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I’ve done enough research to know that I can’t put myself out for that long during the season. My medical history is a shitstorm. Between not knowing anything about my father other than a name, and the severity of my previous injury, there’s no way I’m a candidate for this type of procedure.
“Well, the type of match we need is beyond the standard. We can test both you and Mrs. Henderson if you would like, but that doesn’t guarantee you’ll meet the criteria.”
He doesn’t say it out loud, and neither does Gia, but they both know I’m out. Astria is my baby girl, and I can’t save her. If anyone should be able to save her, it should be me. Emotion closes in around my throat and steals my words. My girls are being so strong, and here I am, breaking.
When I offer nothing to his response, the doctor continues. “The optimal donor is what we refer to as a histocompatibility-matched relative, which means they have identical HLA tissue typing. Parents are typically a half match for their children, and a fifty percent chance is all we require for a typical transfer. However, Astria’s case is atypical. She has a diverse HLA tissue typing because of her ancestry. It makes finding a type match more difficult, but not impossible. This is a trial treatment, and successful acceptance of the bone marrow is imperative. We’re not only looking at the percentage but more specifically the tissue typing. To meet the standards of the trial, we need both. We need at least a thirty percent match with an identical HLA tissue typing.”
“Help me understand. Astria is our blood, she’s, our baby. You said we’re a fifty percent match. That’s more than the requirement. I can understand why I’m an issue as a candidate, but why not Gia? What do you mean by atypical? She was approved for the clinical trial.”
“We can be fairly certain Gia is a match. We just can’t be certain she’s the match we need for the trial. We can swab her today, but we need to do a panel to see if she’s a fit for the trial. We need to get the blood work completed. I’m sorry, it’s a necessary process. We’ll get you both set up to run the samples, but I can’t make any promises.”
“Look, Doc, I apologize if I’m overstepping. Now that we’re committed to the trial, I guess I just want her better right now. I know that’s not how this is going to go down. Forgive me for being impatient. It hurts me to see her hurt, and it hurts me, even more, to know I can’t fix it.” My voice cracks as I allow a moment of vulnerability in the privacy of this small office with Astria’s doctor and my family. I need him to know how important this is to me. I need him to understand the position I’m in.
“The quicker we take action, the more likely it is that her body will accept the new bone marrow and she won’t have any lasting effects. Don’t take our need for process and order for latency. It’s imperative that we document everything for the trial submissions. We’re moving forward immediately. If we wait, there’s a possibility of permanent muscle damage. Despite her current symptoms, Astria is still very healthy. And while this isn’t a cure, she will probably forever deal with the disorder, our hope with the procedure is that she will be able to manage it with medication alone, and it won’t permanently impact her life. She’ll be able to continue to play sports and do just about anything a normal teenager can do.”
“That’s all I want. I want my life back.” Astria speaks up, and I couldn’t agree more.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Tyler
“Tyler! Tyler! Get in here!” Casey’s frantic screaming echoes throughout the lake house. I don’t rush. She’s been known to have a flare for the dramatics. Whatever it is, she can pause it until the popcorn finishes popping.
We’re having a rare, lazy day today. We’re watching one of our movies. It’s a new release, but if I had to guess, someone just got stranded in a small town and they’re about to run into the love of their life at a coffee shop…or a bakery…or a coffee shop that sells baked goods.
“Tyler! Now!” I swear her shrieks shake the floor-to-ceiling windows that overlook the lake.
What in the absolute fuck. I abandon my task and ensure our popcorn will burn and the kitchen will smell for at least two weeks, and walk toward my screaming fiancé in the living room.
Fiancé, I love that title, almost as much as I’m going to love calling her my wife. Does she admit that she’s marrying me? Nah. But I’ll haul her ass down the aisle over my shoulder kicking and screaming if I have to. Actually, I look forward to it.
“Dammit, woman. I’m coming. I swear. You ask for popcorn; I go get popcorn. The next thing I know you’re screaming at me to come…back.” I pause at the edge of the room.
A news channel I recognize as being outside of Los Angeles is streaming over the sports network. She’s not watching our movie at all.
A woman wearing a red sweater dress stands outside of a hospital where the screen says she’s broadcasting live. “We’re standing in front of LA Memorial Hospital, where just moments ago the entire LA Renegades starting lineup filed in for what we understand just might be the answer to saving a little girl’s future. Seasoned Goaltender for the Renegades, Damien Henderson, dubbed the comeback kid of the NHL, is inside with his wife and nine-year-old daughter. Our sources tell us that his daughter is in need of an immediate bone marrow transplant. It’s no secret that hockey teams are a sacred brotherhood. It’s easy to see, with this show of solidarity here for a brother of their own, that sentiment holds true now more than ever. The Renegades play at home this weekend, let’s see if their solidarity is just as strong on the ice. Back to you, Carmen.”
My feet remain glued to the floor where I stand. My lungs stop working. I can’t be certain that I know how to breathe anymore. That’s my family. A foreign feeling begins to take hold inside of me, spreading like wildfire throughout my entire body. It’s a feeling that I haven’t felt in a long time.
The need to protect something, someone, that’s my fucking blood.
I don’t care about the fight. I don’t care about the betrayal. None of those things matter to me anymore. The only thing that I can think of is that my flesh and blood is in that hospital, and she needs help. She needs me.
“Hey, you good? You’re almost as white as me. Frankly, it’s not a good look for you. Say something, Tyler.” I don’t know when Casey moved from the couch, but suddenly she’s touching my arm, shaking me back from the initial shock to my system and bringing me back to reality.
“I need to pack,” I say the first thing that comes to my mind. I have the means to get there. One phone call and a one-hour flight and I’ll be at that exact hospital.
“Fucking, yes! This is the moment I’ve been waiting for.” Casey bounces on her toes, following me into our shared bedroom.
Who am I kidding? This is her bedroom now; she just allows me to live in it. Okay, and fuck her. Sweet Jesus do I fuck her in this bed.
Her words take a minute to register as I snatch my overnight bag from the top shelf in our walk-in closet. “Cassandra, if you so much as look at Damien, I will sell your entire onesie collection in a charity auction.”
“You think so little of me.” She says innocently. She starts pulling clothes from hangers and shoving them into her luggage.
I pause my movements to look at her. “Even the skunk onesie, I know you keep shoved in the back of the third drawer in your closet.” I raise my eyebrow as if to tell her I know where she keeps her secret stash back in her apartment in the city.
“You wouldn’t dare.” She hisses.
