“Richard, what do you want?” Taylor asks quietly trying to keep the situation as calm as possible.
“What I want? What I want?” Richard gives a maniacal laugh that seems to echo through the large room now that it is pretty much empty apart from us and the men in black advancing from behind Richard with their own guns drawn. “What I want is what should rightfully be mine. What I want is for you not to have been born. You took everything away from me!” Richard ends his rant with fury burning in his eyes.
“Richard, this is crazy,” Taylor says trying to reason with his brother. “I have never taken anything from you.”
“Liar!” he barks. “You were always the favourite, the one who got everything while I was left to fend for myself.” What. The. Hell? What kind of fantasy world is Richard living in? This is so far from the truth that if it wasn’t for the scary-as-shit gun pointed at us right now I would probably burst out laughing.
“Richard, stop this right now,” Taylor says. “I have no idea what delusions you have convinced yourself of, but I was never the favourite and everything I have achieved in my life has been despite your interference at every turn.” I can see Taylor is really starting to get angry now. “For fuck’s sake, you even got your girlfriend to start a relationship with me to screw with my head!”
This was clearly the wrong thing to say because Richard starts scrubbing his hand over his head, the gun waving around a little in the other hand. “Liar!” he screams. “You took her away from me!”
Taylor holds up his hand in front of him in a gesture of surrender. “Okay, okay, Richard. Whatever you say,” Taylor says smoothly trying to calm down the situation.
By this time we’ve been completely surrounded and I have no idea if these are Henry’s guys or the police. Right now I really don’t care. This amount of guns is making me very nervous; these kinds of situation never end well in the movies. The adrenaline coursing through me is having quite an impact on Bean resulting in her kicking me furiously as if she is trying to say ‘Calm down, Mum’. I let out a gasp and clutch my side after one particularly vicious poke.
“Let Abby go,” Taylor pleads. “Please!”
“I don’t think so,” Richard says. “The whore is as guilty as you. And that baby…that baby should have been mine.”
Okay, they guy really has lost the plot! “Put the gun down, Richard,” comes Henry’s voice from off to the side. “You are surrounded. Let’s not make this harder than it already is, shall we?”
“Never,” Richard barks. “They have to pay. My brother has to pay for ruining my life.”
I listen as Henry tries to reason with him. In the background, I notice Detective Stanton talking urgently to a group of men in bullet-proof vests who have just entered the room and indicating for them to move in. I transfer my attention back to Richard as the words flow over me. I hold onto Taylor’s arm tightly and he squeezes me against him reassuringly.
Beads of sweat have formed on Richard’s forehead and his hand seem less steady on the grip of the gun aimed at us. Voices fill the air as one after another tries to talk Richard down. “Shut up!” he screams becoming more and more unhinged as the minutes tick by.
I try to swallow down the lump of sheer terror now lodged in my throat and my vision narrows in on the gun. I can see Richard’s finger knocking against the trigger. I know nothing about guns but I’ve seen enough movies to realise that a small squeeze is all it’s going to take for the gun to go off. I glance up at Taylor and see that his is concentrating intently on Richard’s face as he talks to him, trying to reason with him as if he is a rational human being. As I glance across the rest of the people gathered they all seem to be focusing on Richard, rather than the gun.
As my gaze sweeps back, I notice a flicker of sudden calm spread across Richard’s face, like he has just made some kind of decision. Everything seems to shift into slow motion and panic sets in as I watch him adjust his grip on the gun. Before I have even registered the thought, I have shoved Taylor away from me with as much force as I can muster. A split-second later a bullet slams into my shoulder and I fly backwards.
The impact surprises me as much as anyone, my mouth forming an ‘o’ as the pain begins to burn through me. The gunshot has me completely disorientated; the only noise I can discern seems to be a rushing in my ears as I wildly try to fix my eyes on something, anything. Everything seems to happen so quickly, one minute I’m standing, the next I am lying on the floor as feet rush past. I don’t hear the second gunshot but the next thing I see is Richard lying on his front beside me, his eyes empty and a trickle of blood seeping out of his mouth.
I look around wildly, trying to find Taylor. I need to know if he is okay. In my head, I am screaming his name but all that’s coming out of my mouth is a whimper. “I’m here, baby. I’m here, Abs,” Taylor reassures me as his face comes into my line of vision. Tears are flowing down his face as grabs my hand. “You are going to be fine, Abs. Just stay with me, okay?”
I nod my head but wince as someone presses down hard on my injured shoulder. Suddenly the worst kind of pain spears my belly and I cry out in response, my back arching off the floor. The pain returns like wildfire and I gasp for breath. At that moment I know something is very wrong.
“What? What’s the matter, Abby?” Taylor cries.
“Bean!” is all I can respond. The pain is all-encompassing and I am just so scared. I grip Taylor’s hand as hard as I can. “Remember your promise, Tay,” I rasp out urgently. “Remember!” It’s the last thing I manage to get out as the world fades out of my vision and everything descends into blackness.
The Twenty-Third
The darkness is all-encompassing and warm, like one of those floatation tanks you get in posh spas. My mind scrambles for where I am and what happened but every time I feel like I am about to remember something important, it’s like the memory I’m reaching for moves further and further away, like a cotton reel unwinding itself.
I try to take stock of my body; there is a dull ache in my shoulder that I’m sure shouldn’t be there and a pain in my belly like fire. It burns and burns and then I realise something is missing, something paramount, something I know I should remember but I just can’t quite put my finger on it.
Suddenly an image of a baby pops into my head and I begin to scream as the memories assault my senses. I relive the moment I was shot and my shoulder burns intensely once again, sending a feeling of nausea rising up inside of me. It’s only then that I realise the emptiness means my baby is not there. I scream and scream, trying to break out of the darkness until all I can do is surrender to it.
The Twenty-Fourth
Beep…beep…beep. Damn, I wish Taylor would turn his frickin’ alarm off! The darkness is less intense but my body hurts all over. I move my fingers experimentally and am relieved when I can feel soft cotton under my fingertips. A significant sense of déjà vu washes over me when I realise I recognise that sound. It’s not Taylor’s alarm but, in fact, a heart monitor which can only mean that I’m in the hospital.
I am still too terrified to open my eyes so I slide one hand over my belly. A bump is still there but not one big enough for Bean and I instinctively know that she is no longer inside of me. I stifle a sob as I try to come to terms with the fact that I’ve lost my baby and knowing ultimately that it’s useless.
Cracking my eyes open it takes a moment for them to adjust to the pale light seeping through the curtains. For a moment I swear I’m seeing things. In large armchair in the corner, Taylor is fast asleep with a soft pink bundle nestled in his arms. I shake my head trying to dispel this image that is clearly fantasy. I blink and blink again until it finally sinks in; this is real. Bean is okay.
I try to move a little but am suddenly assaulted by a fierce pain that washes over me. A groan escapes my mouth and suddenly Taylor is wide awake and on his feet, clutching the little pink bundle to his chest. Our eyes meet and I see the relief flood his features. He is pale and there are dark circles und
er his eyes; I’m betting that he has probably slept very little since I was shot, whenever that was.
“We’ve got to stop meeting like this,” I say, my attempt at a joke feeble at best.
“Fuck, Abs,” Taylor says scrubbing his hand over his face. “You scared the shit out of me. Don’t you ever do that again!” I flinch at the harshness of his tone. “Sorry, Abs,” Taylor says, the timbre of his voice softer this time as he takes in my distress. “I…I don’t know what I would have done if I had lost you.”
“Well I’m here, so let’s not worry about that. Can I see…?” I ask motioning my head towards the baby I have not had a chance to even hold yet. A spark of irrational jealousy courses through me at the thought that Taylor was the first person to hold her.
“Of course,” Taylor says bringing her round my right-hand side. “Be careful of your shoulder, Abs. The doctor said the bullet didn’t hit any bone on its way through but it did do a lot of damage. You lost a lot of blood and he said the wound will take a while to heal.”
Very slowly, Taylor raises the bed so that I’m in a half-sitting position and then lays our sleeping baby next to my head. As I stare into her face, the tears begin to course down mine. “I thought I lost her,” I explain with a sniff. “I remember being in the darkness and somehow knowing she wasn’t inside of me anymore and I thought she was gone. I was too scared to open my eyes because I thought she hadn’t survived and I had no idea how I was going to deal with that.”
Reaching up with my good arm I trail my fingers over her head savouring the feel of her baby-soft skin and the unique scent that only babies have. “God, she’s so beautiful,” I cry softly as the emotions overwhelm me. It feels like a volcano bubbling over as I sob, letting out all my fears and grief. The movement causes intense pain in my shoulder and my belly and I find myself groaning with the discomfort.
“Hang on, Abs. Let me call the nurse for some pain relief,” Taylor says reaching over and squeezing my hand.
“Okay,” I whisper as Taylor strokes my face gently, wiping away my tears.
“I love you so much, Abs,” he remarks quietly. I am just returning the sentiment when a nurse comes bustling in and greets me. She has a lovely smile and tells me how gorgeous Bean is. Checking my notes, Nurse Ciara introduces herself before adjusting my drip and telling me that the doctor will be in shortly.
“We really need to give her a name,” Taylor and I say at the same time.
I stare at Bean for a moment and wrinkle my nose. “Well, she’s definitely not an Emily or a Rose,” I say of the two possible names we had picked out.
“Yeah, I know. That’s the first thing I thought when they handed her to me.” Bean’s eyes flutter open and she purses her lips, smacking them together in a cute little sound. “Uh, oh. Our little madam is hungry,” Taylor remarks.
“Oh?” I respond suddenly feeling really crap that I don’t yet know all her little movements.
Taylor quickly moves across to the corner of the room which I can see has been set up like a little nursery. There is a tiny cot along with a counter lined with bottles, a warmer and cartons of formula all ready to go. I watch as Taylor pours the formula into a bottle with practised ease and then pops it into the warmer.
Bean squirms next to me, anxious for her feed but before she can get too fractious Taylor is back with her warmed bottle. He picks her and moves across to the armchair, flinging a soft muslin square over his shoulder before popping the bottle into her mouth. I watch as she guzzles down the milk greedily, her body looking so tiny in Taylor’s arms.
“How much did she weigh?” I say as the need for the pertinent facts and figures fills me.
“She was seven pounds and four ounces, which is not too tiny apparently,” Taylor replies with a grin. “Though the first time they gave her to me I was terrified I would break her.”
“C-section?” I ask with morbid curiosity though I’m not entirely sure that I really want to know the details.
“Yeah, you lost quite a bit of blood and that triggered Bean. Once they got you into theatre, she went into distress so they stabilised the bleeding in your shoulder, got Bean out and then went back and fixed your shoulder up,” Taylor’s eyes remain fixed on Bean as she feeds and I let out a sigh. I can’t imagine how terrified I would have been had the roles been reversed.
Suddenly a thought strikes me. “I have an idea for a name but say if you don’t like it, okay?” Taylor gives me a nod to let me know he is listening. “Well, you know that quote by William Shakespeare? ‘Though she be but little, she is fierce.’ That kind of sums Bean up in so many ways. So how about ‘Millie’?”
Taylor says the name softly, looking down at our daughter and smiling before looking over at me. “Millie. It’s perfect.”
“Millie,” I say again.
“How about Millie Bean?” Taylor suggests with a grin.
“Jeez, Taylor you might as well just call her Kidney or Jelly and be done with it!” I say sarcastically. “Millie Bean Hudson,” I mutter under my breath. “The kid would never survive school.”
Taylor chuckles, “I can see where you are coming from. How about Lila then? You know after your Nonna?”
“I think that would be perfect,” I remark. My head is getting fuzzy as the painkillers kick in. I am struggling to keep my eyes open so when Taylor says, “Sleep, Abs. I’m right here. We aren’t going anywhere,” I do just that.
The Twenty-Fifth –
Twenty-Eighth
The next few days go by in fits and starts as I try and recover from my ordeal. I ache to hold Bean, uh Millie, but my shoulder is still too weak to support any weight so Taylor has taken to letting me hold her for short periods of time in my right arm, laying her so she lies with her head on my shoulder, her tiny little hand nestled in mine.
My room becomes a revolving door for visitors. The first people were my parents who arrived soon after Taylor called them to let them know I was awake. The panic on my mother’s face when they pulled her out the ballroom is still burned into my memory. But as she walks in she is all smiles which lifts the weight I didn’t even know I was carrying.
After that comes Genevieve and Stix. And then Bea and Andreas and Michelle and Marc and so on and so on until Taylor tells them to all come back again tomorrow so that I can rest. Which they do.
Taylor, however, is my constant. There is a small bedroom attached to my room for Taylor to sleep in but he refuses to leave my side, insisting that he can sleep just fine in the armchair. Millie is thriving and in the times I’m not sleeping Taylor makes sure that I have as much time with her as possible. I might not be able to physically hold her but he does things like bringing the portable bath right next to me so that I can trail my fingers in the water and clasp her little hand, and holding her up so that I can feed her a bottle.
By Wednesday, though, the thing that I want more than anything at all is a shower. Sponge baths and dry shampoo are only getting me so far and in the end I beg the nurse to let me use the shower. With Taylor’s help and my stitched-up wounds covered and sealed I step under the warm spray.
My body is still weak despite the rest and medication I’ve been receiving so Taylor joins me in the shower insisting that I sit on the plastic flip-down seat while he shampoos and conditions my hair and gently washes every inch of my body until I’m squeaky clean. Once I’m done I beg Taylor for a few more minutes under the heavenly spray so he climbs out and towels himself off before waiting patiently for me to be ready.
I eek out the water until it begins to cool and then allow Taylor to help dry my body. I have never felt so completely helpless in all my life and it pains me that I have to rely on Taylor to even help me to the toilet but the doctors promise me that day by day my strength will return. Though if someone tells me to rest one more time, I might have to somehow find the strength to hit them.
When I am finally clad in fresh pyjamas and back in bed having had Taylor blow dry my hair—thank heavens there is no mirror in my ro
om for me to see what he has done—I finally summon up the courage to ask the question I’ve been avoiding ever since I woke up.
“Um, Tay,” I say quietly causing him to look at me like a deer in the headlights. I guess he senses this can’t be good. “What happened to Richard?” Taylor baulks at my question but I continue on regardless. “Just before I passed out I remember him lying on the ground with blood coming out of his mouth and his eyes open.” I close my eyes as the memory overwhelms me. “Is he dead?” I whisper, closing my eyes to try and shut out the memory.
Taylor doesn’t answer me for a moment and when I open my eyes, I see that his face is pale and his hands are gripping the rests of the armchair tightly. I watch as he swallows hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat, before he begins to talk.
“It all seemed to happen so fast,” Taylor says so quietly I have to strain my ears to hear him. I glance over at Millie, who is still fast asleep, before returning my full attention to Taylor. “One moment you were clutching my arm and the next you were shoving me over. I never even noticed him pull the trigger. It was just this loud bang and then you kind of rocked on your feet. I always thought that if you got shot you would go flying backwards, like in the movies.”
Taylor hesitates for a moment so I interrupt, “That’s so strange because I remember it feeling like I had flown backwards.
“My eyes were on you so I barely registered the second shot. They told me afterwards that it was one of the marksmen that Detective Stanton called in. Henry was ready to do it but because the police were there, they held off.” Taylor takes a deep breath before continuing with his story.
“One moment you were standing and then in a blink of an eye you were on the floor. I remember screaming your name and there was this thud as Richard fell beside you. I was so ready to jump on him and kick his head in but something inside of me was telling me, oh I don’t know if it’s some kind of crazy twin thing or not, but I just knew he was gone.”
Book Four: Thirty Days, Book 4 Page 13