Page 66 of When Ben Loved Jace (He Loved Him #2)

“The brain can take a very long time to heal,” she interjects, her attention on the screen.

I notice the way her finger is rapidly tapping the mouse.

Not to click any buttons. It’s the same nervous rhythm of my bouncing knee.

“The good news is that the coil is still packed nice and tight. We’ve nipped that aneurysm in the bud, so to speak. ”

I go perfectly still.

“ That aneurysm?” Jace repeats, picking up on the same nuance.

The surgeon licks her lips nervously before facing us. “Roughly one in four patients discover they have additional aneurysms during their follow-up appointment. I hope that puts you at ease, since this isn’t—”

“At ease ?” Jace growls.

I place my hand over his and squeeze. “Let’s hear her out.”

“This isn’t unusual,” the surgeon continues. “Neither of the aneurysms have ruptured, obviously, which means the surgery won’t be nearly as traumatic.”

Jace’s hand clenches into a fist. “Why didn’t you take care of them when you had the chance?”

“They weren’t detected. The bleeding you experienced could have obscured them, or the vasospasm of that first rupture might not have allowed the contrast through.

” She shows us two bright dots, one larger than the other.

“I’m not too concerned about the smaller one, but its older brother is pushing five millimeters and is close to the anterior communicating artery.

I’d like to schedule a surgery eight weeks from now to take care of both. ”

My stomach sinks. “Why so far away? Can’t we do it sooner?”

The surgeon shakes her head. “To do so prematurely would double his risk of stroke. We need to give his brain more time to heal.” She looks at Jace.

“To further complicate things, we're still tapering you off your medications. Once you’re back on your feet and recharged, we’ll take care of the rest. Do you have any questions? ”

I glance down at the folded piece of notebook paper, our prior concerns seeming small and insignificant now. My lips are pressed together, unwilling to ask the obvious. I look over at Jace for guidance. He remains quiet. Maybe he doesn’t want to know, but for better or worse, I need to.

“Isn’t there a chance of something happening between now and the surgery?”

“Yes,” the surgeon admits. “I have to weigh that risk against the potential danger of taking action sooner, which is far greater. Let me show you.”

She writes the numbers down. “Imagine needing to cross a busy highway, and immediately beyond it, railway tracks. You might be able to sprint across them both to safety, but if you wait until after a train has already gone by, your chances greatly increase.”

“Or I could just go play in traffic now and get it over with,” Jace grumbles.

The surgeon stiffens. “Have you been experiencing suicidal thoughts?”

“No,” Jace says with a humorless laugh. “I don’t want to die. Trust me. Otherwise, I’d be having a grand ol’ time right now.”

“I understand. The reason I chose this occupation is because aneurysms run in my family. Surviving doesn’t mean you get through unscathed. In many ways, that’s only the beginning of the battle, but I promise, you can win this war.”

She provides us with information for various resources. I take particular note of those relating to mental health, because I’m worried about my husband. Especially his demeanor when we make it back to the car.

“How about a burger?” he suggests casually. “And a milkshake. What place has the best onion rings?”

I stare at him. “Are you okay?”

“No, Ben. I’m not okay. I’m hungry.”

“That’s not what I—”

“Oh, you mean this?” he asks, tapping the side of his head.

“The ticking time bomb? I’m hoping my broken short-term memory will take care of that.

If you see a blank expression the next time someone asks me about this appointment, do me a favor and don’t remind me.

In eight weeks, pretend that you’re taking me out for ice cream, because I’d rather not know.

Now seriously, who has the best onion rings? ”

“Umm…” I swallow while trying to think, but my mind is fixated on one thing and one thing only. The threat of losing him.

“Start the car!” he snarls. “Let’s go!”

I turn the ignition. Then a whimper escapes my throat and it all comes pouring out. I hunch over the steering wheel while sobbing.

“Hey,” Jace says softly. “I’m sorry. Come here. ”

He pulls on me. I lean over, resting my head on his shoulder, and feel him kiss the top of my head. “I’m scared, Jace!”

“I am too,” he replies. “Terrified.”

“What are we gonna do?”

“What every single person on this planet does: Pretend that death is only a distant possibility, when really, there are no guarantees. I might choke to death on an onion ring today. Wouldn’t that be ironic?”

I sit upright and consider him. “I’m more worried about you drinking the milkshake too fast.”

“Oh, now that would be funny. Death by brain freeze. Can we go? I really am hungry.”

“I need you to kiss me first.”

“To reward me for being a moody asshole?”

“No. I simply hate it when you have onion breath.”

“Fair enough.”

“That, and I’m grateful for every minute we get to spend together, because you’re right. None of them are guaranteed.”

Jace takes my face in his hands, and judging from the tenderness of that kiss, I know he feels the same way.