Page 9 of When the Smoke Clears

His hand squeezes. “What is it?”

I shake my head. “I was going to ask you to use my phone to call Izzy or Leah to bring me some clothes, but my phone’s at Nana’s.” I swallow. “By the fire pit.”

“They’re here already.” He rubs a thumb over my cheek.

“Wha—” I’m interrupted by the door swinging open again. They just need to make these rooms with turnstiles.

Doctor Fields enters with the nurse behind him. “How are you feeling?” There’s a disconnect between his question and emotion.

“Sore.” A tiny part of my brain screams to apologize for my clipped tone, but I don’t have it in me.

He stops at the foot of the bed. “That’s to be expected. Surgery went well. You got very lucky. There was no damage to any organs. However, it did pierce muscle so you’re going to be sore for a while. Try to limit lifting to only five to ten pounds for a couple weeks and take it easy.” All the information comes at once, though he doesn’t hurry through.

The half-smile he ends with does nothing to boost my spirits. I’m trying to wrap my head around the idea of layers of my body being infiltrated by a foreign object.

“Listen to your body. Increase activity each day, but don’t overdo it. We don’t want you popping any stitches, and quite frankly, healing muscles are pretty painful.” He grins like he has first-hand experience. It’s not comforting. “Any questions?”

“Do I need to come back to have the stitches removed?”

“No, but you’ll want to be seen by your primary care provider in a couple of weeks for a follow-up.”

“When can I go?” I ask eagerly.

Sutton gives my hand two quick squeezes. I don’t have to look at him to know he thinks I’m being hasty, but I need out of this place.

The doctor focuses on his clipboard and turns to leave. “We’ll monitor you for a bit longer. You’ll probably be discharged in the morning.” He pats the foot of the bed like he did earlier.

Nausea and exhaustion battle for control. The sensation of being under a microscope is wearing on me.

Sutton plants a long kiss on my forehead. “Izzy and Leah are downstairs. They weren’t leaving without an update, but it looks like we’re going to be here for a bit. You gonna be ok?”

I nod. “Yep.”

He studies me for a few seconds while I stare stiffly back at him. Holding it all together requires me to maintain a distance I don’t like.

Cold rushes through my body as soon as he releases my hand. I swallow to force back the emotion threatening to tumble out.

The lingering fog of anesthesia adds an annoying sensitivity to my nerve receptors. I blame that and the long-term exposure to adrenaline tonight for the weepy, fearful, overwhelmed way my body wants to react.

The nurse moves around quietly, her chipper personality absent. I wonder if she thinks I’m a cold-blooded murderer.

As Sutton reaches the door, I say, “You can go home if you need to. I’ll be ok.”

His sharp look tells me that won’t be happening.

The nurse looks between us. As if the entire scenario isn’t hard enough, we have to do most of this with an audience.

“I’m not going anywhere, Maci.”

He may never understand the way I offer an out, hoping that he won’t take it. And yet, every time he chooses me, a new thread of belonging ties us together.

My hearts flutters and I close my eyes to force the tears to stay in. Sutton shuts the door behind him and I will my body to rest, falling into a pseudo-sleep. What feels like seconds later, the door opens again. Only this time, it’s the quietest it’s ever been.

Through heavy lids, I peek at Sutton re-entering the room.

“Did they leave?” The words are hindered by my dry mouth and thick tongue.

He nods and offers me the Styrofoam cup to sip from, speaking while I do. “Visiting hours are over, but I gave them an update.” His eyebrows reach his hairline for a moment. “They’ll be back first thing to see you.”

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