“Can you give us a minute?”
She smiles softly. “Of course.” Noelle squeezes my hand when the nurse steps out.
I lift her dress and lean forward, pressing my lips to herrounded belly. “Hey, buddy,” I whisper. “Daddy’s having surgery today. The doctors are top-notch, which is the reason I moved here and met your mom. I don’t want you to worry about me. Be good for your mom. I love you, buddy.”
She laughs quietly, tears slipping free. “He heard you. He kicked.”
“Of course, he did,” I say, resting my forehead there longer than necessary. Memorizing this. Just in case.
The transport nurse comes to wheel me out. I crack a joke about hospital gowns being the least sexy thing on the planet. The nurses laugh. Someone tells me to think happy thoughts.
As the sedation creeps in, the world softens—lights stretching, sounds echoing, reality blurring into something dreamlike. Somewhere between consciousness and sleep, I hold onto one truth.
I’m not doing this just to live.
I’m doing it for Noelle.
For the baby waiting to meet me.
And when I wake up, I plan to fight like hell to keep the life we’ve started building.
FORTY
NOELLE
The waiting room is too bright.
Not the warm kind of bright—clinical and unforgiving, like the lights are designed to give you a headache. And I have one. The chairs are arranged in neat rows that no one actually uses properly. Everyone hovers instead, pacing or perching on the edges, afraid that sitting down means settling into the waiting.
I clutch the water that I haven’t touched and stare at the clock on the wall.
Matt went back twenty minutes ago.
The surgeon told us the transplant could take anywhere from four to six hours. That once they connect the kidney, they’ll know quickly whether it’s working—but that doesn’t mean they’ll be done. There are steps. Monitoring. Waiting. Always waiting.
Everyone is here except Paulina and J.D. She’s at the tennis academy with her best friend today, and for once I’m grateful. She’s too young for this kind of fear. Too young tosit in a room and wonder whether someone she loves will come back out alive. J.D. is picking up Matt’s sister.
We are that kind of family. One that drops everything when needed, and today is one of those days. The quiet celebration with a side dish of fear of the unknown.
Dad sits stiff-backed in a chair, hands folded like he’s bracing for bad news. Parker and Witt stand near the windows, talking quietly about nothing and everything. I’ve noticed they talk more since Parker said he wanted a relationship like Greyson’s and J.D.’s. It’s a start that both deserve.
Greyson paces, unable to stay still for more than thirty seconds at a time. Sutton rocks Witley gently in her carrier, murmuring to her like babies can absorb reassurance by osmosis.
When J.D. arrives with Matt’s sister, I run to her. I don’t even really know her. She’s breathless from travel and adrenaline; I don’t even say her name.
We just collapse into each other.
She sobs into my shoulder like she’s been holding it together for years. Like she’s finally letting go. I cling to her, our grief and hope tangling together until neither of us knows whose tears are whose.
“He taught me how to throw a spiral,” she says through tears. “I was ten. He refused to let me quit until I got it right.”
I smile weakly. “He’s stubborn like that.”
She laughs softly. “My feet are always cold, and we would sit at the kitchen table for dinner, and I would slide my toes under his thigh. At first he would jump, making some comment that he thinks I might be dead. My feet arelike ice. I don’t know if you know, but we’re both sci-fi lovers. After school and practices, we would lie on the floor on our stomachs watching television together.”
Piquing Witt’s interest, he says, “Matt? Sci-fi?”
She grins. “He’s always loved television shows, but sci-fi and of course MTV were the staples during the week at our house, leaving the weekends for live sports. And Saved by the Bell. I almost forgot that one. You must be Witt. He said you were the youngest sibling.”
