Running From The Flames

Surgery

The last two hours were almost more nerve wracking than all of Pierre's races combined and my knee bounced in the uncomfortable chair. The sterile surgical waiting room set me on edge, the smell of disinfectant reminding me of my own time spent on the ward. My cuticles hated me as I picked at them and I turned my phone upside down so I didn't see it constantly lighting up with the text messages coming in asking for an update.

"Miss Vowles?" the administrator asked, disturbing the silence. "Mr Gasly is being moved to recovery, if you'll follow me you can wait for him there."

I rushed after her and her bright pink crocs with paw patrol pins that squeaked with every step on the vinyl floor. Addie would have loved the shoes and wanted her own pair so I was glad she was staying with Pascale. She had begged and pleaded to come, throwing herself to the ground with a mega tantrum that was rare for her, but she would have been bored waiting around the hospital and then probably been more upset seeing Pierre waking up from the operation.

The doors to the recovery room opened and my breath rushed out in relief as I saw Pierre on the gurney that was being rolled towards me. He was barely away, bleary eyes blinking slowly open and shut above his swollen cheeks as the orderly locked the wheels and left.

"Hey baby," I murmured softly as I ran my fingers through his hair.

Green irises peeked out of his heavy eyelids and he looked around before they landed on me. "Where's Sydney?" he slurred.

The nurse had warned me that he might be a little confused as the anaesthetic wore off but it was still a surprise. "Adelaide's waiting at home with your mum."

He tried to shake his head but ended up groaning in pain. "I know that, where's our son?"

My heart skipped a beat and I didn't know what to say since he obviously wasn't thinking clearly. "That's the drugs in your system, love. We don't have a son."

His brows pinched and his fingers reached for mine so I took his hand, careful to avoid the IV that was still there. He traced the engagement ring he had given me only a few days ago and the glazed look in his eyes started to clear. "We should," he murmured. "Doesn't have to be a son, another daughter would be amazing too."

"I should be recording this so you can have a laugh when you sober up later," I teased and kissed his forehead. "Would you really name your son Sydney?"

"Or Darwin, maybe Bathurst. Uh, Toowoomba?"

"That sounds like a knock-off robot-vacuum," I said through the laughs that I tried to keep quiet so the nurses didn't growl at us. "You will never be allowed to name any of our children."

"You said 'children', plural, I like the sound of that." He shifted on the bed and patted the space he made so I could climb into his arms. I had to force myself not to stroke his face, such a habitual act that was difficult to break but I didn't want to hurt him more than he already was.

For months he had been avoiding this surgery so he could finish the season without having to miss a race. The teething gel had worked enough that he made it to the end and Alpine had finished fourth in the Constructors Championship, something everyone had been absolutely thrilled about. Otmar was already talking about being on the podium for next season - now that he had the big cash injection from Granny to fund better technology on par with Red Bull, Astin Martin and Mercedes.

Now that Peirre had all his wisdom teeth removed he would be able to concentrate on that dream even more.

I giggled quietly as Pierre drifted back off to sleep and a small line of dribble ran down his numb lips. I was careful to avoid his swollen jaw as I wiped it away for him, but not before I took a selfie with him first. He had more than enough embarrassing photos of me on his phone, it was about time I had one of my own.