Who Knew?

Chapter 29:

POV- Wyatt

A nurse finds me and guides me towards the nearest waiting area. He hands me a clipboard with a small stack of paperwork attached, telling me to fill out what I know. Which is basically nothing. Once I've filled out what I can, I rest my elbows on my knees and hold my head in my hands. I hate this. I hate it so much. 

Kevin and Beth find me a little while later. They ask how he is, and all I can do is shake my head. Beth mentioned that she called my mom on the way here, saying that she'll be here as soon as she can get out of work. 

All three of us take turns asking the nurse's desk about Ruben. Nothing. All they know is that he's in the ICU and they'll tell us more when they know themselves. I feel so helpless. I can't even fill out these stupid forms. 

We wait. And we wait. And we wait. Hours go by. At around four, a nurse comes over to tell us that he needs surgery for his arm as soon as possible. Since he has no family that can come, they'll need an adult to sign the papers. I call mom. She tells me she's on her way, and when she finally gets here, she signs the papers and they send him through to an open Operation Room. Now, all we can do is wait some more. 

Mom hugs me tightly and demands to know everything. When she pulls away, I tell her all that I know, and she clutches her purse in her hands. "God, this is terrible. I knew something was up the day I met him. And when you told me his father was abusive, I didn't know it could possibly be this bad. How . . . how can a person do that to their child?" Kevin goes to speak but she raises a hand. "That's different." I have to agree. 

Beth designates herself a food person, getting a bunch of crap from the vending machine for us. I think she just wanted to feel helpful. I can't blame her. 

It's late, almost eight in the evening, when we hear that Ruben is finally out of surgery and being moved into a private room where we'll be able to see him.  I want to see him so badly. To make sure that he's going to me okay. 

A nurse directs us to his room, and informs us that the doctor will be in shortly to talk to us. The second I walk in, my gaze lands on the sleeping figure in the bed. His eyes are closed and there's a nose canola feeding him air. His right arm is in a sling and the other is wrapped in a thin layer of gauze. He's never looked so . . . vulnerable. If that's the right word. 

I rub a hand over my mouth and take a couple of steps closer. I stop at the foot of his bed and cross my arms tightly over my chest. I don't know how long we all stand there in silence, but the door opening and closing seems to startle all of us out of our trances. 

The doctor is a beautiful black woman dressed in a flowy teal blouse and tan dress pants under the traditional white coat. There is silver tinsel weaved into the multitude of braids on her head, and she has a nose ring. And there's this comforting air about her that screams welcoming and kind. I like her the second she walks into the room.

She smiles, and reaches out to shake all of our hands in turn. "Hi, I'm Dr. Wheeler. It is so lovely to meet you all."

There is a chorus of ‘It's nice to meet you too’s. I cut right to the chase. "Is he going to be okay?"

She takes a moment to study my features. I'm sure I look like a hot mess, but I can't find it in my exhausted system to care. "Let me guess. Over protective best friend . . . or boyfriend? I know it's one or the other."

"Boyfriend," I reply.

She nods. "I figured." Her smile fades some. "Listen guys. I'm not gonna sugar coat it, I'm not that kind of doctor. His condition is not great. His shoulder was yanked out of the socket in such a way that there was severe tissue and muscle damage. We repaired as much of it as we could, but it's certainly not perfect and will need a crap ton of physical therapy. There is a good chance it will never perform as well as it did before.