The question catches me off guard. “I don’t know and I’m the only one she has here,” I spit out quickly, keeping up with them as we move through the hallways and out into the mild April air.
He doesn’t say anything to me, but they quickly get her into the ambulance. When they are good to go, they instruct me to get in and seated. Once inside, the medic who is seated in the back with me reaches over and slams the door shut as the ambulance sirens start blaring and we take off into the streets of London. My eyes are on her, silently pleading for this to be an atrocious but mere projection of an unimaginable nightmare.
NOAH
The ER is chaotic.
The air feels stuffy with an undertone of sanitizer wafting through the dustless corridors, as the nurses try to appear unhurried and serene—they are anything but. There are doctors and nurses everywhere, poking and prodding her, and inserting an IV into her delicate skin. The nurses are supposed to be calming, right? Well, they fucking aren’t. Everyone’s causing a commotion and yelling out words I’ve only heard on television while my girl is lying motionless on this table, causing me to feel dead inside.
I can’t function; I cannot even manage to replay the scene that unfolded in front of my eyes moments ago. Beside me, there’s a woman firing off questions: “What is her full name? What is her date of birth? Is she allergic to anything? Is she taking any medications?”
Fuck! Would she just shut up?
My fucking life is lying lifeless in front of me. The love of my life, my ballerina, is inert and unresponsive, and she’s worried about that shit? I can no longer feel the spark that hummed gloriously between us.
She’s bleeding.
Unconscious.
Ruined.
My chest is aching; I can’t believe this is happening. I want to bellow and tell everyone to get the hell off of her but at the same time, I want to yell and tell them they aren’t doing enough to help her. I finally hear the woman beside me again, as she ardently shoves herself into my unwilling thoughts.
“Sir? Sir? Does she have insurance? What is her United States Social Security number? What’s your relationship to her?”
I’m shaking my head to clear it, rubbing my hands over my face to try to be as much help as I possibly can, but her clipped tone is not aiding me.
“I’m sorry, what?” I reply as calmly as I can.
Abruptly I’m being forced from the room as they pull the curtain closed and close the door, shutting me out of the operating room they wheeled my broken ballerina into. “Hey! What’s happening?” I demand.
The nurse with the infuriating questions and clipboard grabs my bicep as I walk toward the door. “Sir, you can’t go in there right now.”
I whip around and stare down at her cruelly. “Why can’t I be in there? She needs me.” My voice is laced with annoyance and fear; my veins swell as they wait for me to explode in a rush of ferocity. I need to help her in any way I can.
“Sir, please calm down. They are doing all they can. Please have a seat and fill out her paperwork. Someone will be with you when they have answers.”
She leads me to a waiting room not far from where Heather is being worked on, and hands me the clipboard with papers attached to it. I take a seat in the sterile room and watch as the nurse promptly leaves me alone with my troubled thoughts.
Will she wake up?
Why wouldn’t she open her eyes for me?
What’s been broken?
Why was there so much blood?
I glance down at the papers and read over a few questions, and I don’t have a single answer to any of them. I know a lot about Heather, but nothing that will help me with these vital questions. Fuck, how do I not know her birthday? Or her middle name? Christ. I need to call Dani. She needs to be here, but what do I say? How do I tell her that her sister is unconscious because of me; I never meant to trigger Alexis like that.
I drop the clipboard into the adjoined seat and lean forward, resting my elbows on my knees with my fingers laced together, begging nobody in particular for strength, for both myself and Heather.
Unable to bear the fluorescent lights for another minute, I drop my face into my hands. This has to be a nightmare, filled with paralyzingly raw emotions. One in which I feel undeniably helpless. I haven’t been able to form a single response in my head to the simple questions I should be able to answer. All I keep thinking is how I couldn’t protect her today; I just sat and watched her fall from afar. A cold sweat bathes my body in this uncomfortable armchair as I visualize her fall once more; my beautiful angel lost her wings and fell.
Minutes later . . . an hour passes? Fuck, I don’t know, but a doctor in light green scrubs walks into my line of sight as I’m looking at my feet.
“Sir? Are you Miss Lane’s contact?”
My head flies up, and I’m on my feet before I can acknowledge the movement. “Yes. Is she awake? When can I see her?”
I’m just now recognizing the somber look on his fatigued face. My eyes move to his name tag, but I don’t even care to read it.
He shakes his head. “Sir, she’s suffered quite a few injuries from the fall, some of which are non-life-threatening, and others that are. She has yet to respond to us verbally. She has cranial swelling, and we have her in a medically induced coma to treat it.”
My world is crashing around me as he speaks.
“We have her scheduled for surgery while she’s sedated to rejoin the bone fragments into a normal position. She broke the bones in her midfoot, which is what we call a Lisfranc injury, but it’s a rather simple surgery to take on. We’re more concerned about her cranial swelling and any damage it may cause.”
I take a deep breath and exhale, running my hand down my face again. “Will you wake her up after that?”
Again he shakes his head, and my heart sinks further into the pit of my stomach.
“Once we determine that the swelling has gone down, we’ll decide whether or not it’s safe to wake her up from her comatose state.”
I nod and am about to ask if I can see her when he speaks again, placing his hand on my shoulder. “I trust that you are Miss Lane’s significant other, in which case I am tremendously sorry to have to be the one to tell you this, but she lost the child in the fall.”
What? No.
My eyes find his solemn expression, and I try to explain. “No, Heather wasn’t pregnant. I think you’ve confused her with another patient,” I reply adamantly.
His face is grim when he replies, “I’m sorry, but it looks as if she was five to six weeks pregnant. I’ve been the one helping her through this accident, and I will be the one to perform her surgery. You have my apologies.” He squeezes my shoulder while I stare at him in shock. “We’ll let you see her once she’s out of surgery and in the recovery room.”
I’m at a loss for words.
He turns and leaves the waiting room, and I’m left standing there alone again in an attempt to process the worst news of my life.
Heather was pregnant? Was.
I can’t describe the body-crushing weight that sits on my chest as I replay his words in my head, trying to make them sink in as far as they will go. I’m anxious and need an outlet but my body is too weak to pace the room at the moment.
Did she know?
Why wouldn’t she have told me?
I was going to be a father. She was going to be my baby’s mother.
A thousand questions flood my mind while pictures of a pregnant Heather will their way into my head. No, she couldn’t have known. She’s been drinking. She wouldn’t have drunk, would she? She wouldn’t have hurt our unborn child or herself; she would not have put herself at risk. I need her like I need air, and she knows that.
Fuck Alexis.
She took this from me. My girl and now my child, one of them is gone forever while the other needs aid in breathing. Rage flows through my veins, and I stand up to leave this oppressive room to find my Heather when a nurse comes in.
“Sir? Were y
ou able to fill out her paperwork?” She tries to soothe me with her flat, gentle voice.
“I’m going to need more time.”
She nods in understanding and leaves the room to me, and my irrational thoughts. I stare blankly at the clipboard lying on the seat, and before I know it, a couple of hours have passed. Soft footsteps on the cold tile bring me back from a muted, dull place. My eyes meet a nurse’s and I stand up to greet her.
“Sir, Miss Lane is out of surgery and in her recovery room. You are welcome to go and see her now.”
She signals for me to follow her, and I can’t move my feet fast enough, but she isn’t moving quickly enough to suit me. Doesn’t she realize I need to be with her? I’m seconds away from bypassing her and searching rooms on my own when she walks into a room at the end of the hall.
My feet keep stop cold when I see my beautiful girl, lying in this bed all alone, tubes connecting her to machines that surround her.
“It’s okay, you can come in and talk to her. It’s better for them to hear voices than just the constant beeping of the machines,” the nurse softly says while checking an IV bag that hangs above Heather’s still body.
I will my feet to move and walk over to the side of her bed. I’ve never felt so helpless before in all of my life. She’s motionless and my heart is aching in my chest because I can’t help her while she suffers . . . but it’s much more than suffering. She’s in a fixed, comatose state that is keeping her universe at bay, keeping all of the painful and heavy sorrow out of her life.
The nurse leaves the room and shuts the door behind her, leaving me alone with Heather. The only sounds that fill the confined space are the maddening beeps, hisses, and clicks from the machines that surround her, moving air into her lungs and monitoring her vitals. I sit in the chair next to her bed and reach for her hand. It’s always cold, but this is colder than usual, lifeless. I want to cover her body with mine and keep her warm, but I’m afraid I’ll break her.
“Baby? Can you hear me?” My voice is weak and quiet as I look up at her emotionless face. Her beautiful eyes are closed as if she is resting peacefully, but I know she’s fighting underneath the stillness of her body. I can’t stand the tube that rests between her roseate lips; it shouldn’t be there . . . none of this should be there. My lips belong there.
I want her to breathe on her own. I look down and bring her hand to my lips, placing soft kisses on it, whispering things to her, keeping her hand warm.
“God, baby, please wake up for me. Please?”
I gaze down her body and slowly place my hand on top of her flat stomach as the loss that I was just told about sinks in further. My child used to be here; I rub my thumb gently against her as I feel her stomach rise and fall with every aided breath. I never gave any thought to being a father, but would I have been one? Eventually one day, I think I might have. I sit still in the cool room before throwing my head back and staring up at the acoustic ceiling tiles separated by white grids.
If she didn’t know, will she be mad? I don’t even know this simple thing about her, among many others. Did she ever want to have a baby and would she have had mine? How is she going to react when I tell her? Tell her that she’s no longer pregnant with my child. I feel wet, salty fear run down my face. Fuck, this beautiful woman has brought so many emotions out of me; she has no idea how much I love her.
“Come on, baby, open those beautiful eyes,” I whisper as I kiss each one of her fingers. Even though I know they have her heavily sedated, I still try to wake her up because this is too much to wrap my head around. “Do you know how much I love you? I love watching you . . . I always have. I watch you dream, I watch you dance . . . I could watch you for the rest of my life, Heather, but I don’t like watching you in here. I need you to wake up. Open your eyes and look at me.” My voice is stern yet pleading, but she doesn’t respond.
I’ve been sitting in this chair for hours while my head rests near Heather’s arm, holding her hand in mine. The door swings open, and I look up with tired eyes into Dillen’s.
“Oh holy shit . . .” Her hands fly to her mouth as she walks forward. “Noah . . . is she. .?”
I sit up straight for the first time since I’ve been in her room. “No, she just cannot wake up because they have her sedated,” I answer her quietly, as if she’s just sleeping.
She walks over to me in a rush and throws herself against me, hugging me from the side with her arms wrapped around my shoulders. Her cheek is at my back and I can feel her tears fall onto my white shirt.
I pat her arm, in an attempt soothe her, but I’m currently unable to soothe myself, let alone someone who has known Heather for most of her life. Normally, crying women make me uncomfortable, but this is different. She feels the exact same way I do, but she has a better way of showing it. I’m sure it’s better than boxing up all of these emotions into compartments that will dig at my soul. I’d rather be the one in her place.
Her sobs fill the room. “Noah, it happened so fast,” she says, sniffling, and lets go of me. “Have you talked to the doctors? What did they say?”
I won’t tell her about the miscarriage because Heather needs to be the first to know; she’ll need to deal with it in her own way rather than having the world rain down on her.
My voice is tight when I respond. “The doctor said she broke a few bones in her midfoot in the fall. They did surgery, but it will be a while before she heals and is able to dance again.”
Dillen whimpers and cries harder, knowing that Heather will have to work harder than ever to regain her career.
“She’s got something called cranial swelling.” I clear my throat to continue. “Her brain is swelling, and that is why they won’t wake her up.”
“She’s going to be devastated when she wakes up, Noah. I’m so glad you’re here for her because she’s going to need you so, so much.”
I squeeze my eyes shut. “She wouldn’t be lying here if I hadn’t come to London. I ran into . . .” I pause before I say too much. “Alexis has this stupid fucking vendetta against me, and she has taken it all out on Heather.”
Her eyes find mine, sympathy flooding her red, flushed face. “No, Noah. This isn’t your fault. Alexis is psycho!”
I nod because I agree with her about Alexis, but this is my fault. I’m the reason she’s here, and I’m the only one to blame for her losing what I didn’t know we had.
“Do you have her purse? The nurses are asking me all these questions and I don’t have answers to them.” I try to sway the conversation because I’m still coming to grips with being at fault.
“Yes, I’ll text Coen to bring her stuff in.” She pulls out her phone and hurriedly moves her fingers across the screen, then hits send. It makes a noise before she looks at me again. “Okay, he’s on his way up now.”
“Dillen? Would you do something for me? I don’t think I could call her sister right now. Could you call Danielle? She needs to know what happened.”
“Oh . . . I mean, I suppose I could. Are you sure you want me to be the one to do it?” I don’t think she wants to do it either by the conflict in her voice.
“Yeah, I’m sure. Please, Dill?” She looks at me nervously. “Dillen, I don’t want to leave her side, and I doubt I could get all of the appropriate words out over the phone.”
“Okay, I’ll make the call from the hallway. Please let me know if there are any changes while I’m out there.”
I think she’s about to start sobbing again when I turn my attention back to Heather and kiss her temple. “I love you, little ballerina.”
Dillen walks out of the room and into the hallway. A few seconds pass until I can hear her voice; I cannot make out the words she’s saying, though, but the hum of her voice pacifies me slightly.
I look back down at my sleeping beauty and squeeze her hand. “Please be okay, Heather. I need you back here with me. I’ll do anything you ask. Just please, come back to me.” I kiss the tip of her cold nose and sit back down, resting my hand on her
stomach, rubbing gently with my thumb in an effort to appease her loss.
Dillen walks back into the room and takes a seat on the other chair as Coen follows her in. He looks from me to Heather, obviously surprised at how ghastly she looks, but I still think she’s the most beautiful thing I’ve laid my eyes on. Bruises cover her pale skin; they’ve slowly been darkening over these few hours. The only color that belongs on her pale complexion is pink—her pink and nothing else.
“Damn . . .” is all Coen can manage to say as he walks over to Dillen to wrap his arms around her shivering body as she quakes with uncontrollable sobs.
“Noah? Dani said that she’d be on the first plane out of LA,” she says through sniffles and tries to breathe through her mouth. “I don’t know if Brannon is coming with her because he has a huge project he’s working on and can’t just leave his team in the middle of it.”
“That’s fine. Thank you for doing that, Dillen.” I take a deep breath and exhale slowly as I search Heather’s face for any changes in the seconds my eyes strayed from her.
Coen walks over and places his hand on my shoulder. “Can I get you some coffee, man?”
“That’d be great, thanks.”
“No problem. You like it black, right?” he asks, and Dillen stands up to join him.
“Yeah,” is all I can say; I don’t have any more words for him as they both walk to the door.
“We’ll be back, Noah. Please call me if she wakes up,” Dillen asks softly before they leave the private hospital room.
I take Heather’s too-cold hand again, willing her to open those stunning jade green eyes for me, but she doesn’t.
I’m unsure of how much time passes before the two of them come back. I’m missing my girl although she’s right in front of me, and I’m mourning our unborn child. I feel like someone has reached a bare hand into my chest, grasping my heart and squeezing it with all possible might, as it’s twisted and turned and dragged painfully out of my body. I feel myself sinking into an abyss, one I didn’t know even existed. How am I going to tell her? She must have just gotten pregnant before she left for London. She’s had a piece of my heart the entire time she was away from me, thrumming wildly inside of her being.
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