So Toxic(Bad Boy Next Door Book 4)(53)

“I’m really sorry. It’s too early to tell.” His eyes soften. “It will help us to have as much information as possible. So, please, look at the forms and answer whatever you can about your wife’s medical history.”

He leaves, and I drop to the edge of the bed.

I grab the clipboard and flip through the pages. Question after question. Any prior surgeries? History of diabetes? Kidney disease? Anxiety/Depression? And they go on and on.

I have no idea how to answer any of them.

Like Jon Snow, I know nothing.

I chuck the clipboard at the wall, where it clatters to the floor. “Un-fucking-believable. I could become a husband and a widower all in the same God-damned day.”

I try to draw in a deep breath, but the stab in my shoulder stops me.

This is bullshit. And I hurt like hell.

God, please—please don’t let Jo die.





SEVENTEEN





After what feels like an eternity, the nurse leads me into a room where Jo lies, still and quiet. “She hasn’t awakened. The doctor will be in shortly to talk with you about the results of the MRI.”

I pick up Jo’s limp hand. “But she’s all right, isn’t she?”

“Dr. Meyer will be with you in a few minutes.” She shoots me that tight smile again.

Shit.

She’s not awake, and the doctor has to discuss results. That can’t be good.

I pull a chair from the corner of the room and sit with my bandaged hand covering Jo’s. Her head is wrapped with gauze and the major part of the blood has been either covered or cleaned.

She wears a white hospital nightie with little blue diamonds evenly spread across the fabric. Her breathing seems shallow, different from when she’s only sleeping.

I smile. I don’t know much about her medical history, but I do know that she usually snores a little. And it’s adorable.

The sling on my arm rubs wrong when I shift in the chair.

Reminds me of when Jo fell out of that tree when we were kids, probably eleven years old or so.

JoJo had looked down over her shoulder, her eyes shining. “I bet I can beat you to the top.”

I grabbed her ankle. “Not fair, you got a head start.”

She didn’t let go of the branch above her, and she rolled her eyes. “Fine. I’ll wait for you. Come on up, then we’ll start.”

I scuttled up the trunk of the big ol’ pecan tree that grew in the middle of the field behind our neighborhood. A favorite hangout of ours.

I liked it because it was quiet, away from my mother’s constant complaining and griping. Jo said it was her favorite place because her foster-sister didn’t like bugs, so she wouldn’t come out there to pick on her.

When I was just opposite JoJo, hanging off the side of the trunk, she leaned around, her eyes smiling as much as her mouth. “Okay. Ready. Set. GO!”

She beat me to the highest branches that were safe enough for climbing.

Jo stood on this branch, looking down at me—I don’t know, maybe she forgot where she was for a moment—but she raised both fists above her head in victory.

She was there, and then she wasn’t. Her squeal was all that was left behind. Holding my breath almost the whole time, I white-knuckled my way down the tree. Limb to limb, trying to catch a glimpse of her through the leaves, I descended.

At the bottom, I let myself drop the last few feet, landing next to where she huddled on the ground. She cradled her arm, biting her lips, looking up at me with big eyes. No tears. She never cried. And she didn’t utter a word. Though she refused to get up and walk.

I carried her home. “It’ll be okay. You’re okay. And, hey, you won, fair and square. You beat me up the tree.”

She trembled in my arms but still didn’t speak.

It turned out that she not only broke her arm, but also two bones in her foot. Hobbled around with a walking boot and a sling for weeks. I never heard her complain once.

Dr. Meyer finally comes in.

“Please tell me something good.” I stand, too nervous to sit.

“Sir, the MRI showed that your wife has a blood clot putting pressure on her brain. I'm fairly sure that's what's keeping her from waking. We need to administer a clot busting drug. It needs to be done quickly as it's already been over an hour and a half since the injury. Guidelines for this drug say it must be administered no more than three hours after the clot forms.”

Blood clot. Brain.

“What are you waiting for? Do it now.”

“Mr. Masters, I’m required by law to inform you of possible complications—”

“Spit it out so you can give her what she needs to be okay.” My heart races.

“If we do this, we’ll be watching for two major side effects. There is less than a one percent chance of excessive bleeding and/or death. However, if we don't proceed, there’s an extremely high probability that the clot will break off and cause a stroke. If that happens, it could cause loss of mobility and impaired speech. It might even prevent her from breathing on her own. And the possibility that she could die goes up to about twenty-five percent.”