Her face blooms crimson. “Because my credit card says Beatrice M. Russo.”
“You took back your family name?” She nods. His voice is nothing more than a whisper when he says, “So she knows you as Beatrice.”
“And I know her as Mary. That’s what her name tag said.” She steps up to the side of the bed and looks down at me, tears falling down her cheeks. “Melina, I’m so, so sorry. If I’d known you were Mary … That’s no excuse. I was cruel and rude to you. I forced you and Boone apart, but I know you love my little boy. I can see that. I wish I could take it all back. Could you forgive me, please? Because I can’t forgive myself. Thank you for loving Baker. Thank you, Melina, thank you. Oh, god,” she whispers and falls to her knees beside my bed.
“Come on. Let’s get you out of here. Brock!”
“Yeah, brother?”
“Can you stay here with Melina? I need to take Marie back to Baker’s room and check on him, but I’ll be back. I don’t want her here alone.”
“You got it. I’ll be right here.” Boone’s only been gone a few seconds before I hear Brock say, “Hey! You made it.”
Another presence warms me and I look up, wishing I could smile. “Hey, sugar. I’m here,” Blake says, and I can hear the sunshine and confidence in his voice. “We’re all here. Mom and Dad are down in the parking garage and on their way up. You gave us quite a scare!”
“Bluh. Ev.”
“I think I know what you said, and I love you too.” He did. He knew exactly what I said.
“Br. Ev.”
Brock chuckles. “I love you too, cupcake. Get some rest. Misti and Kara will be up later. I bet when you wake up, Mom’s here beside you. Dad said she cried all the way here. Oh, babe, don’t. It’s all gonna be fine, you’ll see.”
A big tear rolls down my face. My family. They’re all here for me and Baker. Just before I close my eye, I look down at the big ring on my finger. I don’t know how long it’ll be before he gets tired of dealing with crippled Melina, but right now I’ll take whatever I can get.
* * *
It’s been three days. I’m trying so hard, but I’m obviously doing something wrong because nothing I’m doing is working. And the pain … Nothing prepared me for the pain. It hurts so badly that I can’t think most of the time. My shoulder hurts too, and they tell me that’s because they pumped my belly full of gas during the surgery and that’s where it shows up. Makes no sense, I know, but there you have it.
I was supposed to be up walking twenty-four hours after the surgery, but because of the stroke, I can’t walk. I can’t do anything. Physical therapy keeps coming in, working my legs and my arms. I’ve got those inflatable leg tube thingies that keep me from having clots in my legs. They don’t want to take out the catheter because I can’t get to the bathroom. The pain meds have made me constipated and my tummy aches. If it hadn’t been for the surgery, by now I would be dead.
And right now, I wish I were.
Baker’s still here too. They say they keep transplant patients five to ten days, but they’re telling me he’s doing well enough that he’ll probably get to go home on day six. That’s good.
Thing is, I’m not kidding myself. I’m watching the doctors’ faces when they come in here. They aren’t too hopeful for me, and neither am I. Everybody’s trying to cheer me up. Brock and Blake come in and sing to me, and they’re so funny, but I don’t feel like laughing. Kara and Misti keep coming in and staying with me. Gertie and Brannon are here too. They’re with me as much as the hospital will let them be, but sometimes they all have to go.
My room is full of stuff―flowers, stuffed animals, and cards. God, there are cards everywhere. I think every member of Bliss has sent me one. The Incredible Eight, as I’ve started to call them to myself, have come every day. They bought me the most beautiful robe I’ve ever seen. It’s gorgeous. Olivia and Cirilla picked it out. I wish I could wear it.
Marie has come back once by herself. She sat down and talked to me. I couldn’t talk back, of course. I hope it made her feel better. All I could do was give a tiny little nod and hope she understood. None of that matters anymore. I don’t care. My life is over anyway.
But right now, Boone is here. He’s here half of every day, and last night, he came in, scooted me over in the bed, and climbed up in here with me. He wanted to hold me, but it hurt too much, so he just cuddled me. All I could do was cry. Today he’s brought a book and he’s reading to me. It’s something about positive thinking and all that stuff. From where I sit, or lie, as the case may be, it’s all bullshit.
After he’s read for a little while, he says, “Stay right there. I’ll be right back.” Oh, yeah, I’m going to get up and run away, I tell myself with an internal snort. There’s no one here right at this moment, and I don’t know what to do except cry. That’s all I’ve managed to do since this whole thing started. I’m lying here, tears and snot rolling down my face, when the door opens again and I wish I could smile.
It’s Boone. And he’s got Baker in a wheelchair. My little friend yells, “Poopsie Chucklebutt! You’re here!” After a couple of seconds, he asks, “Daddy? What’s wrong with Poopsie?”
Boone rolls the wheelchair right up to the side of my bed. “She got really sick after the surgery, honey. She’s not doing very well. Parts of her aren’t working. Can you say hi?”
“Hi, Poopsie. You look very small in that bed,” he announces. “I have your kidney in me. In there with my heart. Right beside it. I can show you the stitches,” he says.
“No, bud. Leave your dressings alone. She knows what it looks like.”
“No she doesn’t, Daddy. She should see. Her kidney is big!” he says loudly and holds his hands out like he’s measuring a whopper of a catch. “Poopsie, thank you for the kidney. I won’t go to see Honker now.” He leans forward until his little face is sticking through the rails on the side of the bed and whispers to me, “I know your name is Melina. I remember. I love you, Melina. I wish you were my mom. My real mom didn’t give me a kidney, but you did. That means you love me.” He pulls back and asks Boone, “Why won’t she talk to me?”
“Because her lips are one of the parts of her that isn’t working. She can’t―”
“Br. Eh wah ooh.”
And there’s that grin. “She just said she loves me! You’re wrong, Daddy. Her parts are working. It’s okay, Poopsie,” he says and pats my hand. “I know what you said. I love you too. But you forgot to give me your phone.” I point at the drawer on the nightstand and he reaches in. “Here it is! I don’t know, Daddy, how does this work?”
Boone takes it, punches a few buttons, and his face goes pale. “The last call you got on this …”
“Twah pah tee.”
“Transplant team.” When he lifts his eyes and looks at me, I can see that love there, the love I’ve always seen there, mixed with the pain and misery. “Melina, I … There aren’t words. There just aren’t.” A big tear rolls down his cheek and he says, “Baker, let’s get you back to your room.”
“But I want to stay with Poopsie―”
“She needs her rest and you do too. Come on. Let’s go.”
Before his dad can reach the wheelchair, Baker grabs my hand through the bedrails and kisses it. “I love you, Poopsie. Don’t leave without telling me goodbye.” When he turns loose, I ruffle his hair and stroke his little cheek. “Know what? You’re the best person in the whole wide world. Bye, Poopsie. I’ll be back. Remember―don’t leave without telling me goodbye!” he calls back to me as Boone rolls him out.
It gets quiet in my room. I don’t see anybody except the nurses for the rest of the afternoon. They feed me my dinner―which, by the way, is horrid, like watered-down slime―and clean me up before giving me the next dose of my meds. The last nurse closes the door behind her.
In less than ten minutes, it opens and Blake steps into the room, then closes the door behind him. “Melina, I know you’d want to know. He’ll be okay, but Boone had some kind of breakdown t
his afternoon. They’ve got him sedated, but he fell apart in the elevator by himself and when the door opened, it took three guys to get him out. He was hysterical. They think it’s just pure exhaustion and all the worry he’s been through. They won’t let him see you or Baker for twenty-four hours. I thought I should tell you so you’d know he hadn’t just run away. Until then, Brock or I will be here, or Kara or Misti, or Mom or Dad. Somebody will be with you all the time.”
Great. I’ve contributed to someone having a nervous breakdown. This just keeps getting better and better. Blake stays for about two hours and then Brock comes in. They tag team me for an hour before Blake leaves. When I wake at four o’clock in the morning, Brannon’s sitting in the chair across the room, sound asleep but holding vigil.
Kara helps me eat my breakfast and I drift away again. Someone or other is there all day. They all leave about five and I’m alone. When the door opens again, it’s Boone.
“Hey, babe,” he whispers to me and kisses my forehead. I’m sure he won’t kiss my lips. I’m drooling all the time. It’s pretty ugly, I’m sure. Then he sits down on the bed and I wince. “What’s wrong? Am I hurting you?”
“Ya suh oh my weh.”
“Try again.”
“Ya suh oh my weh.”
“I still don’t―”
“Ya suh oh my weh!” I yell as loudly as I can and point with my left arm.
“I’m sitting on your leg?” I nod as best I can. “I’m sitting on your leg.” A tiny little smile tugs up the corners of his lips. “Melina, you do realize, that’s your right leg.”
Well, son of a bitch. It is.
* * *
“Here. You forgot this.” I swear to god, he’d forget his head if it wasn’t glued on.
“Thanks, babe.” Taking the package from my hand, he grins. “You do realize, eating the lunch you fixed me is the highlight of my day when I’m away from you.”
“Oh, dear god. It’s tuna salad.”
“Angel, I’d eat a dog shit sandwich if I knew you made it for me.”
“Yuck, Daddy! That’s awful! Poopsie would never make a dog sh―”
“Oh, no, young man. I’m sorry I said that in front of you, and you’re most definitely not supposed to say it,” Boone barks at the little boy.
Baker scratches his shaggy head. “Yes, sir. I’m sorry. But she wouldn’t do that, would you, Poopsie?”
“No. Well, maybe. Depends on what kind of stinker he’s been,” I say with a laugh and Boone chuckles.
“You’ve got a PT appointment at eleven, right?”
“Yes, sir, I sure do.” We don’t use the term “master” in front of Baker. That’s something he wouldn’t understand, but it’s hard for me. It’s become reflexive.
“Then do a good job and call me when you’re finished. Want to go to the steakhouse tonight?”
“Sure. It’ll give Millie the night off.” Millie and Maurice finally got married about two weeks ago, and they just got back from the honeymoon we gave them as a wedding gift.
“Sounds like a plan. Bye, Hooter McGee!” Boone calls to Baker.
“No! That’s Poopsie’s name for me! You can’t say it!”
“Sorry, sorry!” Boone calls back. “Bye, sugar dumplin’!”
“Ewww, Dad! That’s what you’d call a girl! Stop it!”
“Bye, babe.” He kisses me again before he closes the door, and I hear the Rover pull out of the basement garage.
“Your mom will be here in an hour or two. You’d better get your room cleaned up and pack up anything you want to take to her house.”
“Okay, okay. But I want to stay here with you,” Baker whines as he stomps back into the kitchen.
“You know the rules, buster. Scoot.” His head is down as he drags out of the kitchen and I know he doesn’t want to go. I don’t want him to go. But that’s how it works.
A car pulls up at about nine thirty and I know it’s Marie. “Anybody home?” she calls out from the front door.
“In the kitchen.”
I hear her footsteps coming closer until she comes into view. “Hey! You’re looking good!”
“Thanks!” I’ve just cut up a bowl of fruit, so I turn to face her. “Want some? I just got it done.”
“Don’t mind if I do!” She slides onto one of the bar stools. “How’s PT coming along?”
“Pretty good. They say in a couple of weeks I may not have to use my cane anymore,” I tell her as I fork up a piece of cantaloupe.
“That’s great. So what are the plans?”
“They told me they thought it would be six months. Now they’re saying I’m right on target, so two more months. I made up my mind it wasn’t happening until I can walk by myself, so that’s the target date.”
“Great! Brandt still coming?”
“Yeah. He said he’d officiate.” I don’t tell her Boone talked to Brandt and found out that not only are they separated, but he’s lost his preaching position. Churches don’t like divorced pastors. According to Boone, he’s started questioning everything―his purpose in life, his lifestyle, his faith―and he’s looking to start over. He hasn’t said, but we think when he comes out here, he’s going to just stay. Guess we’ll see. But I know he’ll be perfectly welcome.
“That’s great. By the way, the store isn’t the same without you. Do you ever plan to go back?”
“Maybe. Haven’t really thought about it. I just want to get well and move on with my life, you know?”
“I understand completely.” About that time, Baker runs into the kitchen. “Hey, bud! You about ready to go?”
“I guess. Hey, Poopsie?”
“Yes, baby?”
“I made up a song for you! Want to hear it?”
“Sure!”
“Okay.” He sets a hockey puck sized purple thing on the table. “Doodle, play the Poopsie Chucklebutt song.”
An artificial voice starts singing, “Poopsie Chucklebutt! Poopsie Chucklebutt! Poopsie Chucklebutt has brown hair and big eyes, and a little butt and big thingies, and she makes good sandwiches and plays checkers, and she doesn’t have a pot belly, and she …” The song goes on and on as Baker dances around and tries out moves he probably shouldn’t while Marie and I belly laugh. His recovery has been nothing short of amazing, and I’m so thrilled and honored to be part of his life. He’s a true survivor.
PT is grueling, but I’m getting there. “Your speech is good, Melina. Your eye/hand coordination is good. Your penmanship has really improved. And that leg … it’s really coming along. You’re doing well.”
“How long do you think?” I ask Becky, the therapist.
“I think you’ll be ready, if that’s what you’re asking,” she says and smiles.
I’ll be ready. I am ready.
* * *
“Every dirty story you’ve ever heard, every filthy film you’ve ever watched, I can bring to life right here. Say the word, submissive. That’s all you’ve got to do and I’ll make your wildest dream a reality.” Boone towers over me, and I melt at his words.
It’s taken him a month to get to the point where he understands that he’s not going to injure me, that I’m not breakable. The nipple clamps make me gasp, but that cock moving in and out of me makes me hum. I love this man more than life. I’d do anything for him and that little boy―anything.
When he’s come inside me for the third time and I’m so exhausted I can barely move, he flips me onto my stomach and there, in the silence of the darkened room, he tenderly kisses the scar on my back from one end to the other. Every time we make love, have sex, or fuck, he does the exact same thing. It’s like his penance for being the dirty boy he is, and I love it. When he’s finished paying his respects, he drops onto the mattress beside me and kisses me. “Two weeks. Two weeks and you’ll be my wife. I can’t believe it, Melina. God, the road we’ve traveled and the things that have happened.”
“Makes it all sweeter, don’t you think?” I ask, pushing myself up onto my elbows and gazing into
his luminous eyes. There are no more beautiful eyes in the entire world.
“I think so. A few months ago, I thought our life together was over, and here we are. I’m so glad you and Baker are okay. Our forever is about to begin, Angel, and I’m so thankful. I’m just thankful every morning to be alive in this world we’ve created for the three of us.”
Deep inside, a tiny voice cries out, You have no idea how close I came to not being here. But what comes out of my mouth is, “So am I, Master.”
So am I.
* * *
Thank you for reading Undeniably His. I hoped you enjoyed it. Eternally Yours, Book Six is Melina and Boone’s story. Boone is everything a woman could want, but it’s hard to believe he wants me.
* * *
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About the Author
Deanndra Hall is a working author living in the far western end of the beautiful Bluegrass State with her husband of over 35 years and small menagerie of weird little dogs. When she’s not writing, she’s editing. When she’s doing neither of those two things, she’s having dinner with friends, spending time with family, kayaking, eating chocolate, drinking beer or moonshine, or looking for something that she put in the wrong place and can’t seem to find (which is pretty much everything she owns).
On the Web: www.deanndrahall.com
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P.O. Box 3722,
Paducah, KY 42002-3722
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Also by Deanndra Hall
Undeniably His: Bliss Series, Book Five Page 27