Captive(2)

“I want a massage from Pete,” I said. The trainer for Ryke’s NHL team had golden hands. He’d worked out the kinks in my neck in less than ten minutes.

“Pete’s not massaging you,” Ryke said gruffly.

“Baby, Pete’s gotta be at least 50. And he’s got nothing on you. I wasn’t going to have him massage my clit or anything.”

“Don’t even joke about that. But talk about your clit some more if you want, that’s fucking hot.” His warm breath on my ear made me wish I wasn’t too tired to move. Even after more than a year together, he was still a rock star in bed.

“Love you,” I said, drifting to sleep.

“Love you, too.”



I woke up in the middle of the night feeling overheated. My back was sweaty and my thighs were hot. I moved my legs, trying to dislodge Ryke’s giant one from on top of them. He grunted and slid his leg back. As soon as I moved, I knew something wasn’t right. They were warm and slick and …

My heart leapt into my throat as I flailed in bed, my arm flying to the lamp on the nightstand. I flipped the switch, threw the covers back and was so shocked I couldn’t make anything come out of my mouth.

Blood. Everywhere. It was like a crime scene. The bed, my legs and my short pink nightgown were all stained red.

When I was finally able to draw in a breath, it came back out in a scream I didn’t even recognize as my own voice.

“No! Oh, God, please, no!” My heart was racing and my head was swimming. It was my worst nightmare. I reached down to my thigh and touched the blood to make sure it was real.

“Kate?” Ryke’s eyes were open now, and he jumped toward me. “Oh, fuck! Jesus Christ!”

I let my head fall back and I screamed again. “Ryke! I can’t do this! I can’t! I can’t do this again! You don’t understand!”

“It’s gonna be okay, baby.” Out of bed now, he ran around to my side. He reached down and picked me up gently. My body was limp, all my focus on the horror of living my nightmare of losing a baby again. I’d been scared to get pregnant, and I hadn’t celebrated like most women when I did. This was why.

Ryke laid me on our white down comforter and I tried to roll away. “No, no. I can’t do this, Ryke.”

He was faster than me. I was back in his arms with the cover wrapped around me. Without any energy to fight, I let myself cry. My body had failed me again. And this time, it had failed Ryke, too.

He carried me across the living room and I cried, drowning in memories of losing my first baby. Though I’d known it could happen again, I’d secretly figured fate owed me a giant favor after last time.

A strange voice made me aware that Ryke had called our apartment building’s front desk.

“Yes, Mr. Ryker?”

“My wife needs an ambulance right away. At the service entrance.”

I wailed again, realizing it was over. Not only was my second baby gone, any hope I had of giving birth to Ryke’s child was gone, too. I could never, ever do this again.

***





Kate’s face finally relaxed into sleep, and I slumped forward against her hospital bed, fatigue hitting me with full force. The steel chair I sat in didn’t feel so uncomfortable anymore.

The first rays of morning sun were shining through the edges of the blinds, giving me a sense of relief. It meant the worst day of my life was over. Watching Kate scream and cry while her dream literally bled out of her body had been the most gut-wrenching experience imaginable.

And I was responsible for her suffering, which made it even worse. How had I let this happen? I knew how terrified she’d been to get pregnant again. We’d met at a grief-support group, for Christ’s sake. I shook my head and laid it on the bed, nudging my forehead against her hip. Her warmth radiated against my skin through the thin bed sheet that covered her.

Gone was the light, sweet scent of coconut I associated with my wife. Now she had the metallic scent of blood that I knew well from hockey fights. That scent had always meant war to me — an adrenaline surge, a chance to knock the piss out of some asshole on the opposing team. But on my wife, it made me feel the opposite. Powerless. Weak. Wounded.

At least she was okay now. The heat of her body reminded me of that. She’d be devastated when she woke up, but at least the goddamn blood wasn’t pouring out of her anymore. I’d almost grabbed the doctor who treated her and told him he better get his shit into panic mode. He’d been so calm and cool about Kate bleeding and screaming and sobbing.

I probably would’ve cried myself, if I hadn’t been so focused on trying to calm her down. It was hell, seeing my beautiful wife suffer that way. The look on her face when I woke to her screaming my name wasn’t something I ever wanted to see again. It sent a shot right through my chest, a physical pain that was just starting to dull.