Page 64 of When Ben Loved Jace (He Loved Him #2)

In the waiting room, the minutes tick by, each an eternity. By some miracle, I had the foresight to bring my phone with me. I start to research aneurysms, which only deepens my despair, so I call for a different kind of help. Allison is the first to arrive. I cling to her for strength.

“Jace is going to be okay,” she assures me. “He’ll pull through this. For you.”

I nod while wiping my eyes, wanting to believe her.

Allison looks me over. “Couldn’t he have waited until after you had gotten dressed for the day?”

I manage a desperate sort of laugh. I’m wearing my pajamas. I’d be barefoot if the administrative nurse hadn’t hooked me up with a pair of padded socks.

“Have you eaten?” she asks.

I shake my head. “I’m not hungry.”

“I’m sure you aren’t, but you need to anyway. You’ve gotta keep your strength up, so you can face whatever comes next. Jace needs you at your best. I’ll get something from the cafeteria.”

Greg and Michelle show up while she’s gone.

The hardest part is not breaking down when I see them.

I want to, because they love Jace enough to understand just how frightening this is, but I also don’t want to make them think the worst has already happened.

I share what information I can, even though I don’t know much of anything yet.

Just that the doctors wanted to give him a CT scan.

Greg hugs me so tight that my ribs hurt by the time he lets go.

“Jace will be okay,” he insists. “He’ll be fine. Right?”

Greg looks to his wife for support.

Michelle seems shaken. “Our grandma had a ruptured aneurysm. That’s how we lost her.”

“Well sure,” Greg says, his voice cracking, “but that’s just like… an old lady. Jace is one tough mofo.”

Michelle presses her lips together and nods. “I’m glad you were there when it happened, Ben. That you got him here so quickly…”

She can’t seem to get out any other words. We cry together while Greg clenches his fists, like he wants to hit something .

I hear someone call my name and spin around.

A nurse asks me to follow him, the urgency in his voice making my heart palpitate.

I’m escorted to a room cluttered with medical machinery, the smell of anesthetic heavy in the air.

Jace is lying in a hospital bed. His eyes are closed.

He isn’t moving. For one gut-wrenching moment, I think he’s dead.

Then I hear the steady beeping of the monitors that surround him.

A doctor introduces herself. A surgeon. She begins spouting medical jargon. I want to crawl into bed with Jace and hold him throughout whatever needs to happen.

“Do you see all this white area?”

The surgeon’s voice draws my attention away from my husband. She’s gesturing at an X-ray of his skull. Or a CT scan. I don’t know. It’s so hard to focus.

“That’s blood,” she explains. “From the ruptured aneurysm. Posterior circulation bleeding, to be precise, which is why I recommend endovascular coiling rather than clipping, despite that being the most durable fix. This way we don’t have to go through bone or vital nerves. We can do it all through catheters.”

“Will he be okay?” I ask lamely.

“Time is of the essence,” the surgeon replies. “We keep our angio-suite staffed twenty-four seven. A coil team can start working on him in half an hour with your consent.”

I feel like they’re asking me to make a choice that I don’t understand, but if time is so crucial, the quickest and least intrusive path sounds good to me.

I’m given paperwork to review, when all I want is a second alone with Jace so I can tell him how I feel and what I need, but they’ve already wheeled him out before my final signature.

I’m given a pager and escorted back to the waiting room.

The others are desperate for news. I update them as best I can.

That’s when the true test of patience begins.

I eat at Allison’s insistence, not tasting a single bite.

My mind is elsewhere. I entertain the worst possible outcome.

I wish I’d asked the doctor about his chance of survival.

Maybe it’s best not to know. And yet, we all take turns silently consulting our phones, never reporting our findings.

The internet isn’t a very optimistic place to turn for a medical diagnosis.

An hour passes. Allison goes to the little house I share with Jace—the place where we were supposed to grow old together—to check on Samson and to fetch me something to wear. Michelle steps outside to call her parents. Greg shields his face with his hand and tries to sob quietly.

Another hour passes. I get dressed in the clothes Allison brings.

Brian returned with her. He tells me a story about an uncle who went through the same thing and did just fine, but I can’t stop thinking about Jace’s grandmother.

We all seem to go numb at a certain point, thousand-yard stares accompanied by lengthy silences that make the TV in the waiting room unbearably loud.

Greg stands up to turn it off. Allison wraps herself around my arm.

Another hour passes.

The pager that I’ve been clutching all this time finally vibrates. Digital text instructs me to report to consulting room five. The others help me find it and wait outside. I don’t recognize the man who meets me there, but I hang on his every word.

“Good news,” he says. “We got the aneurysm filled up with coils. No complications. We’re moving him to the Neuro-ICU. You should be able to visit him soon.”

I return to the others. After hearing my report, they cluster around me. We hug each other while crying with relief. Waiting becomes easy. Bearable. Just knowing that he’s okay makes all the difference.

I’m eventually shown to a darkened room.

I nod along, pretending to hear what the nurse says to me until she leaves us alone.

Then I stand next to Jace’s hospital bed.

He looks like hell, as if he hasn’t slept in weeks.

And yet, he’s still the most beautiful man I’ve ever laid eyes on.

I take his hand in mine and whisper his name.

His eyelids flutter, but this time they open. Jace struggles to focus on me, but once he does, his gaze fills with relief. “Ben,” he murmurs.

“I’m here,” I say, my chin quivering. “You’re going to be all right. I love you, baby.” He drifts off again. I fall to my knees, resting my cheek on his hand as I weep tears of aching joy. “I love you so much!”

— — —

Not much happens over the next three days.

Jace is kept sedated. A never-ending parade of nurses and doctors come to check on him.

I’m always at his bedside, often joined by family and friends.

We’re all anxious to see him reach the next stage of his recovery, especially when they begin weaning him off the sedatives. I miss my man. I need him back.

“Am I in the hospital?” he asks me late one night.

I’m instantly alert, since it’s the most coherent sentence Jace has spoken yet. Until now, we’ve only gotten mumbled snippets and random words. “Hey there!” I say, taking his hand. “How are you feeling?”

“Kind of weird.” Jace smacks his lips. I help him sip water from a straw.

“You’re on a lot of meds,” I say while he drinks. “That’s probably why you’re feeling a little off.”

“What am I doing here?”

“You don’t remember?”

He shakes his head.

My stomach sinks. I’ve read about this possibility.

“What’s the last thing you remember?”

“Sitting at the table with you,” he says after a long pause. “And the worst headache of my life.”

“Anything else?”

“No. What happened?”

I explain it all, drawing on my newfound acting skills to force myself to sound upbeat. “You’re going to be fine. The doctors want you to rest up. Then we can go home.”

We talk a little longer. I’m assuring him that Samson is fine and looking forward to seeing him again when Jace nods off. He doesn’t wake up again until late the next morning.

He glances to locate me. “Where am I?”

“At the hospital,” I tell him, my mouth dry.

“How come?”

I patiently explain it all again, waiting for any sign of him to remember as I do so, but he simply listens carefully, as if he’s never heard the story before.

Over the next few days, we have the same conversation again and again.

The doctors inform me this is normal, and that his short-term memory will likely recover, but the situation is difficult to deal with at times.

Like when Michelle is visiting on day six.

“I explained everything to Jason,” she tells him. “He says hi and that he hopes you feel better soon.”

Jace peers at her. “Who?”

“Jason,” she repeats. “Your foster care kid. Remember? ”

He nods, even though his expression remains confused. “You found one for us?”

Michelle places a hand over her mouth.

I can see the distress on my husband’s face. His recent memories are a mess, but the old ones remain intact. Jace is still the man he used to be, and that means he doesn’t like upsetting the people he loves. His sister especially.

“You remember,” I say, pulling out my phone to show him a photo he took during the concert.

Jace has an arm around each of us, Jason grinning from ear to ear. I look impossibly happy. “Jason is going to come stay with us once you’re better,” I say, despite not knowing if that’s true. I haven’t given the subject much thought. All of my attention has been needed elsewhere.

“Right,” Jace says. “Of course.”

Michelle leans forward. “You remember now?”

“Yeah. He plays the guitar.”

“Exactly!” I swipe to another photo. Jason is a headbanging blur. “Do you remember who we saw perform at the concert?”

Jace’s brow furrows up in concentration. Which frankly, scares the hell out of me, because the nurses are in here almost every hour doing neuro checks. He’s still at a high risk for cerebral vasospasms, and I don’t want to put him under any additional strain.

“It’ll come back to you,” I say, filling in the details for him.

He tries to contribute to the conversation but sounds more like he’s taking guesses. I get the impression that he wants to make us happy. I don’t know how much he actually remembers. We’ll figure that out when he’s better.

“What should we do about Jason?” I ask later that day as Michelle and I are having lunch in the hospital cafeteria.

She tilts her head to the side while considering the question. “Do you think it would help if I bring him here to see Jace?”

I press my lips together before forcing myself to be honest. “That’s not what I mean. The doctors say it’s going to be a long recovery.”

Michelle’s shoulders slump. “I know. Do you still want to go through with it?”

“Yeah,” I say without having to do much soul-searching. “I just don’t know when.”

“There’s plenty of time,” Michelle says, reaching across the table to place her hand over mine.

“Jason likes where he is now. He’s excited about the idea of coming to live with you, but it can wait.

Although I’m sure he would love to see you again in the interim.

” Her forehead creases. “Do you think Jace actually remembers him?”

“Yeah. I’m not sure how much, but worst-case scenario, we can always start over again. I’ve just gotta focus on helping him get better.” I swallow, tasting guilt. “That has to be my top priority right now.”

“Of course,” she says, patting my hand. “The rest will fall into place when you’re both ready. Jason is old enough to understand. I’ll take care of him until then.”

“Thank you,” I say, “for everything. This would be so much harder to face without you. Nobody else understands just how—” My voice squeaks to a halt.

I don’t need to explain. She’s already nodding.

“Jace is special. I’m glad he found you.

You’ve given him the love he always yearned for.

I’ve seen how happy that’s made him. I’m so grateful, Ben.

" She leans back to dab at her eyes. "We should probably go back to his room. I’m a little worried about leaving him alone with Adrien.”

“He can be trusted,” I reply.

“Are you sure? Because the other day he kept talking about how all Jace needed to feel better was a good makeover.”

I snort. “He wouldn’t.” The smile slides off my face when I remember the overnight bag Adrien showed up with. “Would he?”

We stare at each other. Then we hop to our feet and rush for the elevators.