by Kelly Rimmer
Unless . . .
I’ve known Jess since the year she graduated college—virtually a lifetime ago.
But it strikes me that for all of the years we’ve been “frenemies” and friends and lovers, there are still a lot of things about the infamous Jessica Cohen that just never added up.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Jess
I SAY I HATE WEDDINGS, and it’s true that I don’t love them, but the hate I feel for hospitals is on a whole other level. I wish there was another English word for it. We’ve got loathing and we’ve got dislike, but those words just aren’t strong enough. And what’s worse than hate?
Worse than hate is what I feel for hospitals. I hate the harsh lighting and the misery and the fear and the medical equipment everywhere and the beeping machinery and the way the staff has to be just a little bit cold with their patients to even survive. I hate the constant reminders that life is so fragile. I hate all of those things, but the thing I hate the most is the smell of antiseptic. It has some god-awful, mystical ability to remind me of days I’ve spent my life trying to forget and stirs up such a tension in me that I’d always make Jake shower before I even kissed him when we met up after work.
He seemed completely perturbed by this at one point, so I managed to convince him I’m a germaphobe. Maybe I really am a germaphobe. I’m now barefoot in a hospital after being barefoot in a restroom and when all of this is over, I’m going to soak my feet in bleach.
Abby and Marcus are filling out paperwork. I’m confused by why she hasn’t been rushed off to be examined, but apparently getting her insurance details is a higher priority than treating her. I’m impatient enough that I can’t sit still, and so I’ve slipped my phone out of my pocket and I’m scrolling through the website for the hospital. I find the board of directors and zoom in on the CEO and the list of members.
I know a lot of people in this city, especially in the corporate world. Grandma Chloe taught me a lot of things—but the best skill I learned from her was to always maintain a large, diverse network. I hoped I had some connection to someone senior here so I could speed this all up, but for once, I’ve got nothing.
Beside me, Jake has also been on his phone. He rises suddenly and walks to the counter. I see him flash the clerk a smile, and then he bends to speak to her through the window. A nurse appears a few seconds later, talks to Jake, and then the door to the triage area opens.
“Come on through, Abby. We’ll sort the insurance out soon enough,” she says quietly. Marcus and Abby rise, and the nurse waves to Jake, then to me. “You two, as well. Let’s go.”
Jake waits for me at the door, and as we follow Abby slowly along the long hallway, I ask him quietly, “How did you do that?”
“One of the nursing unit managers on this ward used to work with me at the oncology unit. She’s not on shift, but she made a call for us.”
“Why hasn’t Abby been taken straight to the maternity ward?”
“That isn’t how this works, especially not this late at night. She has to be examined down here, but I imagine once they triage her, they’ll either call a consult or just take her right through.” He glances at me. “It’ll speed up now, Jess. She’s going to be okay.”
We’re shown to a room somewhere in the bowels of the hospital, deep behind the reception area. Marcus and Jake help Abby up onto the bed. She’s cold now, and so they cover her with a sheet. The nurse pulls the curtain closed as she leaves but assures us a doctor is on his way. For the first time, I start to feel agitated. Abby is still quietly crying, and although she says she’s cold, her face is flushed raspberry. There’s a blood pressure cuff right there. Jake could just check it himself . . .
“I don’t have admission rights at this hospital anymore,” he says, correctly interrupting my questioning stare. “But if someone doesn’t come soon—”
The curtain slides open and a startlingly young man appears. He’s wearing a lab coat, but he has a certain air about him that I recognize immediately. It’s the slicked-back hair, the too-white teeth, the haughty expression and what might just be a fake tan. He looks like he’s about to go to a frat party. He looks like the kind of kid I knew at college, the one who’d barely study all semester, then have a tantrum because he didn’t get the marks he wanted.
It’s fair to say I feel something like insta-hate for this Doogie Howser wannabe.
“So, it’s absolute bedlam in here tonight and Milly just called my personal cell and told me I need to ignore my other patients for five minutes to check you out, Abigail,” he greets us. He says it like a joke, but I can see he’s deeply unimpressed with Jake’s queue-jumping skills. “Apparently you and your entourage here are VIPs. I’m Dr. Nolan. Can you tell me a bit about what’s happening here?”
“It started with heartburn a few days ago,” Abby says, her voice wobbly. She’s only just beginning to explain herself, but Nolan seems to have heard enough. I hear the sigh he tries to stifle as he scans the shape of Abby’s body without even lifting the sheet. When he raises his gaze to her face, there’s a curl to his lip.
“And how much did you eat tonight?” he asks. Marcus, Jake and I all stiffen. Abby only blinks. “All I’m saying is, you’re heavily pregnant. With twins, or so I’ve been told. It’s crowded in there, and you’re obviously overweight—there’s a lot of fat around your internal organs. If you overeat, you’re going to suffer for it.”
Marcus and Jake both open their mouths as if they’re about to tear into this kid, and fair enough. But if they tell this guy to fuck off, we’ll have to wait for someone else to tend to Abby and we just need to get this process started. I leap in before the guys can blast this idiot, because there’s a smarter way to proceed here.
“Dr. Nolan,” I say as politely as I can, given that I want to tear this ignorant idiot a new asshole every bit as much as Jake and Marcus do. I let what remains of my rural Georgia accent roll on out as I ask him, “Tell me, do you know who the CEO of this hospital is?”
“Of course I do,” he says flatly.
“Now look, I doubt as a resident you’re spending much time with the CEO, so let me give you a bit of a tip . . .” I’m wearing my most cordial smile and speaking very slowly. I learned this trick from Grandma Chloe too. She used to say that there’s no better way to make someone underestimate you than to lean into a stereotype.
Stereotypes are two-dimensional, Jessica. There’s no depth to them, no complexity. And as soon as someone feels like they know all there is to know about you, they think they can control you.
I want Nolan to think I’m some redneck hick, out of my depth in the big city. I want him to underestimate me. In about two seconds flat, his body language relaxes and he becomes visibly impatient as he waits for me to make my point. His guard is down because he thinks I’m no one, so when he opens his mouth to dismiss me, I pounce.
“Cindy and I go to a corporate leaders’ brunch together every month, and I’ve known her a long time.” My polite smile slips, and I feel my expression transform. This is my fierce face—and if this moron cries, it won’t be the first time I’ve brought a man to tears with a few well-placed comments and a glare. “If there’s one thing Cindy hates, it’s text messages from her friends at eleven on a Saturday night, asking for her to intervene because she has a resident in the emergency room who’s too ignorant and fat-phobic to treat a patient with the dignity, respect and urgency she deserves. So what you’re going to do is to take whatever observations you need to take, then you’re going to call us a consult from obstetrics and get the fuck away from my friend. Do you hear me?”
Nolan steps toward the bed and reaches for the blood pressure cuff, even as he mutters, “A nurse should be doing this.”
“Well, sweetheart, the nurses are smart enough to know that Abby here is a VIP who deserves immediate attention from the guy with the medical degree. So do your fucking job.”
Abby’s eyes are closed now, and there are silent tears rolling down her cheeks. I don’t r
eally know Cindy Lang, but I’ll be speaking to her next week anyway. This bastard needs to pay for making Abby feel small in one of the most terrifying moments of her life, and I’ll personally make sure he does. Jake shifts subtly, and for a minute I think he’s moving closer to me to tell me to back off—but then I realize he’s shifting to see the monitor.
We all know the second her blood pressure reading appears on the digital monitor because Nolan nearly trips over his own feet as he fumbles for the phone on the wall of the cubicle.
“Page an obstetrics consult. And get the rapid response team in here stat.”
“What’s happening?” Abby asks frantically. She’s trying to sit up, wincing with the pain as she does. Marcus looks from Abby to me and Jake, the color draining from his face.
“Jake?” he whispers.
“She’ll be in good hands in a minute,” Jake says, shooting a filthy glare at the resident, but then he turns to me and takes my hand in his. “We have to get out of here, Jess.”
“But—”
“Don’t go!” Abby sobs.
“Sweetheart, your blood pressure is far too high,” Jake says very gently. “There’s a team of doctors and nurses who are coming in here to help you right now—they’ll be here any second. Marcus can probably stay, but Jess and I really need to clear out to make room for them to work, okay? Your job right now is to lie there and to take nice, deep breaths.”
“Are my babies okay?”
I’m not moving fast enough, so Jake slides an arm around my waist and physically pulls me out of the cubicle. I hear Marcus trying to console Abby as a team of hospital employees comes running down the corridor to flood the cubicle.
I was scared before, but seeing this response, I’m terrified because it’s exceedingly clear that Abby is not okay at all. Nolan backs out of the cubicle too, glances at me and then takes off down the hallway as if he’s scared for his own life. Huh. Maybe he’s smarter than I thought.
Jake and I stand in stunned silence in the corridor, staring back at Abby. She’s crying now, but a doctor speaks to her and Marcus in urgent, calming tones. Someone is drawing blood, and someone else is preparing an injection. The curtain slides closed and then I can’t see her anymore. I give a frantic, panicked squeak.
“We can’t stay here,” Jake says quietly.
“We can’t leave her!”
“We have to, Jess. Come on.” He’s still holding my hand, and he tugs gently, leading me away from Abby’s room. My feet are numb, so I let him drag me away.
“Where are we even going?” I whisper.
“Let’s go back out to reception—”
“Dr. Winton?” The nurse who led us in from reception jogs to catch up with us, then gives us a sympathetic look. “She’s in good hands now. I’ll take you to get settled in the quiet area up at maternity.”
The quiet area. I know what this means. This means she’s going to set us up in a space where if bad news comes, we have privacy to deal with it. There’s a heavy, warm weight on my shoulders, and I’m only vaguely aware that this delicious comfort is Jake’s arm around me.
I look up at him. My gaze is blurry. My mouth is so dry.
“I don’t think I can do this,” I choke. I can hear my pulse in my ears and my knees feel so weak. Jake’s expression softens.
“Do you want to go home?”
“I can’t leave them. What if they need me?”
“Abby’s here where the staff can help her, and not back at the wedding reception suffering in silence. And you did that.” He draws in a deep breath, then bends to bring his face closer to mine as he whispers, “You’ve done enough, sweetheart. If you need to go home, I’ll call Mitch. We both know he’ll come and get you.”
I could go with Mitch. Then I could melt down in the privacy and comfort of his apartment or mine, and that sounds divine right now.
But if I do, I’ll have to spend the rest of the night waiting . . . worrying. And besides, if the worst happens, Marcus and Abby are going to need my support.
I make a decision then: I’ll have a minor meltdown now, and then I’ll pull myself together before anyone actually needs me.
“I’m staying,” I say.
“You’re sure?”
“I’m sure.”
I’m barely even aware of the walk to the maternity ward. I’m barely cognizant of the nurse letting us into the quiet room, of the lollipop lady who brings us sweet tea and cookies that I can’t bring myself to touch. It’s only when Jake and I are alone again that I take a deep breath and fill my lungs with the scent of hospital antiseptic, and I finally let out a sob.
“Hey,” he murmurs, pulling me close. I’m limp in his arms as he lifts me like I weigh nothing at all and settles me on his lap so he can wrap his arms all the way around me. Jake the man-mountain. God, he gives the best hugs. It’s like he’s completely wrapped my body in his. Like he could shield me from the whole world.
The problem is that it’s not the outer world causing my distress right now. It’s my inner world. He can’t save me from it, but I can draw comfort from his embrace, and I do. I feel his breath in my hair, and he rocks me very gently as he whispers soothing words to me with love and care that I know he actually feels for me, even if I don’t deserve it.
“It’s okay, Jess. Let it out. It’s okay.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
Jake
I HAVE NO fucking idea what’s happening right now. I mean that quite literally—because I’m blind to what’s happening with our friends downstairs in Emergency, but I’m also blind to what’s happening right here in my arms.
Jess is a mess. She’s sobbing in a way that I would never have imagined she would ever sob. Her whole body shakes with waves of grief and fear, and I hold her close and I whisper reassurance to her, but something is going on here that I just can’t figure out. Jess is tough, but right now, she’s hopelessly out of control.
“Sweetheart,” I whisper. “You have to help me out here. I want to help you, but I don’t understand what’s going on for you right now.”
“I can’t,” she chokes.
“How did you know that Abby needed help?”
“Please don’t ask me that now,” she weeps, and my arms contract around her.
The door opens suddenly, and Jess’s sobs abruptly stop. She presses her face into my chest, apparently unwilling to let this intruder see her tears.
“Sorry to interrupt,” the kindly nurse says. She gives me an awful, sickly look. “I just thought you’d want to know that they’re taking her through now. Her husband is walking her to surgery, then he’ll be up here shortly.”
“Surgery?” Jess repeats, still facing away from the nurse.
“For a C-section?” I ask, looking at the nurse, who winces and nods. “General?”
“Yes. It needs to be done now.”
When she closes the door, I sit Jess up and look right into her bloodshot eyes.
“Marcus is going to come here in a minute or two and he’s going to be a wreck. They’re taking her through for an emergency C-section right now, and they don’t have time to give her a spinal block so she’s going to have to have a general anesthetic. He won’t be able to stay with her.”
“I have to get my shit together.” Jess correctly hears the point of my explanation and pushes me away. She stands, straightens her dress and raises her chin. A hiccupping sob erupts from her throat, and she clenches her fists. “I need a bathroom.”
I wait in the quiet room while she disappears into the hallway. Just a few minutes later, she’s back. Her eyes are red and swollen, but she’s fixed her makeup and hair, and she’s completely composed. It’s almost eerie—like a shutter has come down over her emotional turmoil. She sits calmly on the sofa opposite me, and then helps herself to the now-cold tea, holding the mug with her forefinger and thumb as if it’s the finest china and she’s dining with royalty. Right now, Jess is a picture of dignity and composure.
The door opens again and Marcu
s appears. I can tell he barely sees me. His eyes search for Jess, and then he walks to stand in front of her. She sets the mug down and stands too, just as Marcus throws his arms around her and bursts into tears.
“You saved her life,” he says. His voice breaks. “You saved their lives. They said another hour or two and—”
“Don’t,” Jess says fiercely, her voice muffled against his chest. “Don’t you even say it. She’s here now, and she’s going to be okay. They’re all going to be okay.”
“Luca and Austin went out of town this morning,” Marcus chokes, referring to his brother and his husband. “And I’ve called my parents, but they won’t be here for hours.”
“I’ll stay with you,” I say immediately. Marcus gives me a bleary but relieved look.
“I’m not going anywhere either, Marcus,” Jess says, and her voice is strong and clear. She leans away from Marcus’s chest and stares up at him. “We’re here for you. As long as you need us.”
I do not understand this woman. Jess is clearly in a great deal of pain herself for reasons she can’t even share with me, but Marcus needs her, and she’s dug deep enough to find the strength to push all of that aside to become his support. He’s sobbing now, and she pulls him down to sit with her on the sofa.
Our eyes meet over Marcus’s head, and she swallows, and then through dry lips, she mouths a silent thank-you.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Jess
MARCUS NEEDS ME. Marcus needs me. Marcus needs me.
It’d be easy for me to run away tonight. I’ve done it before—I could do it again. People don’t know that grief really can be outsmarted. People don’t understand that if you move fast enough, the pain doesn’t destroy you. It still catches you. It still hurts. But it can’t drown you if you’re busy enough with distractions. It can’t ruin you if you’re focused on building something new.
Right now, I want more than anything to run, to busy myself with distraction . . . but I don’t. I can’t, because, like Grandma Chloe used to say, when your friends and family need you, you move heaven and earth to be there for them.