by MV Ellis
“I’m sorry, sir, but only next of kin can ride in the ambulance with the patient. You are…?” She takes in my disheveled, half-dressed appearance. I don’t know what her problem is. It’s the middle of the fucking night and the woman I love more than I thought it was possible to love another person needs me. Yeah, I’m shirtless and covered in smears of London’s blood, but she should be fucking grateful that I even thought to drag on some sweats and shove my feet into a pair of kicks instead of walking out into the street butt naked and barefoot.
“I’m her fiancé,” I growl with probably more force than is strictly necessary, but I don’t have time to wait on formalities when everything I care about in the world is hanging in the balance. London, our babies, everything. The paramedic shrinks back as though tasered, but allows me into the ambulance. On the agonizing journey to the hospital, I grip London’s limp hand in mine, willing her to wake up. To just open her eyes and look at me. My Tog, my hummingbird. She looks so tiny and helpless. So… gray. Even though the ambulance is driving at breakneck speed, it doesn’t feel fast enough, and I struggle to contain my impatience.
When we arrive at the hospital, the whole process starts again. More questions—I’m glad to have accompanied her on the vast majority of her doctor appointments since she got back, so I at least know the answers to most of them. More than that, I’m glad she came back at all. I shudder at the thought of all of this happening on the other side of the world, me left with only her parents to inform me of what was going down.
Her parents. Shit. I need to let them know, in case…. I shake my head, unwilling to even consider the possibility, but understanding that her parents do need to know.
As I stand at the ER reception desk, dutifully responding to the questions being fired my way, I feel a shift in the air. I turn and see Luke standing a little apart from me and the hospital staff flitting around me.
“Hi,” I mouth.
“Hi,” he returns.
“I….” I don’t know what to say.
He shakes his head. No need to explain anything, I read in his expression. I return my focus to the nurse, who informs me that London is being taken upstairs to ICU. I make a move toward the direction she’s pointing, but she stops me gently, placing a hand on the center of my naked chest.
“Sir, I’m afraid visitors to ICU are restricted to immediate family members only.”
Fuck, I’m getting sick of this shit.
“I’m London’s fiancé, and the father of her babies.” I hear Luke shift behind me but don’t turn around to see why.
“She’s an only child. Her parents live in Australia. Me and our babies are all the family she has right now.” More to the point, in so many ways, she’s all I have. All I want. All I’ve ever wanted, even before I knew I wanted it. All I’ll ever want.
The nurse’s expression softens and she moves aside, pointing at the bank of elevators in front of us.
“Third floor.”
I turn to Luke before entering the elevator. Thanks. I love you. Words unsaid but understood. He nods.
I thought I knew loneliness during the years I’d spent on the road since I was nothing more than a kid, and in the agonizing weeks of the break London instigated between us following the Heartless Few’s last world tour. I was wrong. I’ve never felt more alone than sitting in the chair in the corner of London’s ICU room while doctors, including London’s own OB, and nurses fight to keep her and our babies alive. I’m in the way, underfoot, surplus to requirements.
I want to bulldoze everyone and everything in sight, cause a huge ruckus, anything to be doing something. I have the good sense to do none of the above. For once there’s no grand gesture I can perform to fix this. I just have to accept the feeling of impotence that comes with doing nothing. I shrink back into the uncomfortable chair, trying to make myself small and unobtrusive and let people do their jobs, let them work to save my hummingbird and our squirts
I cry for the first time since my father died. Overlooked and alone in that small room, I cry for London, for our babies, for me, for us. I cry for the life I never thought I’d want, but now fear I may never have. I cry until I’m empty, and then I cry some more. The release feels good, even if the reasons are unbearable.
What feels like hours later, Dr. Margolis, London’s doctor, takes me aside, voice lowered, to explain the events of the last few hours.
“Hi, Arlo. How are you holding up?”
“Hi, Doc. I’ve been better.” Much better, in fact.
“That’s understandable. I just wanted to take a moment to update you on London’s progress.”
I nod mutely.
“Now that we’ve had some time to understand her symptoms, we’ve been able to stabilize her condition and that of the babies, for now at least.”
Wait, what? The chair comes rushing up to meet me as I collapse into it.
The doctor pushes my head between my knees and holds it there for a little while. “Deep breaths. In—” He demonstrates with his own breathing. “—and out.” He repeats the routine a few more times before removing his hand from my neck. He crouches down to my level. “Now sit up slowly, head coming up last.” When I’m fully upright, he stands again.
“Sorry.” I’m sheepish.
“Don’t be. It’s a perfectly natural reaction to an incredibly difficult and stressful situation. If it makes you feel better, you should know that I’ve seen far worse reactions in my time. Now, as I was saying, both London and the babies are currently stable, and we’re working to ensure that they remain that way. London has suffered a partial placental abruption, a condition where the placenta detaches from the wall of the womb, hence the blood loss she presented with. It’s a fairly rare condition, affecting about 1 percent of pregnancies overall, though the incidence is a little higher in multiple pregnancies.
“As you know, the placenta is the baby’s life support system, and if it is compromised, it can have very dire consequences for the fetus, or in this case fetuses. As London has suffered a partial rather than full abruption, the placenta hasn’t been compromised at this stage, and as I said before, both babies are doing well. We’re monitoring them regularly, and if we detect any signs of fetal distress in either of them, we will need to perform an emergency caesarian section for both.
“But they’re….”
“Yes, I know, they’re at only twenty-four weeks gestation. Obviously this is not the ideal situation, but should it become necessary, it is far preferable to the alternate outcomes. As scary as it seems, it’s worth keeping in mind that due to advances in medical science, at twenty-four weeks babies have a good chance of not just surviving, but thriving and going on to live happy and healthy lives. The NICU here at St. Mark’s is world-class, so should it come to that, the babies couldn’t be in better hands.”
“So London…?”
“London is doing a lot better than she was a couple of hours ago. When she came in, her body had gone into mild shock, something that can be very dangerous for both the mother and the babies. To get her vitals back to acceptable levels, she’s been administered steroid shots and oxygen, and given replacement fluids through an IV. She has lost a significant amount of blood, though fortunately not enough to require a transfusion at this time.”
I know what he’s saying is good news, but I can’t quite get my head together to take it in properly.
“She’s sedated at the moment to allow us to effectively monitor both her and the babies; however, we will be looking to reduce the level of sedation over the course of the next few hours, and moving her to the maternity ward for recovery. Though nothing is certain in situations like this, and we will be keeping mother and babies under constant observation, I would cautiously predict the best outcome for all.”
Relief floods my body in powerful waves, along with a myriad of other emotions, stronger than any artificial high I’ve ever had. It’s just as well that I’m already sitting, or it would have knocked me off my feet. As it is, I slump un
easily against the back of the chair.
“As bad as this has been, it could have been worse. From what we can tell, in London’s case, things escalated quickly. Were you not there to call an ambulance, this may have ended very differently.”
I don’t even want to think about that, and I silently vow to have her and our babies close by from here on in. We’ve wasted enough time trying to get our shit together. It stops right now.
“They’re going to be okay?” My voice cracks with emotion, but I manage a weak smile through my tears. I brush them away angrily with the back of my hand.
Chapter Thirty
Once the doctor moves on with his work, I step out of the room for the first time since London was admitted and switch on my phone. There are a plethora of texts and missed calls, the vast majority of which I ignore, sending three key messages before turning it off again and returning to the room.
Me: She’s going to be ok, and so are the babies. Still in ICU right now and under sedation, so she’s totally out of it, but hopefully moving to the maternity ward soon, where she can have visitors.
Luke: Thank God. We’re all downstairs. I’ll let everyone know. Keep me updated.
Me: Hey. London was admitted to hospital (St Mark’s) tonight. It’s been hectic—I thought I was going to lose all three of them. Looks like they’re going to be ok. All are in stable condition but in ICU, and can’t have visitors right now. Can you let Nic and her parents know? I’ll keep you posted.
Marko: WTF?! Thanks for the update, heading there now.
Me: You don’t have to. You can’t see her anyway. No visitors.
Marko: I know I don’t have to. I WANT to. I don’t care how long I have to wait.
Fuck, he reminds me so much of me.
Me: There’s been a medical situation with London and the babies. It hasn’t been pretty. Everyone is doing ok, but I’m going to be out of circulation for the foreseeable future.
Hunter: So sorry to hear that. Please pass on my love. Got everything under control here, so take your time and do what you need to do. We got you covered.
Me: Thanks, man.
I look around the room again, noting all the medical devices and different people buzzing around London’s bed. I don’t know what they all do, but I’m sure they serve a vital purpose, which is more than I can say for myself right now. I feel so fucking useless in the corner, but there’s nowhere else I can be without getting in the way of people doing their jobs, and there’s no way in hell I’m leaving this room right now, so I shrink back in the uncomfortable chair again. I’ve never wanted to touch London more than I do right now. Just to feel her warm skin under my hands and confirm with all certainty that she’s still with me.
I wake with a start to one of the medical team shaking me gently awake.
“London…?” My eyes dart frantically toward her bed. The nurse smiles down kindly at me, giving me a few seconds to adjust to my surroundings before speaking.
“Mr. Jones, we’ve carried out all our observations and are happy with the vital signs both of your fiancée and the babies. We’re moving London to the maternity ward now for recovery.”
I have no idea how long I’ve been asleep. ICU is like a Vegas casino—no windows to the outside world, and no way of telling the time unless you actively seek it out—but far less fun. As out of it as I feel, it could have been anything from a microsleep of a few seconds to a few hours passed out. I have a major crick in my neck and shooting pains down one side of my body, while my left leg has gone to sleep completely, so I’m guessing it’s more likely to be the latter.
The staff settle London in her new digs—a deluxe room on the maternity ward—and run a whole battery of tests, including further ultrasounds on the squirts. Seemingly happy with the results, they melt away, leaving me alone with London for the first time since this ordeal began. I don’t know how long I stand beside her bed, one big hand clasping her tiny birdlike one for dear life, the other stroking the absurdly soft and delicate skin of her forearm, my tears of relief splashing onto our joined hands.
I’ve cried more in the last day than in the previous fifteen years, but finally, it would seem I’m done as I cup London’s cheek. I know I should text everyone and let them know she’s out of ICU and they can come up and visit, but I really need this time, just the four of us, before we’re descended upon by the rest of the fam.
I take the time to look at her—really look at her. I’ve done it hundreds, possibly thousands of times before, when she was aware, and more often than not when she wasn’t. Even sick in a hospital bed, her skin still not quite back to its usual rich color, she’s breathtaking. It’s not just that she’s beautiful—which to anyone with eyes, of course she is—but as cliché as it is, when I look at her, I see so much more than just her looks.
Yeah, when we first met, it was her face and body that initially drew me in, but even then, within a few minutes, it was the combination of that and her personality that had me knocked flat on my ass—literally slapping me in the face. Now when I look at her, she still fires my libido more than any woman ever has, or ever will, but more than just admiring her physical form, I see my future. My everything.
As though she can feel me willing her to do so, London slowly starts to open her eyes. She squints, looking as dazed as a newborn puppy. I’m sure the bright lights are responsible, so I reach over for the room remote and dim them. Instantly she relaxes a little, still struggling to open her eyes fully, but clearly more comfortable. When they’re open wide enough to take in a little of her surroundings, I see the confusion set in. Of course, she has no idea where she is.
“Arlo?” Her voice is slightly scratchy but audible.
“Yeah, baby, I’m here.” I squeeze her hand and run my thumb over her smooth lips, then instantly regret it; it’s nowhere near enough. I lean over and brush her lips with the faintest caress from mine. It feels like home. London’s eyes sweep the room again.
“Uhhh…?”
“Ah… yeah. You’re in the hospital.” Her eyebrows shoot upward. Don’t worry. I was as shocked as you not too long ago. More so, even.
“I won’t lie, Tog, you gave me a bit of a scare. A massive fucking scare, actually. Complications with you and the babies. Your body apparently went into ‘mild’ shock, which was horrific. I thought you weren’t going to make it. I was fucking terrified.”
“The squirts?” She yanks her hand from mine, instinctively reaching for her bump.
“Dr. Margolis says they’ll likely be fine, and so will you. Thank fuck. We’re all very lucky.” I choke back the new wave of tears threatening to spill and watch as London’s own eyes fill.
“It’s been hectic. God’s honest? Seeing you so sick like that almost broke me.”
She nods slowly as the tears cascade down her cheeks. I wipe them away with my thumb.
“Jesus, baby, you’ve had me on the ropes from day one with this thing between us, but you’ve outdone yourself this time. You floored me. Like ran my heart over with a steamroller several times over, then threw it off a fucking cliff. I lived the majority of my life without you and did just fine, but now that I’ve had you, there’s no way I can go back to the way things were before.
“I know I’m an asshole. I know I don’t deserve you. I sure as shit know you’ve done nothing to deserve someone like me in your life, but you’re stuck with me. That’s just the way it is. I said I’d give you space, and I tried—you saw, I really tried. But it’s no secret that I’m not a patient man, and I guess what I’m trying to say is that I’m done.”
I’m aware that she’s literally just come out of heavy sedation and probably doesn’t even know which way is up, let alone have the capacity to understand my diatribe, but I can’t seem to stop.
“I’m done waiting. I’m done wishing. I’m done hoping. I’m done pulling. I’m done pushing. I’m done willing. I’m done wondering. I’m done stealing glances at you when I think you’re not looking. I’m done having dreams so ho
t they’d make a porn star’s toes curl, and waking up to realize you’re not there to act them out with. I’m done knowing you love me, but are too afraid of me, my shit, and yourself to just fucking do this thing. I’m done with having to lie about our relationship status just to be able to see you and our babies in the hospital. I’m done with Netflix, no chill.” But apparently, I’m not done talking.
London’s eyes grow large, with shock, and I note her bottom lip trembling. Shit, this is not how I wanted this to go.
“I’m done pretending that either of us could ever be happy with anyone else. The fact is, if you hadn’t made it through this, neither would I. I told you I was in it for as much or as little as you’re willing to give, but I flat-out lied. There was no point at which I was ever prepared to accept less than everything. I want everything with you and the squirts, and I’m done settling for anything less.”
London continues to look at me in stunned silence. Her and me both. I don’t know where that speech came from, but I meant every word. Shit timing, but that’s me. I go all out and screw the consequences, and there are always consequences.
“Marry me.” It’s a statement, not a question, and one that takes me by surprise as much as her.
“I don’t want to be a hummingbird.”
What?
“What, babe? I don’t….” I don’t have the first clue what she’s talking about. Her voice is so quiet as to be barely audible. I realize the stupidity of laying all that shit on her after the trauma she’s just been through. Clearly she’s still out of it and can’t even process what I just said. Definitely not my smartest move, but it all just came tumbling out of me, like a boulder barreling down a cliff, before I had a chance to think it through properly and shut it the fuck down.
“The hummingbird.” She places her hand on my chest, above my heart, where the tattoo is. “I don’t want to be a hummingbird.”
What does that even mean? She seems lucid enough, although I’m sure she needs her rest, but I’m not following her train of thought. I decide to indulge her and see where it takes us.