I'm Only Here for the Beard (The Dixie Wardens Rejects MC #4)(11)

After a quick search for my phone, I realized that I'd left it in the medic in my haste to get to my room.



       
         
       
        

Which left me with two options.

Call out to Sean, or try to go get the phone without him seeing me practically naked.

I chose option two.

An option that I quickly realized I shouldn't have chosen when I walked outside, grabbed my phone from the garage, and turned to find myself face-to-chest with Sean.

At least I had grabbed a washcloth and covered my bare stoma first before pressing down … just in case.

"Shit!" I gasped, pushing away from a very bare-chested Sean. "What are you doing?"

"I was out here looking for a flashlight. What are you doing out here?" he questioned as he moved to the side.

At least I thought he moved to the side. I couldn't really tell if he was completely out of the way, but I chose to think he was and pushed my way through the doorway, only to come up short when the lights came suddenly back on, and I was left standing there with my shirt off, and my stoma bared to the world.

"Uhhh," I slapped the washcloth with my glove covered hand back over my biggest embarrassment. "See ya."

He grabbed my arm before I could move away and twisted me, staring at my belly with an intense focus that I didn't like.

"What is that?" he demanded, pointing to where my hand covered my belly.

My stoma chose that second to let out one of its squeaks, and I closed my eyes as horror dawned upon me.

"Just tell me. It's not like I'm going to get mad at you for hiding something that you and I both know is nothing to be ashamed of," he said. "And I know it's something, because you've spent the last few weeks trying to avoid telling me you have an ailment. Trust me. I'm not stupid."

Sighing in defeat, I lifted my hand, and Sean's eyes left mine to travel down my body.

I did notice how he stalled at my boobs for a few short seconds before they continued their travel down my torso.

He stopped at my stoma, then bent down to look at it closer.

I pushed him away.

"I just ate Taco Hell, man," I told him. "I wouldn't get that close. Our luck it'll squirt you in the eye."

He went back to his full height, then grabbed me by the hand and led me back to my bedroom where all my supplies were on the bed waiting for me.

"Was this the thing you were trying to keep from me right before we left?" he questioned with a knowing smile.

I shrugged, not saying yes or no.

"I'll take that blush on your face as answer enough."

Then he went about helping me get my bag on, and I sat in stunned silence as he did. 

"What … "

He laughed before I could finish.

"My mother had IBS. She had a colostomy as well. For fifteen years before she died of colon cancer. I've done this more times than I can count," he said, explaining before I could ask. "How did this happen?"

Danger, Will Robinson!

"Uhhh," I bit my lip as he fixed me up. "Why do you ask?"

Though I was uncomfortable at the thought of telling him how it happened, his knowing that I had it was actually a relief. Hiding it from people was freakin' exhausting.

He stood up, walked to the bathroom, and disposed of the gloves he was using before washing his hands.

I picked up everything else, shoving it into the nearly full kitchen trash before emptying it and setting the bag beside the bay exit so I could take it out the next time we left.

Then I went to my bedroom, picked out a new t-shirt and undershirt, slipping them both on, before I walked back into the living room where Sean was sitting on the couch.

"I ask because I want to get to know you," he said. "It's what partners do."

He did have a very valid point.

"My brother hit me with his patrol car while he was drunk off his ass, and I sustained some internal injuries." I sank onto the couch beside him. "At first, they were worried I might lose a kidney, but it bounced back. A section of my bowels was too damaged to be saved, though, and they had to remove that portion of it. It needs some time to heal, and in the meantime, I'm stuck with this."

He blinked at me.

"Your brother hit you with his patrol car while he was drunk."

It wasn't so much a question as it was him repeating what I stated, so I stayed silent.

"How much longer do they expect that'll take to heal?" he gestured to my stomach.

"I have another couple months left on my sentence. Less if things are healing well," I admitted. "I'm visiting the doctor next week, a new one who's based here instead of back home. He's going to determine whether or not I'm ready to have it reversed."