by Haley Jenner
"LUCA." The throaty voice trails up my stairs, and I move toward them with purpose.
"Sweetness," I smile, watching Annabelle struggle up the stairs. "Hold up, I'll come down..."
"I'm already half-fucking-way, Luca St. Kelly, stopping now will see me fall on my fat ass. It's all about momentum." She grimaces, massaging below her giant belly, where her pelvis likely sits.
I hide my smirk, moving down to meet her halfway, helping her up. Reaching the top, she shoos me off, breathing heavily. "I feel like the world's most unfit human. Standing makes me fucking short of breath."
She turns, frowning like I stole the last cookie.
"Where's your couch?"
I shrug awkwardly. "Wasn't really expecting visitors, still gotta order furniture. Sit down on the bed."
She eyes it cautiously. "Have you had sex in it recently?"
"I have not," I laugh, and she sighs happily, dropping down on the edge, a soft huff of relief escaping her puffy lips.
"I totally stole Archer's key to get in here, hope that's okay.”
“Getting close.” I gesture to her stomach, her right hand currently massaging gentle circles with her open palm.
“Not close enough, I’ve been on bedrest for the last little while, driving me to fucking insanity. Placenta previa or some shit. Sounds like mumbo-jumbo to me.”
I nod as if I have a fucking clue what she’s talking about. She smiles slyly, totally onto my game.
“Anyhoo, Archer’s being a saint, I wouldn’t expect anything less though. The asshole won’t let me lift a finger. He kills himself at work, then comes home to wait on me, hand and foot.” Her words are meant to sound disgruntled but the soft affection dripping along them gives her away. “I’m a fat, lazy sloth, but I don’t actually care,” she continues. “Between the sciatica, heartburn, the watermelon sitting on my bladder, and the complete fucking impossibility of ever being comfortable… I’m a miserable bitch.”
“Not to mention,” she inhales heavily, attempting to catch her breath. Not that I blame her, her words are rushing together, the consistent chatter a little unnerving. “People lie, Luca. You don’t glow, look at me, am I glowing?”
I open my mouth to answer, but I’m gathering the question was rhetorical, because she continues without pause. “They say your baby moving is this magical experience, yeah maybe at sixteen weeks, have you ever been kicked in the ribs from the inside?” Her eyebrows rise in challenge. “It fucking hurts.”
“Do you want—”
“And anyone” —she cuts me off, her breath coming on shorter— “who says your libido increases… ain’t ever been pregnant. Ugh. Archer touches me and I wanna punch him in the face. He’s stopped trying, not that I blame him, who would wanna have sex with a whale,” she gripes.
“Didn’t you just say—”
“I want to buy him a bike,” she completely derails the topic at hand, and I blink, working to keep up.
“Luca,” she barks. “Are you listening? He’s been doing so much, I want to get him something to say thank you. Like a baby present.”
My brows pull together. “Aren’t men supposed to buy their women push presents?”
Rolling her eyes, she shifts on the spot, changing up hands to rub her swollen stomach with her left hand. She looks uncomfortable, and I go to ask if she’s okay, but second guess myself. Not gonna lie, she’s a little frightening right now. “What are we living in the freakin’ fifties? Don’t be so bigoted.”
My mouth opens, closes and opens again.
“He likes your bike.” She ignores my goldfish impersonation, continuing without delay. “Wanted to see if you could help me buy one. My knowledge of motorbikes is less than zero. Jake suggested you’d have a decent idea.”
“Umm… Yeah. Of course,” I stumble out.
“Can I have a glass of water?” She breathes in thickly, attempting to catch her breath.
Twisting on my foot, I look around the space. “Uh, yeah, umm… I don’t have anything up here. I’ll duck down to the bar and grab you a bottle.”
I wait for her nod of confirmation before moving toward the stairs. Jogging down two steps at a time, I pull my cell from my pocket.
Luca: DUDE. Annabelle is frightening as fuck
Jake: Ha! Enjoy, Fabio. She made me go with her to pick a crib. I couldn’t do the bike too.
Jake: No. I’m not sorry.
Luca: Asshat
Grabbing two bottles of water, I turn back to grab one more for myself.
“He was into the Harley,” I start, reaching the top of the stairs. “Liked the low-rider… Annabelle?” I drift off, the loft empty.
Glancing toward the bathroom, I consider it best that I don’t invite friends up. It’s kinda weird knowing they’re taking a piss without the ability to close a door.
Moving toward the bed, I drop the bottles onto the tousled sheets.
“I can call the guy I bought mine from,” I speak louder, making sure she can hear me. “He’ll do us a solid…” My words trail off, eyes settling on the dark stain on my grey comforter.
Sending ice down my spine, I glance back to the silence screaming at me from the bathroom.
Blood. A decent fucking amount of it too.
“Annabelle?” I test, the hesitant pitch of my tone moving closer.
Quiet echoes back at me, and I swallow the bile climbing up my throat as my feet move into a run, rushing me around the corner.
There are certain things in life that stick with you forever. Memories that you’d be happy to let disappear into nothing. Images that score into your brain like a tattoo, permanently ingrained as a nightmare that refuses to leave.
This is one of those moments. “Fu-ck.” The word catches in my throat, my feet sliding out from beneath me to reach her.
“ANNABELLE!” I bellow, skidding to a stop on my knees in front of her.
Blood soaks my jeans and hands, painting my skin and clothes in wet death as I drag her body onto my lap. Head balancing on my blood-stained pants, I pat her face, lightly at first. “Sweetness, babe, hey, wake up,” I coax.
“Annabelle!” The intensity in my hand increases, fingers clasping her jaw to shake her awake. “Fucking wake up.”
I swallow the cry lodged in my throat. “Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.” Arching my back, I search for my cell in my back pocket. Her head moves like a ragdoll, lulling to the side with the movement.
One hand pushing at a pulse point, the other fails unlocking the screen of my phone.
“FUCK!!!” I yell into the semi-confined space, the agony in the scream cracking, flying back at me in a desperate echo. There’s blood everywhere, thwarting my ability to unlock the screen and I curse quietly this time, rubbing the screen on my shirt.
“Calm, St. Kelly. Take a fucking breath,” I exhale, working to find some form of composure.
Rubbing her cheek, cell tucked between my shoulder and ear, I listen to the dial tone, panic flooding me. My eyes water involuntarily, tracking tears down my cheek and I beg for her to wake up.
“911. What’s your emergency?” The relaxed tone on the end of the line spikes my anxiety, and I lose the small grip of calm I found only seconds prior.
“I need an ambulance. Now. There’s… so much blood. It’s…” I stutter on a thick breath. “Everywhere. It’s everywhere. She’s pregnant.”
“Is she conscious?”
I stumble across two quick breaths. “Uh… no. Not conscious. She’s breathing, I can feel that.” I close my eyes in relief. “But it’s faint.”
The woman on the end of the line speaks in a serene and controlled voice, taking down the address while assuring me an ambulance will be here in less than ten minutes.
Ten fucking minutes. I’d take her myself if I wasn’t afraid to move her. Petrified I’d cause further damage, I wait, hand not moving from the weak thump beating in her neck.
Shifting my position, I drop to my ass. “Annabelle, baby, you gotta wake up for me. The paramedics are gonn
a be here real soon. You just gotta hang on for me. Come on, sweetness.” I brush her dark hair from her eyes, blood moving onto her forehead from my hands. “Archer and I are finally cool, he’s totally gonna kick my ass for you pulling this stunt here,” I joke meekly, my eyes squeezing shut.
Archer. “Fuck,” I spit.
I call him. But it goes to voicemail. Same with Janie. Jake. Bennett. Even fucking Toby.
I call Archer again. “Pick up, pick up, pick up,” I chant into the hollow line, his voicemail answering, requesting I leave a message. I do, demanding he call me asap. I don’t elaborate.
Time passes, and the weak pulse in her neck pales further. “No. No.” A sob breaks from my lips, and I choke on my breath.
Picking up my cell again, I call Frankie.
“Luc, hey,” she whispers into the line.
“Annabelle,” I blurt, my voice a level of hysteric I’ve never heard before. “She’s bleeding. It’s everywhere, Frank. I can’t wake her up,” I cry.
Losing control of myself, I stutter into the line. Thick, choked sobs echo around me, heightening my anxiety. “I can’t wake her up.”
“Luc. Calm down. What are you… Annabelle?”
“The ambulance is on its way, but I can’t get a hold of anyone,” I struggle through my words, hoping Frankie can decipher well enough. “I’ve tried Archer, Jake, Janie. I need you to find them, Frankie. Please, fucking find them.”
I hear footfalls on my stairs and I end the call, yelling for the paramedics. Inhaling thickly, I tip my neck back to flush away the tears needling my eyes.
They move fast, everything happening in a haze of words I don’t understand. They shout to one another, working in complete unison to lift Annabelle’s limp body onto a gurney, oxygen placed over the face.
It’s like a fucking murder scene. There’s so much fucking blood and I want to hurl. “Is she gonna be okay? Is her baby gonna be okay?”
The female paramedic smiles at me reassuringly. “We’re doing everything we can.” She throws questions at me as they move fast toward the stairs and I follow. Questions about her health, her pregnancy.
“I… I don’t know. She’s a friend. I… I’m sorry, I just don’t know.” My heart feels heavy in my chest.
“Something about her placenta, pr... pa...” I click into the air. “I don’t fucking know. You gotta make sure she’s okay, they… her and her husband have been to hell and back… you just…. Please.”
Pulling at my hair, I rub the tears I didn’t realize were still falling.
Loading her into the ambulance, I move to follow.
“Sir. You’re not family…”
“Yeah, I damn well am, and you’re mental if you think I’m leaving her fucking side.” The threat in my words is lost to the plea in my voice. I’m begging through a warning, telling and asking all at the same time.
I don’t know if they take pity on the fucked-up state I’m in, or if it’s for Annabelle, right at that moment I don’t care, all that matters is they let me ride with her.
I clasp her limp hand in mine, eyes focused on her sleeping face. This should be Archer holding her hand through this, or more, her holding his.
“Why isn’t she waking up?”
The paramedic glances at me briefly, eyes focusing back on Annabelle immediately on a shrug. “Her being unconscious isn’t typical of an antepartum hemorrhage. Her blood pressure is incredibly low though,” she explains quietly. “I’d imagine that, mixed with the sight of blood… poor thing fainted.” A small smile plays at her lips. “I understand this is frightening. The blood, while it seemed a lot, was likely only a cup, maybe a pint. It can look worse than it is.”
I nod, trying to rip the positives from what she just said, but my mind keeps wondering to is not typical. Meaning she shouldn’t be unconscious right now. She should be awake, talking to me, letting me assure her she’ll be okay.
The remainder of the ride to the hospital is a blur, and I watch as the paramedic fixes her body like a fucking pincushion. The piercing wail of the siren harmonizes the moment into one of tragedy. Everyone else driving beside us, no clue as to the devastation trapped within the singing metal bus.
A strap around her stomach, measuring the baby’s heartbeat. Canula in her hand for fluids. Mask on for oxygen. Stickers stuck sporadically over her body gauging her vitals. Wires decorate her body, and I feel completely and utterly fucking useless.
Frankie calls to confirm which hospital, panicked that they still haven’t been able to get a hold of Archer. She assures me she and the girls will be at the hospital.
“You gotta find Archer, Frank… she’s… just find him.”
Frankie’s soft sob breaks over the phone and I wish I could reach through to touch her, to pull her into my body and take on her grief.
“Boys are racing to his last worksite,” she breathes out. “We’ll find him. Just be there for her.”
We end the call, and I send up a prayer to anyone that’ll listen that they make this right, and find Archer quick fucking smart. Annabelle said he was working like a trojan, the poor motherfucker has no fucking clue that his wife his laying in an ambulance unconscious.
Arriving at the hospital, everything happens so fucking fast my head spins. Doctors and nurses yelling words that I don’t hear, rush us and taking her away before I can say goodbye.
Walking into the hospital, I plant myself in the waiting room chair, head in my hands.
I pray.
I plead.
I beg.
And when I’ve exhausted every prayer I can think of, when I’m lost on what else to hope for, I offer my life for hers.
“Luca.”
I glance up as the girls rush me, Janie leading the charge. Her eyes are glassed over, red-rimmed, and breaming with unshed tears. Falling against my body, I can feel her shaking.
“What happened?” Darci swallows audibly, her glasses removed from her face as she brushes stray tears from her cheeks.
“I don’t know,” I shrug. “She turned up talking about a motorbike for Archer. I went to get her a bottle of water and when I came back she was… it was…. Fuck. She was out cold, there was blood.”
“Tell me you found Archer,” I demand, eyes seeking Frankie out.
She nods, her eyes wide and frightened. “On their way.”
“Janie, sit down, they just took her through.” I step from her embrace, moving to Darci and kiss the top of her head.
Settled beside Janie, they sit in silence, staring at the hospital entrance. Frankie hugs me tightly, the shake in her small frame wanting me to pick her up and save her from the hurt inside. But my eyes fall to Aubrey, bright blue eyes fixated on me, more, the blood covering my clothes.
“Give me a sec, Frank,” I murmur.
“That’s not hers.” Aubrey’s eyes tip over, the flood of tears escaping. Her hand gestures to my body, head shaking vigorously in an attempt to convince herself that what she’s seeing isn’t real. “That’s not… no. It can’t be. It’s too much. No. Please tell me it’s not hers.”
Hands covering her face, her sobs overtake her. Her body quivers with intensity behind them. I pull her firmly against my body, shushing her quietly. “This is Annabelle Dean we’re talkin’ about, Red. Look at everything she’s overcome. No way in hell she’s letting this take anything from her.”
Nodding into my chest, her thick cries subside into soft stuttered breaths. Walking her toward the girls, sounds of grief all similar, I direct her to the chair next to Frankie.
“This is scary as fucking shit. But in no time Archer is gonna storm through that door” —I gesture behind me— “like a fucking tornado. He can’t see us like this. We gotta be the strength he needs to stop the twisting in his insides into an uncontrollable storm. He needs us. They both do, and the best way for us to do that is to focus on Archer and not the what-ifs with Annabelle.”
Nodding, they wipe their eyes, the commotion at the entrance door pulling our attention.
Still covered in sawdust, hands ripping at his hair in a level of panic that supersedes anything I’ve ever seen in my life, a man, so fucking broken blasts into the hospital, heart missing from his chest.
The hollow green in his eyes skates across us briefly as he rushes toward the nurse’s station. We can’t hear him, voice almost muted, but I watch the tightness in him grow, intensify as the nurse updates him on his wife and baby.
Toby, Jake, and Bennett give him space, moving toward us, faces grave.
Archer nods at the nurse one last time, her hands coming up to rest on his arm reassuringly, gesturing him toward the waiting area where the rest of us stand.
Marching toward me with purpose, I brace, readying myself for the fist likely coming my way. Grief’ll do that to you though, seek blame, work to find a reason for the most fucked up moments in your life.
What I least fucking expect happens though, the guy hugs me. His arms crushing my frame in an embrace so tight I lose my ability to breathe. A second passes before he pulls back, the lines of worry, the devastation in his eyes painted so heavy in anguish I struggle to swallow the lump in my throat.
“You weren’t there today, my Belle would’ve died.” The harsh crack in his voice resonates through the quiet of the room. “My baby too.”
Steadying his breath, he inhales fiercely through his nose, attempting to rein in the tears filling his eyes. “Owe you my life, Luca. Reason I breathe in this world is alive because of you… never… I…. Thank you.”
The sting in my eyes has me blinking incessantly to relieve the pain. I nod, unsure of what to say exactly. “Any update?”
Glancing around to our family, he rubs his jaw. “Hemorrhage from her placenta, they’ve been able to stabilize the bleeding. They’re delivering our baby now, then they’ll focus on Belle.” The last of his words trail off on thick stuttered breaths.
It’s haunting to see a grown man cry. Especially one as stoic as Archer. The guy’s a fucking hero; he’s seen tragedy in a way we couldn’t imagine. Yet, here, surrounded by family, his wife’s life hanging in the balance he’s as broken down as they come.