What the Hail

by Lani Lynn Vale

  She wasn’t in jeans today.

  No, she was in fucking Spandex.

  Spandex.

  Spandex that was pink, stretchy, and clung to her unlike anything I’d ever seen before.

  The closest thing I could compare it to was fucking saran wrap.

  “So, what are today’s panties?” I asked, my filter all but gone.

  This woman had the power to unman me.

  She grinned and said, “I’d have to take another testicle shot at you with my button for you to find out.”

  I was pretty sure it’d be worth it.

  “Come on,” I said. “My ball is still throbbing if that counts.”

  It was, too. Each step I took caused a sharp pain to shoot up into my belly.

  I’d never felt something so debilitating in my life, and I’d been hit by a goddamn car.

  She immediately reddened at my words.

  “If you have to know,” she blushed seven shades of red, “they say ‘Sour Puss’ on them. Happy?”

  My grin was slow as it took over my face. “Sure am.”

  She rolled her eyes and looked away.

  “Do you live on this street?”

  I shook my head and pointed to the house that was three down from hers. “That’s my brother’s place.”

  Understanding dawned.

  “The tow truck.” She snapped her fingers as if she was let in on a secret. “I’ve always wondered if he was the owner, or if he was just special enough to take his truck home,” she commented.

  I shrugged. “All of the employees take them home, honestly. The only way they don’t is if they’re still in the probationary period, but everyone that’s working for us right now is off probation.”

  “Why?”

  “Why what?” I countered.

  “Why do they take them home?”

  I shrugged again. “It’s easier to have them with us, that way when we get a call after hours, we don’t have to go to the shop before we run it.”

  “Ahhh,” she murmured. “That makes sense, I guess. Why would someone be on probation?”

  “If they’re new hires or if they’ve done something stupid like lose a car on the interstate.”

  She snorted. “That doesn’t actually happen, does it?”

  I grinned. “More than you’d think.”

  She leaned her hip against the lawn mower almost out of instinct as she started to laugh.

  However, the lawn mower started to roll, and she began to fall.

  Doing my manly duty, and my manly duty only, I lurched forward, ignoring the twinge in my balls, and caught her before her ass could kiss the ground.

  She gasped when I pulled her in line with my body, and her hands went to my chest.

  “That was close,” she gasped. “You’re fast.”

  I let her go and stepped away, and my knee nearly gave out.

  “Goddamn,” I groaned as I doubled over.

  She bent down with me, but my eyes were squeezed shut as I tried to breathe through the pain in my ball—which had trumped the pain in my knee.

  I really thought that I might die.

  Chapter 7

  I have three hairstyles. Straight, semi-curly, and homeless.

  -Lark’s secret thoughts

  Lark

  Could a man die from being hit in the balls?

  I found out that although they may not die, they could be really hurt.

  “It’s called testicular torsion,” The doctor explained to the man whose face was as white as a sheet. “Testicular torsion is when the testis become twisted, causing blood flow to be cut off to the scrotum.”

  I paled as the blood left my face.

  “It’s not normally something that happens in adult men, though.” He paused. “Unless you’re already predisposed to having it happen. There’s a condition called ‘Bell Clapper Syndrome’ that essentially means that your testis move more freely than normal. If, say, like in your case, you were hit with something like a button to the testicle, then the extra movement could cause the testicular torsion.”

  “What now?”

  Those strangled words came from the man at my side.

  “I’m thinking,” the doctor said as he dropped the side of Baylor’s gown to cover his man parts again, “that you were bruised at first. Now, I think that the torsion has happened. You should be within the window.”

  “What window?” I blurted.

  “There’s normally a four-to-six-hour window where the torsion occurs that it can be fixed without negative side effects,” the doctor explained.

  “Fix it!” I said in somewhat apparent alarm. “Oh, my God. Fix it!”

  I didn’t want any lasting effects on this man’s balls because of my fat ass!

  The doctor smiled gently. “We’ll get it done. As of right now, we’ll try to do it manually instead of surgically.” He paused. “Let me get some nurses in here. They’re going to load you up on some preventative pain meds. Then, we’ll see about fixing what ails you.”

  Then he was gone, leaving me without a thing to say.

  Luckily it didn’t take long for the promised nurses to arrive.

  They loaded him on the pain meds the doctor had promised and then left within a minute of arriving.

  “I’m so sorry.”

  Baylor cracked open one eyelid.

  “It’s okay,” he lied. “Could’ve been anyone.”

  Actually, no it couldn’t.

  I squeezed my eyes shut in horror.

  God, I was the worst person in the world.

  That’d been how I’d met my ex.

  Sure, I hadn’t shot Sal in the balls with my button, but I had drained him of life when I’d taken his blood during a donation event.

  Then there was my boyfriend from high school. I’d met him because I’d been running late to school. When I’d arrived at the office, the new kid had been coming out of the office, and I’d slammed into him with the full force of my geeky teenage body.

  He’d hit the floor, and I’d been his friend, and then his girlfriend, for the remainder of our high school career.

  Though, I’d since sworn off men when Sal had decided he’d rather choke the shit out of me and kill me instead of allowing me to go to work. I would not be having any sort of relationship with this man.

  Even if I felt bad for hurting him.

  Before I could apologize any longer, the doctor arrived, giving me a very good excuse to get the hell out of there.

  “I’ll just wait outside…”

  Before I could so much as take a step, thick fingers belonging to a strong hand, wrapped around my wrist. “You’re not going anywhere.”

  “But…”

  He shook his head, still not opening his eyes. “No. You’re staying.”

  “But I…”

  He shook his head and squeezed my wrist lightly. “Please stay.”

  I bit my lip.

  I would not look. I would not look.

  “Okay,” I agreed softly and moved up to the top of the bed that Baylor was reclining on.

  “You’re still in some pain, correct?” the doctor asked as he sidled up to the bed.

  Baylor nodded once, still not opening his eyes.

  “Good,” he said. “This should be felt, but not unbearable. I want you to let me know if the pain eases off. Then we’ll know if it worked.”

  With that, he flipped the gown covering Baylor’s lower half up, then reached forward.

  My eyes went there almost automatically, and before I could look away, my eyes became fascinated.

  I loved shit like this.

  Not necessarily poor, abused testicles, but medical stuff.

  I loved blood. Loved how blood worked. Loved anything that had to do with drawing blood.

  More so, I loved watching videos of open-heart surgeries, childbirth, a person getting stitches.

  I loved scrolling through those gross as he
ll Facebook posts that say ‘don’t look—you’ve been warned’ that have the world’s grossest pictures on them.

  A severed hand. A piece of pipe sticking straight through a man’s upper body. Ripped flesh exposing bone. The grosser it was, the more rapt my attention became.

  I was not a normal person.

  So that was why, when I saw Baylor’s poor testicle that was more than twice the normal size of his other testicle, my fascination became transfixed.

  I, of course, saw the man’s impressive cock.

  Impressive was hardly an accurate description, even though it was clearly soft and just about as unexcited as a cock could get.

  But what held me enthralled was the way the doctor’s hands went to Baylor’s testicle as he gingerly held it in his hand.

  Baylor’s face turned to the side, and he buried his face in my stomach.

  My hands automatically went to his head, my fingers sifting through his hair as I absently soothed him as I continued to stare.

  The nurse that came in with the doctor was standing at his side, also watching, and I envied her for a minute.

  She got to do cool stuff like that all the time. I only got to witness it secondhand.

  Then I felt teeth bite down on my hip. Startled, I glanced down at the man who’d done the biting and saw tears in his eyes.

  Oh, shit.

  “This might hurt a little,” the doctor said.

  Then he grabbed hold of the poor man’s ball and started twisting.

  He twisted Baylor’s entire testicle not once, but twice.

  I’d never heard a sound like that leave a grown man’s throat, but I’d remember it forever.

  It’d stay with me, awake or in sleep, for as long as I lived.

  But, moments after that sound started, it abruptly broke off, leaving nothing but silence and relief in its wake.

  “Better?”

  Baylor let out a relieved, shaky breath, meaning he’d let go of my hip fat with his teeth, and nodded his head.

  “Yeah.”

  “Excellent,” the doctor said. “Pain has ebbed off?”

  Baylor gave a single nod. “Almost completely.”

  “Well,” the doctor said. “In that case, I’m going to give you something for the swelling and instructions to follow up with your primary care provider within a week. If the pain or swelling returns or increases, come back immediately.”

  With that, the doctor gently let Baylor’s poor abused ball slip from his fingers, stripped his gloves off, and walked out without even using hand sanitizer on the way.

  I stared at the doctor, relieved to find his first stop the communal sink that was in the corner of the ER.

  Thank God.

  I was a hand washing fanatic.

  It seriously grossed me out when people didn’t wash their hands. Almost to the point where I would have to go wash mine just to feel clean again.

  “Would you mind telling my brother and his wife that I’m okay?” Baylor croaked.

  Without making eye contact with Baylor or his still exposed lower half, I slipped out of the room, closing the door behind me as I went.

  Something the doctor should’ve done, but didn’t.

  I assumed due to the fact that we were in a corner room, making it nearly impossible for anyone to see in unless they were supposed to be in the room in the first place.

  The moment that I was out of the room and down the hall, I head for the first hand sanitizer station and thoroughly coated my hands and the upper parts of my forearms before taking a deep breath.

  I could do this.

  I could do this.

  I maybe couldn’t do this.

  When Baylor had started to vomit, I’d run across the street and pounded on the door that he’d said belonged to his brother.

  A man had answered the door, looking alarmed, and I pointed at where Baylor had been doubled over in the grass.

  Travis had taken one look at his brother and started to run. His wife, Hannah I’d later learned, had appeared moments later and followed her husband out the door.

  I’d followed behind them and had then ridden with Travis and Baylor to the hospital minutes later.

  While Baylor had buried his face in my lap as he tried to control the pain, his brother had tossed me murderous glances in the rearview mirror the entire way to the hospital.

  To say I wanted to speak to the man would be a lie.

  I wanted nothing more than to skip telling the man that his brother was okay and head straight out the hospital doors.

  Unfortunately, I wasn’t a coward.

  I would tell Travis that his brother was all right.

  I would wait until Baylor was released, and I would make sure he was okay in a day or two.

  Even if I would burst into flames while doing it.

  I’d seen the man’s dick.

  There was no way I’d ever be able to look him in the eyes again.

  Coming to a halt right outside the waiting room doors, I pushed through them and came to a halt when not one, not two, but dozens of people waited.

  At first, I assumed that they were there for different patients.

  However, when all of them stood up and started coming at me at once, I took a step back.

  “Is he okay?”

  That was from Tate Casey.

  I had no idea why I called him by his full name, but since everyone else referred to him as such, I did, too.

  Tate worked with Baylor and had been the one who repossessed my car for the second time a few weeks ago.

  Hennessy, my new friend and Krisney’s best friend, had been there the day that it’d happened.

  At the time, I hadn’t realized that Hennessy and the man who’d repoed my car had a relationship, but now, seeing Hennessy hanging on Tate Casey’s arm with a worried expression on her face, it was plain to see.

  “Uhh, yeah. He’s fine,” I murmured. “They were able to fix it. The doctor said he had testicular torsion. That’s when the testicle twists in the, errrm, sac. It causes blood flow to stop to the scrotum.”

  Every single man in the entire room winced.

  I, not having testicles myself, couldn’t really relate.

  But I had seen with my own eyes the amount of pain the poor man had been in.

  Though, for the life of me, I couldn’t figure out why the hell they were all here. He’d had ball problems, not heart problems.

  But whatever.

  The people in the room started discussing things amongst themselves, and since I didn’t see any more reason for me to be there, I turned around and slipped back through the doors and headed back through the maze of hallways.

  My intention had been to find a side exit. Something, anything, that didn’t take me directly past all those people who may or may not want to talk to me more than I was willing to do.

  See, the problem with me was that I was an introvert.

  At my old job, I might have had to interact with a person for all of about five minutes while I was taking their blood.

  Now, I had to talk to people to make a freakin’ tip. Now, I had to tell people where the fucking bread was or make small talk with someone while I checked them out.

  I didn’t do small talk.

  I wasn’t a small talk kind of girl.

  I was more of a grunt and point kind of person.

  This new girl I was being forced to be wasn’t good for me.

  I hated people.

  Hated anything that had to do with me being put into a position that I had to talk my way out of.

  But the longer I walked around, the more I realized that there wasn’t an exit this way, and I was freakin’ lost.

  It was by pure happenstance that I ended up back where I started.

  I certainly hadn’t planned it that way.

  Intending to do the only thing I could, which was exit at the front, I turned around just in time to come face-to-face with the
man I’d also been trying to avoid.

  He was sitting in a wheelchair, and he was staring directly at me.

  The moment that I turned, he grabbed my hand and pulled me closer to him.

  “Thank you for staying,” he said. “I didn’t think you were coming back.”

  I would not tell him that I got lost. I would not tell him that I got lost.

  I looked down at the man who was staring at me with relief-filled eyes. “You’re welcome.”

  “Hospitals make me feel like I can’t breathe,” he muttered, eyes staying on me while he spoke. “I was hit by a drunk driver and spent too much time in a hospital afterward. This place reminds me of everything I don’t want to experience ever again.”

  Annnnnd, I immediately felt like shit. Nice one, loser. Leave the poor man you shot in the testicle with your button at the hospital—a place that he’s afraid of. Good goin’.

  I sagged. “I’m sorry for causing you to come here.”

  Way to make me feel worse.

  Though, I was sure that wasn’t his intention when he told me about his phobia.

  He winked. “I’m not.”

  My brows furrowed. “But why?”

  “Because it gave me the chance to hold your hand.”

  With that, he let my hand go and winked.

  “All right!” The nurse came in moments later. “You’re ready to go!”

  Chapter 8

  My dentist told me I need a crown. Replying with ‘I know, right?’ was not the answer he was expecting.

  -Lark’s inner thoughts

  Lark

  Two weeks later

  I didn’t know why I was following him.

  I really, really didn’t.

  Hell, I was on my bike, pedaling like the dickens to keep up with him, and I was still falling behind.

  I didn’t know if it was due to me being a complete novice at bike riding, or because he was just that fast.

  You wouldn’t even know that two weeks ago he’d been in so much pain that he’d vomited and cried.

  Though, as I’d had time to think about the incident—and read up on it—a testicular torsion wasn’t a joke.

  It was a really painful condition that is something men hope never, ever happens to them.

  I’d felt bad for two weeks, which was why I’d kept an eye on him from afar.

  When he ran by my house today, eyes aimed in front of him, I’d thought that I’d just go for a little bike ride.