, sobering suddenly. “I didn’t want the money because I didn’t want you to just be able to buy my forgiveness without even thinking about it. The money wasn’t important to me because it’s not important to you.”
Finally, I’m able to see not only why he didn’t want the offer, but why it had made him so angry. He’s right; there’s almost no amount of money that I could give to someone else that would change anything about my life. He needed a heartfelt gesture, not a handout.
“But Tyler, you gave me an organ,” he continues. “You could have died, but you did it anyway.”
I roll my eyes—Jackson can be so dramatic.
“The risk was minimal to me,” I remind him. “Plus, I have two kidneys.”
“That’s not the point,” Jackson argues. “You did that because you care. You did it because you’ve really changed.”
I smile slightly. “I’ve found someone worth changing for,” I say, glancing to Mel, who smiles confidently instead of flushing her normal red. I can’t tell if she’s just too exhausted to be self-conscious or if it’s something else, but it’s a good look for her.
“Well, she’s lucky to have you in her life,” Jackson says, “and so am I.”
“So,” I start, “how do I start to make things right again? I know how badly I messed everything up. I want to show you that I value our friendship and that you’re important to me. What can I do?”
Jackson laughs again, and looks me in the eyes
. “I think we can call it even,” he assures me.
I’m so relieved to hear him say those words that I wheel my chair forward to the side of his bed, ignoring the searing pain in my abdomen, and shake his hand.
“So, this whole five-year fight is really over?” Mel asks hopefully, glancing between the two of us.
I can’t be the one to answer that, but to my relief, Jackson nods.
“All I needed was to know that I had a friend I could trust,” he says, “and Tyler proved beyond a shadow of a doubt that he’s that kind of friend. Hell, you’re a better friend than most people ever have.”
“Don’t get all sappy on me, buddy,” I say with a grin. “Just because you almost died, doesn’t mean we have to live out a chick-flick scene, does it?”
Again, Jackson laughs. I’ve missed this.
“Right,” Jackson agrees, then looks pointedly at Mel, who’s in tears once more. “Besides, Mel is having enough of a chick-flick moment for both of us combined.”
“Shut up,” she laughs through her tears. “I thought I was going to lose both of you—plus, I haven’t slept in two days.”
I take that as my cue. “Well, I should probably get back to my room so that Mel can get some rest without worrying about the two of us,” I say, and she stands to wheel my chair out of Jackson’s room. “I’ll talk to you later,” I add.
“Hey, Tyler,” Jackson calls, just before I’m all the way out of his room. We pause in the doorway, and he waves. “Have I said thank you yet? Because I know it doesn’t begin to cover it, but thank you.”
I shrug. “We’re even, remember?” I remind him. “But that offer I made wasn’t a bribe. It was serious. Since the doctors say you’ll be needing a lot of sleep in the next few weeks, I want you to sleep on it.”
Jackson smiles. “I don’t have to,” he tells me. “Just call me Vice President Page.”
Satisfied, I allow Mel to take me back to my room. I’m feeling exhausted just by the short visit, and while I’m not looking forward to getting out of the chair, the thought of bed is tempting enough to motivate me to move.
My Brother's Best Friend - A Second Chance Romance (San Bravado Billionaire's Club Book 8) Page 11