“Grey,” I supply. “Fox Grey. But I’m known as Mace.”
“Mace you prefer, I take it?”
I don’t care what he fucking calls me as long as he tells me Liz is going to be okay.
“Someone, you perhaps, told the paramedics that Mr James has been getting headaches. Were these unusual for him?”
“Yes. Oh, he’d occasionally lay one on and get a hangover like we all do, but then he started complaining of headaches at odd times during the day. They’ve been getting worse and increasing in frequency. He got his eyes tested as he’s a tattoo artist and uses them a lot, but his sight is okay.”
“When did the headaches start?”
I think back. “Five, six months ago? I can’t really pinpoint it. Maybe before that, but I didn’t notice. Oh, and he had a traumatic brain injury about twelve years back. When he served.”
“Yes, I’ve got his medical and TBI records. Had anything happened to start the headaches off? Did he come off his bike? Knock his head at all? Get into a fight and receive a blow?”
“No.” I don’t even have to think about it. “He hasn’t come off his bike, and he’s not been fighting.” If our gym had been up and running there could have been a chance, but as it is, we’ve nowhere to spar. “He might have had a friendly slap around the head, but nothing serious. Oh, but that injury he had. He lost his memory.”
“That was also noted in his records. His short-term memory improved I see, but there’s a big gap in his life. Has that started to come back at all?”
I’m unsure whether it’s worthwhile mentioning, but I do anyway. Anything must be a help. So, I tell him about Vanna and Cas, and that for the past two weekends, they’ve visited the clubhouse. But as the doctor says, his headaches started long before that, and in his view, those are the symptoms he should be worrying about.
“MRI’s free now, Doctor Hollister.”
“Let’s take him down. Can you find your way back to the waiting room?”
I say I can.
“Oh,” he stops me as they’re transferring the portable monitoring equipment to his gurney. “If this woman is his wife, perhaps she should be here?”
“They’ve lived apart for more than ten years, Doc. No divorce, but only a couple of my brothers know what she is to him. When Liz comes around, he’ll think it’s an invasion of his privacy if she was informed and his past that he can’t remember comes out. It was his therapist’s advice that they live separately.”
His eyes widen at that. “His official next of kin is listed as one David Black.”
I nod. It would be. “That’s our Prez.”
“He’s here?”
Again, I nod, then step aside so they can take Lizard away. As I watch him being wheeled down the corridor, I wish I believed in some sort of deity so I could offer up a prayer. I don’t. I just hope his time to meet Satan hasn’t yet arrived.
“He’s gone for an MRI.” I update everyone as soon as I enter the room they’re in. “Hopefully we’ll know more after that.”
“Why wasn’t that the first thing they did?” Cad snaps.
I shrug. I don’t know. But maybe he had to wait his turn or be stabilised or some such shit.
“Man, this is bad. Never thought anything could stop that man.”
I nod at Wills. Lizard has always been active and healthy, his ability to shake off a cold is renowned. To see someone like him brought low affects us all. But now I know about the blow to the head and the severity of it, I’m wondering if my brother was a ticking time bomb, just waiting to explode.
Did any of us cause it? I’d told the doctor the truth about him not having any serious bangs to the head, though I’d cuffed him on the ear myself a couple of times. But hell, some of the things he comes out with, he deserves it. Could a jesting blow have caused him to collapse? Christ, I fucking hope not.
I swear the clock on the wall is ticking far too slowly. I seem to be counting off minutes which feel like hours. Some of the brothers go on a coffee run, and Mel, Vi and Beth go to raid the vending machines for candy.
When Beef stands to stretch his legs, I grab one of the few chairs, and sit with my legs splayed and my hands clasped between them, my head bowed. Lizard. You have got to be okay. You can’t fuckin’ die now. Who am I going to share women with? Ink’s got Beth, he’s no fun anymore. You’ve got to recover with your cock in working order, and we’ll share some pussy together.
Not Shayla though. If I ever get near her with my cock, ain’t gonna be sharing her. No, she’s all mine—for the night anyway.
She’s the only one of the women not here now. The prospects will have to keep her company. Karl, Beaver, Dirt and Nails are holding down the fort back home.
The door opens, but it’s only those who went for coffee coming in and passing cups around. Next time, it’s the girls returning and giving out sugary bars.
Finally, when the garbage bin is filled to overflowing with disposable cups, the door opens and at last it’s the doctor.
“David Black.”
“That’s me,” says Demon. “But we’re all his family and want to know how he is, and what you’ve found.”
“He’s still the same as when he came in, but we’ve done an MRI scan. Mr James has got a meningioma, a tumour in his brain. It’s fairly large, and I suspect it’s been growing for some time having heard about these headaches he’s been having.”
“A tumour? Is… is it cancer?” Demon cautiously asks.
That dreaded fucking C word. I hold my breath waiting for the doctor’s reply.
“We can’t tell at the moment whether it’s malignant or benign. I also can’t tell you right now about the treatment, whether we’ll be able to shrink it, or whether it needs surgery to be removed, but it can’t be left as it is, as it’s clearly interfering with his functions, hence the coma he is in. We’ve got the on-call neurologist coming to assess him.”
“Will he recover?” Demon asks. Again, I hold my breath.
“I’m sorry, but I can’t tell you that either. Hopefully, we’ll know more when the neurologist has been able to examine him. He’ll be transferred to the neurology ward shortly.”
“Is he likely to wake up?” Ink asks.
My hands fist as I wait to hear the doctor say I don’t know one more time. I’m not to be disappointed.
“I’m very sorry, but it’s impossible to tell. It is possible, but I would say unlikely unless we can ease the pressure being caused by the meningioma.”
I pipe up with a question of my own. “Is this likely to have been caused by his original brain injury?”
I wait for the answer I’m sure I’ll hear once again, but this time the doctor surprises me. “The VA might disagree, or at least that would be their go-to response, but yes, I think that’s quite possible. A lot of work has been done which links subsequent meningiomas with previous traumatic damage to the brain. Of course, as these take years to form, cause and effect are hard to prove, but research would suggest there are a disproportionate number of these tumours appearing in vets who’ve suffered a TBI.”