My mind's already racing through protocols. Cross-matching tests. Final compatibility studies. Pre-surgical prep. Anti-rejection medication regimens. I'd need to call colleagues at Duke, get the surgical team's assessment?—
"I need to not fall apart," Carly says, her laugh breaking into something like a sob. "The helicopter's already on its way. Leigh's coming with us. They have an apartment already ready for us."
"Everything from the fundraiser transferred, right?" Lane asks, looking at me as she says it. I nod.
"Yes, everything came through. I'm so scared," Carly whispers.
Lane's voice softens, steadies. "You'll stay with him every step. That's all that matters."
I hold my breath as she ends the call, watching her shoulders sink with the weight of everything.
"This is good," I say, shifting automatically into the clinical certainty I need in moments like this. "The fact that they're moving this fast means the donor tissue is exceptionally compatible. They'll run final cross-matching at Duke, but Luke's blood type is common, so finding a match isn't the hard part. It's finding one this optimal."
Lane acknowledges me, but barely seems to register my words. Her eyes are distant, lips moving in what might be a prayer.
We both turn at the soft padding of feet. Sanders stands in the hallway entrance, rubbing his eyes, hair rumpled above his Star Wars pajamas.
"Is Luke okay?" His voice is small, uncertain.
Lane opens her arms, and he walks into them. She pulls him close, her chin resting on his head.
"He will be," she murmurs, her eyes meeting mine over our son's head."He's on the way to Duke now to get his new kidney. Isn't that so exciting?"
With Sanders asleepand the house quiet, it's just Lane and me. The only sounds are the ticking of her antique clock and the soft hum of the refrigerator from the kitchen.
The Christmas tree lights cast colored shadows across her face as we sit on opposite ends of the couch, not touching.
"He'll be in his room at Duke by now, getting ready for surgery," I say, breaking the silence that's stretched between us since we put Sanders to bed.
Lane nods, her fingers worrying at a loose thread on one of the couch pillows. "I can't believe ithappened so fast."
"Organ donation is like that. When the match is right, there's no time to waste."
She looks up at me, something unreadable in her eyes. "No time to waste?"
My heart thuds against my ribs. The night is so charged with possibility on all fronts that I'm buzzing.
I shift closer, erasing some of the careful distance between us. "Right. Time is precious."
My voice sounds strange to my own ears. It's quieter, more vulnerable than usual.
"Woody," she whispers, turning her face away. She gets up abruptly, heading toward the kitchen. I follow her, closing the refrigerator door as she opens it.
"We've lost enough time." I press her against the refrigerator, my palm on the cool stainless steel.
The words hang in the air, impossible to take back. I don't want to take them back.
Lane exhales, staring at her hands. "Woody, you have no idea how scared I am to give you my heart again. It may already be too late."
My jaw works as I struggle to find the right words. "I want you to trust me. I want more than anything to be what you and Sanders need."
Even to my own ears, it sounds somewhere between a promise and a plea.
Lane studies me for a long moment, searching for the truth in my face. Her eyes move over my features like she's memorizing them, or maybe trying to find the cracks where lies might slip through.
"I'm not ready to jump in with both feet. I need to be more sure before we get our son's hopes up."
I nod, relief rushing through me. "I can work with that." Then, quieter, "But I'm still going to kiss you now."
