“Okay, load her up!” The paramedic yells quickly, moving us both into the back of the ambulance.
“WHAT’S WRONG with her? Why is she so out of it?” I ask, pacing the hall of the emergency room. Two doctors and a nurse are inside, checking her over.
“Sir, I’m not sure. Let us look at her and the baby. We can’t give you any answers until we get a better idea of what’s going on,” a nurse says, passing me by and heading into Emma’s room.
The entire way here, Emma mumbled incoherently and drifted in and out of consciousness. I can’t take this anymore. I need some answers. My imagination is running rampant, and I don’t know how much longer I’m going to be able to keep it together.
“Mr. Jones.” The doctor steps into the hallway.
“How is she?” I stop in front of him pushing a shaking hand through my hair.
“Her vitals are stable for now. We are going to focus on the baby for a minute and then take her back for a few more in-depth tests.”
I rush out a breath, willing my pulse to slow.
“As you know, Emma still has five weeks until her due date. The baby is not quite ready to be born yet, but after a trauma like this, sometimes it’s safer for us to go ahead and take the baby.”
“Wait, will he be okay? I mean, if he’s born now? Isn’t it too early?” The fear that just faded immediately climbs again.
“Most babies his age do just fine with some extra care. Besides, as long as everything looks good, we will leave him safely where he is now. Why don’t you go in and sit with her while I run down and grab an ultrasound machine.” He tries to give me a reassuring smile, but none of this feels right.
I walk into the room, and the air is filled with the soft and steady whooshing of our baby’s heartbeat. Emma is hooked up to a bunch of monitors, a white blanket covering her.
I drag the chair from the corner of the small room over next to her and lean down with my head next to hers. “Hey, sweetheart. I could really use a glimpse of those blue eyes right now.”
She immediately turns her head towards me but barely cracks an eye. However, the minute the corner of her mouth lifts an inch, I completely lose it.
Tears fill my eyes. “Oh God, Emmy.” I’ve been holding it together for years, but this—this is just too much.
Suddenly, her fist begins to beat on the bed between us as a scream tears from her throat.
“No. No,” she whimpers, and before I can even process what’s going on, the sounds filling the air slide from quick and steady to slow and sluggish.
I frantically press the nurse call button, terrified to leave her, but as I look toward the door, I catch sight of the massive amount of blood pooling between her legs, soaking completely through the blanket. I jump to my feet and sprint into the hallway.
“Help! I need a doctor! I need a doctor, now!”
A startled nurse comes running down the otherwise empty hall.
Not a second later, doctors and nurses fill the room.
“Get her to the OR. Call anesthesia and have them meet us there. She’s abrupting, people. Let’s move,” I hear the doctor yell as they unlock the wheels on her bed and push her out of the room. I don’t even get a second glance as she is rushed past me.
“Caleb!” I faintly hear shouted from behind me, but the agonizing pain in my chest won’t release me long enough to focus on it.
I stand immobile in the middle of the hallway as the images of Emma bleeding out hold me hostage.
“Jones!” I finally recognize Brett’s voice and his fingers snapping in front of me.
I manage to get out only one sentence before the potential devastation levels me. “I can’t lose her.”
My legs give way as I crash to my knees. I bargain with every possible god in the universe to let her live or, at the very least, take me with her.
“It’s okay. She’s going to be okay,” He begins to frantically repeat.
“Come on, Caleb.” I hear Jesse’s Tinker Bell voice in my ear as I’m practically dragged into a waiting room.
“This isn’t happening. Please, someone wake me up,” I beg as this all-too-familiar feeling strangles me.
Everything moves in fast forward around me as I sit rooted to a chair in the middle of a hospital. I’ve been here before, only this time, I’m responsible. Why the fuck was I driving so fast?
I look over to Brett and say words that only an hour ago sent fire through my system. Now they seem inconsequential. Who cares who was driving? The result will always be the same.
“Casey was driving the night of the wreck. Eli helped her leave unnoticed.”
“What?” He looks at me like I’ve obviously lost it.