Needing Him

by Kennedy Fox

  “I honestly didn’t think a man like him really existed.” I continue about the man I’m in love with.

  John smiles. “You two are made for each other. He’s needed someone like you for a long while. It’s nice to see him like this, and I was happy to hear about the baby. Can’t wait to spoil the shit out of it.”

  I hand him the folded towels, and he places them in the empty basket.

  “Thanks. That really means a lot to me. I didn’t have a close-knit family growing up, so I’m really looking forward to giving this baby a big family.”

  “Well, just a warnin’, though. If you're not careful, Mama's gonna start planning the weddin’ real soon. She adores you.”

  My eyes go wide. “I’ve already been warned about that and already experienced it actually.”

  “It’s no joke. A few days ago, she told me I needed to find a nice girl like you.”

  “Seriously?” I ask.

  “Yep. Courtney and Alex are both settled down with spouses and kids, and now that you and Evan are having a baby, she’s taken it upon herself to try and find me someone too.”

  “But what about Jackson? He’s single,” I say, but then add, “Well, single in the sense that he doesn’t do more than just hookups.”

  This question causes him to burst into laughter. “Mama thinks he’s hopeless.”

  I tilt my head at him. “She doesn’t really believe that.”

  He gives me a pointed look. “She knows he ain’t ready to settle down anytime soon.”

  “And you are?”

  “I want any relationship I’m in to happen naturally, not because my mother set me up. Also, just because I’m not braggin’ about my lady friends like Jackson doesn’t mean anything. I believe some things are better left private.”

  “Ha,” I hear behind us and turn to see Jackson standing there smirking. “Didn’t seem like you wanted it to be too private last night when the headboard was slamming against the wall and keeping everyone in town awake.”

  “And the evil twin strikes again.” John grunts.

  Jackson walks forward and leans against the counter. He pushes his cowboy hat up on his head and gives me a side smile. “John has more women in his bed than I do. Everyone thinks I’m the player, and I’ll happily take the title, but John has me beat by a long shot. He’s just too modest to admit it.”

  John reaches back and punches Jackson in his arm. “You really need to shut the hell up,” he warns. “You’re just tryin’ to show off in front of Emily.”

  Jackson straightens his stance and folds his arms against his broad chest. “And now I’m gonna have to punch you back.”

  The only thing that stops them from continuing forward is my laughter. I try to hold it back, but by the way they’re acting, I can’t help it. Grown ass brothers acting like they’re back at the playground. Their eyes widen, and they both turn and look at me.

  “What’s so funny?” Jackson asks, the smile returning to his face.

  “It’s almost like you’re arguing with yourself in the mirror. You two are lucky to have each other. It’s a blessing,” I tell them.

  “Or a curse,” John adds.

  Jackson gives him a big hug, squeezing him hard, and pretends to try to kiss him, but John just pushes him away and picks up a broom to sweep up the dirt that Jackson tracked in from outside. Eventually, Jackson gets bored with us and decides to return to the stables.

  “Is he always like that?” I ask.

  “If he wasn’t, I’d think there was something wrong,” John admits, looking back at his to-do list.

  “You know I’m not going to say anything to anyone about your extracurriculars. Though I have a feeling Jackson’s exaggerating just a little.”

  John lifts an eyebrow, and I hold back a scoff and make sure to keep my face straight. Though he wears the same face as Jackson, as I watch him, I see how similar his mannerisms are to Evan’s. He’s reserved and all business, but I have a feeling when he lets loose, he knows how to have a good time.

  We spend the next few hours sweeping, mopping, organizing, and dusting. John takes full advantage of having the extra help, which I don’t mind because I enjoy being productive. Though I’m sure he’s giving me all the easy tasks because Evan probably told him to.

  As I’m standing on my tiptoes trying to clean windows, arms wrap around my waist and rub my stomach. Instantly, I look over my shoulder only to see Evan. He kisses my neck and whispers in my ear. “You smell so damn good.”

  I chuckle. “Like bleach and window cleaner.” I turn my body to fully face him. “And you smell like the outdoors and man.”

  “You mean sweat?” He chuckles against my mouth.

  “Did you come to steal my help?” John asks, smiling at Evan and me.

  “I sure did. I’ve got some more tasks for her to do,” Evan tells him, picking me up in his arms.

  John shakes his head. “Thanks for all your help today, Emily. You’re more than welcome to be my helper when you’re bored or just want to get out of Evan’s hair.”

  “You’re welcome. Anytime,” I say as Evan continues to carry me through the common room and finally sets me down when we get to the door. “I kinda like it when you go all caveman on me.”

  “If I didn’t capture you, I’m not sure John would ever let me take you away.”

  “So what are these tasks you need me to do?” I ask as we walk onto the front porch.

  When Evan turns and lifts an eyebrow, then proceeds to suck on the corner of his bottom lip, I know exactly what tasks he’s referring to.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  EVAN

  I wake up with Emily pressed against my body and smile against the softness of her neck. “Good morning,” I whisper, trying to force myself up.

  She rolls over and wraps her leg around mine. “Can we just call in sick today?”

  I brush my thumb across her cheek. “You already know the answer to that.”

  “I know,” she whispers and stretches.

  Allowing her to sleep a little longer, I get up and jump in the shower. By the time I’m out, I find Emily in the kitchen all dressed and ready to go. “I wish I didn’t give up coffee.”

  “The doctor said you could have one cup,” I remind her, but she was persistent on completely giving it up for the baby.

  “But we both know the risks. Plus, one cup is a tease when you’re used to having three or four through the day.” She pours coffee up to the top of the travel mug, takes a big sniff, then hands it over to me.

  I lean over and place a kiss on her lips. “And this is why I love you.”

  “Because I know statistics?” She laughs.

  “Exactly.”

  We head to the truck, and I look over at her and smile. I love our morning routine and spending as much time with her as possible. Being able to see Emily at the hospital and having lunch together is one of the highlights of my entire day.

  By the time we make it to the hospital, the sun peeks over the horizon. After I park, we grab our bags with our scrubs from the back seat and head inside.

  “What?” she asks, looking over at me as she changes clothes.

  “Nothing, Dr. Bell. Nothing at all.” I wink, and we make our way to the nurses’ station, grab our pagers, and check in with the nurses.

  Dr. Umbridge informs us an ambulance is in en route, and that Fiona will fill us in on the details. The rest of the staff already have patients so Emily or I will be on this one. “Twenty-eight-year-old female. Seven months pregnant. Experiencing migraines and nausea. Severely dehydrated. Passed out at work and her co-workers called it in. ETA is three minutes.”

  “Sounds good,” Emily says. “I can take her.”

  I glance over at her, then to Fiona. “I’ll be helping Dr. Bell on this one. Page me if I’m needed.” She gives me a quick head nod before picking up the phone.

  Emily and I walk away from the nurses’ station, and she turns and speaks in a hushed voice. “You know I can handle this
myself.”

  I place my hand on her shoulder and can feel the tension in her body. “I know you’re more than capable. One of the best in the hospital.” I wink to ease her of my overprotectiveness.

  Before she can respond, the hustle and bustle of the paramedics wheeling in the patient interrupt us. Emily goes to the stretcher, and I follow behind her.

  “Patient’s name is Bailey Kensington. She’s seven months pregnant. Fetal heart rate is strong,” the medic informs us.

  “Okay, take her to trauma room two please,” Emily orders. I love watching her take charge, especially on days she wears her sexy, black-rimmed glasses. It’s honestly the last thing I should be thinking about right now, but ever since her sex drive has tripled, it’s always on my mind. I’m ready any time she decides to push me into one of the on-call rooms and demand I take off my pants. Working with my girlfriend definitely has its perks.

  Once Bailey is transferred to a bed, we hook her up and check all her vitals. An electric fetal monitor is hooked up as well so we can keep an eye on the baby. Claire comes in to help since she just finished with a patient and sets her up with fluids right away.

  Bailey looks up at the three of us, and the discomfort is written all over her face. Emily asks more questions about her medical history and the location of the pain. Not wanting to overstep my bounds with her patient, I stand and monitor the machines. Bailey winces when Emily asks her to lean forward so she can listen to her lungs. She tells her to take some deep breaths, but she can barely hold herself up before she gets a dizzy spell.

  “How long have you experienced these headaches?” Emily asks.

  “For a few months, but the vision issues started a few weeks ago,” Bailey finally admits.

  “Okay, I’m going to check your vision, since your pain is pinpoint,” Emily explains before placing her finger behind her ear. “Tell me when you can first see my finger.” Emily begins moving her fingers forward, and she doesn’t speak until her finger is nearly in front of her face, which worries me, and when Emily glances back at me, I see the concern on her face too.

  “And how long has the nausea lasted? Since the beginning of the pregnancy?” I ask, taking a step closer.

  She shakes her head. “It started the past few weeks. I’ve noticed I’ve been slightly losing my balance as well, but I think it’s because my headaches are so painful I can hardly bear it.”

  “We need to order an MRI immediately.” I look at Emily, and she nods her head.

  “What about the baby? Is that safe for the baby?”

  Emily grabs Bailey’s hand and squeezes it, giving her as much comfort as she can offer. “We’re going to do everything we can. The MRI is perfectly safe for the baby since we’re getting a scan of your head. This test will help us determine if there’s something more serious going on. You’re in the best hands in San Angelo, and as soon as we find out more information, you’ll be the first to know.”

  Bailey releases a small smile, then leans back and closes her eyes. There’s not much more we can do for her other than give her some Tylenol, but if it’s more than just a headache, it won’t help much until we can confirm her diagnosis.

  As I walk out of the room, Emily continues giving orders, then follows me.

  “It could be preeclampsia combined with dehydration, but her blood pressure is normal,” Emily mutters, writing in her chart. I can tell her wheels are turning as she tries to pinpoint Bailey’s diagnosis.

  “Once we get the MRI scans back, we’ll know more of what’s going on. The way her vision is combined with her other symptoms, I’m worried it’s something much worse than that,” I tell her, but she already knows that.

  When our eyes meet, she lets out a long breath. “I hope not, especially for the baby’s sake.”

  I squeeze her shoulder. “I know.”

  “I told her we’d more than likely keep her overnight to watch her vitals. She’s in line to get the testing done now.”

  “Good,” I say just as Fiona pulls me away. “Dr. Umbridge needs your help in trauma room one.”

  I glance back at Emily, not really wanting to leave her, and she gives me a reassuring smile that she’ll be fine, but I know her patient’s symptoms are heavy on her mind. I smile back before jogging to the trauma room that’s in complete chaos and see that blood is everywhere.

  “Dr. Bishop. You’re here. We need to do damage control and start surgery to stop the bleeding,” he says, nonchalantly as if he’s having a normal conversation over a cup of coffee as a man lies awake on his side with a knife protruding from his body. Dr. Vance, the trauma surgeon, is standing in the back of the room, scrubbing in.

  One of the nurses who usually shadows Dr. Umbridge gives me the rundown as I scrub my hands and snap on my gloves. “Stab wound. The X-ray showed the blade barely missed his major organs.”

  The man screams out in pain. Flashes of my own stabbing incident surface, but I push the thoughts away. Thank God I barely remember any of it.

  “Can we get him something?” I ask.

  “Already been given a full dose of morphine and started antibiotics to kill any potential infection. Allergic to regular anesthesia and both ORs are full. He tried pulling the knife out himself and is now bleeding into his abdomen. So if we’re going to stop the bleed, we need to get this knife out now,” Dr. Umbridge explains, then looks at me.

  “How the hell did this even happen?” I look at the man.

  “My wife caught me cheatin’. Told me she’d make sure I’d never do it again.” He groans behind the oxygen mask. Luckily, he’s drugged, so he’ll only feel mild pain, but it could’ve definitely been worse.

  “She would’ve killed you if she stabbed closer to here,” I tell him. “That’s your abdominal aorta.”

  I put my hand around the hilt, making sure Dr. Vance and Dr. Umbridge are ready. “Be prepared to feel some pressure. As soon as the knife is out, the surgeon will locate the bleed and stitch you up,” I explain, hoping to ease his nerves. We don’t have much time, so it’s now or never. “On the count of three.”

  I count down and pull the knife from his side. Blood surfaces and Dr. Umbridge rushes in to assist as Dr. Vance begins cleaning the wound. The nurse keeps an eye on his stats as she hands over the tools

  Dr. Vance gives me a head nod and a small smile, then goes back to his patient. I remove my gloves, throw them in the medical waste bin, and move to the sink to wash any blood from my arms. I stand by as they continue working, fast and efficiently. The wound is cleaned, and they give the patient another dose of pain medication to help knock him out. Once the bleed is controlled and the wound is thoroughly cleaned, Dr. Vance stitches him up.

  Another successful trauma on the books.

  When I walk out of the room, I see Emily walking toward me with a file in her hand.

  “The results are in,” she says, pulling me back into the testing room where I can look at the computer generated images on a screen. “It doesn’t look good,” she mumbles when we walk in.

  As soon as I see the results on the large screen, my mouth slightly falls open. “It looks like she might have a brain tumor. Look at the cloudiness in the image here. That’s what’s causing her vision loss, affecting her motor skills, and the migraines. We’re going to have to call in a neurologist to confirm, but I’m quite certain that’s what this is. Brain surgery might be an option, but considering the size and her being pregnant, I don’t know. Do you know who’s on duty today?”

  “Dr. Patil. I already paged him, and he’s on the way here now,” Emily tells me.

  I grab her hand and squeeze it, then place a kiss on her forehead. “We’re going to do everything we possibly can.”

  Moments later, Dr. Patil enters and confirms what we thought.

  “I’d like a CT Scan,” he says. “Get a better look.”

  “She’s pregnant. CT is out of the question,” Emily tells him.

  “Considering she’s pregnant, that doesn’t leave us many options until
after she has the baby.”

  “That’s if she makes it that long,” I add. The tumor is large and could rupture at any moment.

  Dr. Patil nods in agreement. “Surgery could be an option but would be too risky for the baby, and if I’m being honest, by the size and location of the mass, it seems too advanced at this point. The surgery would even be a success for only a small percentage,” he states, and I know he means success as in she doesn’t die during surgery. “She’d need to do chemo if we can’t remove the mass completely, which comes with its own risks.”

  “So what are her options right now?” Emily asks.

  “Well, if she doesn’t want surgery, she can try chemo and see if that shrinks the tumor first. However, it’ll affect the pregnancy more than likely, and considering she’s already in her third trimester, it wouldn’t be a good outcome. If she chooses to move forward with surgery right away, it would need to happen immediately before the tumor gets any bigger,” he continues.

  “What if she wants to wait to have the surgery until after the baby is born?” Emily asks.

  “How long have her symptoms been prevalent?” he asks.

  “She said the past few months it’s gotten worse.”

  “Considering the severity of her symptoms, the tumor is aggressive in its growth. I’m not sure she could wait another two or three months honestly. The tumor could double in size, could burst, could make her completely blind.” He stares at the scans, frowning. “Either way, this isn’t going to be an easy decision for the mother-to-be.”

  I thank him for his consultation, and he tells us to let him know what she decides. Surgery could save her life but kill her baby. Even then, there’d be no guarantee the surgery would be a success. She’d have to do chemo on top of all that and still… there’s no guarantee any of that would work.