Page 81 of Sweet Little Lies
Fuck, I’m hosed.
~~~
A few hours later, x-rays and MRI having been done and doctors and nurses poking and prodding, they’ve informed me I have a stress fracture in both my metatarsal and fibula bones. Weight-bearing bone fractures like this are extremely common in sport, especially with basketball players, due to the excessive running and jumping.
The plus side is no surgery is required, but I’ll be required to remain off the foot for the next six-to-eight weeks in order for it to repair itself. The most important thing now is to ice and elevate to keep the swelling down.
I’d been able to text Mica before they sent me off to the hospital so she knew where to find me and could join me here after all the medical exams.
Lying here in the hospital bed is eerily familiar. I could do without hospitals for a while.
There’s a soft knock on the door and Mica’s soft voice fills the room.
“Lance? Can I come in?”
The curtain has been drawn around the bed so she’s not visible yet, but when she comes around the corner, I see the concern stitched in her beautiful features.
“Hey baby, come’ere,” I beckon, holding out my arms to her.
She cries softly and buries her head in my neck.
“Shh, it’s okay, Georgie. Nothing that a little rest and time can’t heal.”
Mica continues to sniffle and I feel the wetness absorbing in my hospital gown.
When she finally pulls back, the look on her face is horrifying. It looks like she fears for my life.
I try to reassure her. “Baby, I promise. It’ll be fine.”
Wiping away the tears from her face with her hand, she stares at me for a moment before she drops the bomb.
“It’s not that, Lance…” she hiccups. “I’m late.”
Late? Late for what? I’m totally stymied and have no idea what she’s talking about.
As if she can read my confusion, she straightens her spine, clutching the purse she holds to her side for support.
“I was going to tell you tonight, before all this happened. But I, uh…I think I’m pregnant.”
Holy Jesus.
No.
No.
No.
“When? How? No.” I firmly cement my feelings on the subject and notice her flinch.
We are not having a kid. We’re too young. I’m too messed up. I have nothing to offer. I don’t want it.
A few minutes ago, my only problem was keeping my hospital gown from exposing my lily-white ass to anyone coming in the room and the pain that radiated up from my toes.
It wasn’t something of this magnitude. It wasn’t life-altering.
Taking a long inhale, I let it go and reach for her hand.
“I’m not father material, Mica. You must know that. I love you, but I don’t want to have a baby. Not now. There must be other options. We aren’t ready to have a kid.”
I don’t know what I expect her to do or say, but it isn’t this.
She gives me a slight nod, kisses my cheek and turns and walks out of the room.
I’m left utterly speechless and alone.
And I have no idea if she’ll be back.
