I looked down at Della and my entire body churned with sickness. Her skin was a ghostly pallor, her lips thin as she winced again.
Christ.
Please, please let her be okay.
I coughed and ran faster.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
REN
* * * * * *
2019
“MR. WILD?”
“Yes?” I looked up from where I had my face buried in my hands in the waiting room of the afterhours. It had cost a small fortune, countless explanations why we had no I.D, and finally, nasty threats for someone to treat her regardless that we didn’t have the necessary paperwork.
If my threats hadn’t worked, I was prepared to hand over every dollar just to have someone examine her and tell me how to fix this.
“Can you come with me? Mrs Wild asked if you could join us.”
Terror shot down my limbs as I stood and stumbled after him. The long hours spent waiting in the yellow plastic chair had numbed my ass and made me stiff. “Is she okay?” I coughed into my hand. “She’s been away for ages.”
“I know. I’m sorry for the wait.” The doctor had thick black hair and tanned skin, hinting he had Indian blood somewhere in his lineage. “We had to do a small procedure.”
“Wait, what?” I slammed to a halt, dragging the attention of other worried husbands, wives, and parents from their own woe to focus on mine. My blood drained to my toes. “What procedure?”
The doctor narrowed his eyes, looking me over. “Are you quite well yourself, Mr. Wild? You look a bit under the weather.”
“Forget about me. I’m fine.” Stepping into his bubble, I growled. “What about Della? Where is she? Tell me what you did.”
“I think it’s best if we discuss this in private, don’t you?” The doctor smiled encouragingly, waving away my temper as if he was used to husbands losing their shit.
He wasn’t that much older than me, which didn’t help with my trust issues. What the hell would he know? What was his experience?
“Where’s my wife?”
Such a strange but perfect word. A word I had no right to use in the eyes of church and law, but every right in the eyes of our togetherness.
“Just this way, please.” Buzzing his badge against a locked door, he guided me down a white corridor smelling strongly of disinfectant until we reached a room four or five doors down. Pressing the handle, he pushed another door wide, letting me enter first.
I eyed him carefully as I stepped inside, only to break into a jog the moment I saw Della.
She smiled the instant I arrived, holding up her hand for me to grab. “I’m sorry you were stuck out there, Ren. And I’m sorry for making you worry the past few days.”
“Nothing to apologise for.” Brushing aside her hair, my fingers came away hot and clammy from her skin. “What’s wrong? What’s going on?”
My heart couldn’t figure out what pace it wanted to settle on. Fast and furious, braced for bad news, or slow and sedate, buried beneath hope that all of this was a mistake.
“Please, Mr. Wild. Take a seat.” The doctor motioned at a grey vinyl chair in front of his desk. The ugly wood was wedged against the wall with apparatus and a computer blinking with important scans and who knew what else.
There was no earthly way I could leave Della’s side where she lay on a starched bed hoisted high. “Tell me. Immediately.” I squeezed Della’s fingers, my heart choosing fast and furious as the doctor nodded.
“Mrs Wild has mentioned all her symptoms, and we’ve done a few tests.”
“Tests? What sort of tests?” I glanced back at Della, my vision going wonky with worry. “Ribbon?”
“It’s okay, Ren. Just calm down. I’m fine. Let him explain. Okay?” She brought my hand to her lips and kissed my knuckles, somehow injecting me with a much-needed dose of serenity. “You’re all sweaty.”
“Yeah well, you got me worked up.”
“Well, I’m fine so relax, okay?”
My heart leapt on a trampoline instead, double bouncing and triple beating. “I’ll relax when I know what’s going on.”
All I could think about was the nightmare of her being in the hospital with complications from chicken pox when she was younger. I couldn’t do a thing to take away her pain or make her heal faster.
I hated it then, and I despised it now.
Della murmured gently as if I was the one in peril. “I wanted Doctor Strand to tell you because he’ll do a much better job than I could.”
Forcing myself to stay rational, I turned to face the doctor. “You have my word, I won’t interrupt. Tell me. What’s wrong with my wife?”
Doctor Strand cleared his throat, giving Della a gentle smile. “Technically, nothing should be wrong in a couple of days, but we will need to monitor her until that time. Mrs Wild has chosen outpatient therapy, so I expect to see her daily for the next seventy-two hours to ensure things are okay.”