Page 67 of Moonshot

“Thank you, Michael. I’m so thankful she has you.” She suddenly grows quiet. “Michael, may I be blunt?”

Hell. This doesn’t sound promising. “Of course.”

“Living with chronic pain is debilitating. I’ve dealt with it my entire life. It’s harder still when the cause is invisible to those around you. No one truly understands what you’re dealing with. I’m sure it isn’t easy to be in a relationship with someone with chronic headaches. I couldn’t be the wife Greg deserved. For me, I chose not to enter into another relationship. I didn’t want to put anyone else through that. But Ava’s made of tougher stuff than her old mom. She’s achieved so much.”

I watch as she reaches for a tissue, dabbing at her swollen face. This poor woman. How isolating her life must have been.

“Ava told me about the last thirty days. I think it was a wise thing to do. Particularly if you two are getting serious. You need to know what you’re walking into. It’s best to leave now if you don’t think you can handle this. I’d hate to see her destroyed if you left once you’d created a family together.”

Turning toward her, I wait for her sad eyes to meet mine. “Mrs. Kennedy. I’ve known your daughter only through work over the last year. And we haven’t dated long. But I’ve never felt this way for anyone. There’s nothing that could make me want to walk away from her. Nothing.”

Carolyn reaches around my chest and pulls me back in for another hug. I’m relieved we can provide some support for one another. And hopefully, when this is behind us, she can meet Mom, Emmaleigh, and Rob. Maybe after all of these years, she’ll try to take a chance on building a relationship. Become part of my family. If I can do it, I bet she can too.

CHAPTERTWENTY-NINE

Mick

Beep. Beep. Beep.

The steady pace of the monitors, the darkened room, and the stressful day have caught up with me. I managed to send Carolyn home an hour ago and returned to wait for more information in this uncomfortable chair in Ava’s room. I feel like I spend most of my days in these God-awful chairs.

“Hi.” I hear a faint squeak and turn back to the door. There’s no one there, and the door is still shut, all but for the tiniest sliver of light that glimmers underneath.Hell, I’m hearing things.

As I reposition in my seat, I glance up to see a pair of ice-blue eyes staring back at me. Rushing to her side, I blurt, “Ava, baby. You’re awake.”

“What happened?” She looks down at the monitors and intravenous lines attached to her body before looking back at me.

“I think when I lost my temper, it must’ve been more stress than you could handle. You passed out. At first, we thought this had to be one hell of a migraine, but the doctor thinks you have a pretty severe sinus infection. Do you remember anything?”

“Like what?”

“I wasn’t sure if you might’ve been aware of things happening but too groggy from the pain and the medication to open your eyes. I mean, they even did a spinal tap.”

“What? No. I don’t remember anything.”

Thank fuck for that.“They’d given you a ton of medicine, so you probably were sedated. You had a CT scan first that showed the sinus infection, but they needed to make sure it didn’t make it to your brain.”

“Good lord. I had the sniffles some last week, but nothing that felt like a sinus infection. Did the lumbar puncture turn out okay?”

“Yes, it did,” Dr. Grant says as he walks into the room. “Hi, Ava. I haven’t seen you in months.”

“I know. I don’t make it down here often. Especially not on the evening shift.”

“Well, we’ll try to make sure your visits are for professional reasons from now on. I’m glad to report the lumbar puncture looks good. And despite your elevated white count, you haven’t spiked a fever, so I’m optimistic with antibiotics, pain medication, and steroids, you’ll be feeling human again real soon.”

Feeling like I can relax for the first time since Joanie’s call, I let out a relieved exhale and grab ahold of Ava’s hand. “What happens next?” I ask Dr. Grant.

“Ava will be moved to the inpatient floor once the hospitalist comes by to see her and writes admission orders. How’s your pain?”

“It’s okay.”

“Ava, don’t be brave anymore. Tell them if you’re hurting,” I beg.

“It’s about a five on a scale of one to ten.”

“That means it’s probably an eight for everyone else on the planet,” I tell Dr. Grant.

“I get it. I’ll get her a little more medicine and check in again before you go upstairs.”

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