“That you aren’t feeling well and I wanted to take you to urgent care.”
I sit there crying for the rest of the drive, unable to speak, my mind full of all the terrible things that could be happening to me right now.
They’re all just…bad. Awful.
“Are you in pain?” she asks as we pull into town and come to a stop at the light. It’s dark outside, the only light from nearby businesses and there’s no one else on the road.
I nod. “Cramps. It hurts.”
She makes a sympathetic noise and I close my eyes, willing Eli to wake up and call me. Text me. If he knew this was happening, he’d be doing everything in his power to get to me. I know he would.
That’s the only thing that reassures me as I suffer through this.
We finally arrive at the urgent care, and Mom makes me wait as she climbs out of the car and comes to the passenger side to help me out. The moment I lift out of the seat, I feel another gush between my legs and I check the seat.
I left a blood stain.
“Oh no,” I say, turning to wipe at it, but Mom grabs my hand, stopping me.
“I’ll take care of it later. Come on,” she says, her voice gentle as she guides me through the sliding double doors.
Mom tells the nurse behind the front desk what’s going on and the nurse’s gaze shifts to me, her eyes going wide as she starts moving quicker. “She looks pale. Did she faint?”
“She did on Thanksgiving.”
“Let’s get her in a wheelchair.”
Mom grips my arm and I lean against her, suddenly tired. Woozy. Someone brings a wheelchair to me and I practically fall into it, my brain blanking for an instant before I’m roused by someone saying my name.
The nurse.
“How far along are you, sweetheart?”
“Six weeks, maybe seven?” I glance up to see my mother watching me with fear on her face, her eyes glassy. I try to reach for her. “I’m sorry, Mom. I meant to tell you.”
“Oh my God, Ava. It’s okay. It’s okay.” She smiles but it’s shaky and that sends me over the edge.
I start crying all over again.
“It’s okay, honey. Come on, let’s get you into an examination room.”
The nurse wheels me in, Mom following beside me. I’m sticky between my legs and I know without a doubt that it’s happening.
I’m losing the baby.
The nurse steers me into a room and asks my mother to wait outside. She then helps me change into a gown and assists me in lying down on the table that sits in the corner, my eyes closed against the bright lights overhead.
“Prop your feet on the edge of the table, honey,” the nurse advises and I do as she asks, turning my head and keeping my eyes closed as she checks me beneath the gown. “She’s losing a lot of blood. Let’s hook her up to an IV until the doctor arrives.”
“Want me to put a call into the sonographer?” another female asks.
“They won’t come in until the morning. I think Dr. James can run a sonogram on her.” The nurse drops the hem of my gown and comes to my side, taking my hand. “We’re going to get you an IV. You’re bleeding and we want to make sure you’re okay. Plus, we want to get some fluids in you, so we can do a sonogram.”
“To see the baby?”
Her expression grim, she nods.
I turn away from her again, keeping my eyes tightly closed, wishing I could fall asleep. But I can’t. I can hear every little thing. The squeak of the nurse’s shoes on the floor. The sound of her opening something. The faintly squeaking wheels of the IV stand as someone brings it in. Every single sound is amplified, and I lie there flat on my back, my arm clutching my stomach as I can feel my body literally expelling my baby.
All I can do is cry.
“I want my mom,” I cry to the nurse after she takes care of the IV.
“She can come in soon, I promise,” she says, her voice soft and kind.
But Mom doesn’t come in. I lie there and wait and wait. I can feel myself bleeding onto the pad they put beneath me and I cry harder.
Why? I ask.
Why me?
I must drift off to sleep because the nurse walks into the room, startling me.
“The doctor is here,” she says. “He’ll be in to see you in a minute.”
“Is my mom still here?” I ask, my throat so dry it almost hurts to speak.
She nods. “She’s in the waiting room.”
“I want Eli.” The tears streak down my face. “Tell her to call Eli for me? Would you? That’s my boyfriend. He’s the father.”
The nurse keeps nodding. “I’ll let her know.”
The doctor chooses that moment to enter the room, an older handsome man with graying temples and glasses. He smiles faintly when he sees me, glancing at the chart in his hands. “Hi, Ava. Do you mind if I call you Ava?”
I shake my head, my lower lip trembling.
“Let me explain what I’m going to do. First, I’m going to give you an examination. Then I’m going to do an ultrasound on you. Have you had one of those yet?” He checks my file again. “You’re about eight weeks pregnant?”
“Close, yeah,” I whisper. “And no, I’ve never had an ultrasound before.”
“Okay. I’m concerned that if you are having a miscarriage, we have to make sure that nothing gets left behind. If that happens, it could give you an infection.”
I nod, trying to understand what he’s saying. “So am I losing the baby?”
“I’m not sure yet.” He hands the nurse my file. “Let me wash my hands and take a look at you.”
I nod, watching as he goes to the counter on the other side of the room and turns on the faucet, washing his hands thoroughly in the sink.
Be brave, Ava, I tell myself, feeling stupid but needing the pep talk. It’s going to be okay. Maybe you’re not losing the baby. Maybe it’s just some weird, freak thing and it’ll clear up fast.
But deep down, my heart knows the truth. And when he flips the bloody hem of my hospital gown back and starts to examine me, I choke back a sob, the tears blurring my vision.
I’m losing baby Bennett.
Thirty-Seven
Eli
I wake up at six a.m. to texts from Ava. A voicemail from her where I can tell she’s been crying. A couple of missed calls from her.
And a text from her mother.
Fable Callahan: Please call me when you get this message. It’s an emergency.
My heart racing, I fumble with my phone and call her, breathless as I wait for her to answer. The moment she says hello, I don’t even wait for her to say anything else.
“What’s wrong? Is Ava okay? What happened? Is she all right?”
“Eli, calm down. I need you to listen to me.”
“Okay. Yeah. Sorry.” I swallow hard, trying to control my breathing. My heart rate. When she remains silent for a few seconds longer, I can’t take it anymore. “Tell me what’s wrong.”
“Oh, Eli.” A sob leaves her and for the briefest moment I’m fucking terrified over what she’s going to say. “Ava—”
No, no, no, no.
“—she lost the baby.”
I say nothing. I hear her soft cries, my ragged breaths. I rest a hand against my forehead, rocking gently back and forth, the same thing running through my head on repeat.
Ava’s okay. Ava’s okay. Ava’s okay.
Then what her mother told me sinks in, punching me right in the face.
She lost the baby.
Oh fuck. She lost our baby.
“What happened? I can’t believe I didn’t hear my phone. I’m sorry I didn’t pick up. Where are you? I’ll come to you right now. I need to see Ava—”
“Eli, seriously. Listen to me right now.” Fable’s voice is firm, and I go still, my shoulders drooping. “Let me explain to you what happened first. She woke up cramping and bleeding. It started to get heavier, so she woke me up and I drove her to the urgent care. She was losing a lot of blood so the doctor on call
came in, and he ordered a D&C. They’re performing it on her now. She should be in recovery in the next thirty minutes or so.”
I have no clue what she’s talking about. “What’s a D&C?”
“A procedure they perform when they worry that not everything—comes out during the miscarriage,” she explains.
“Ava’s not pregnant anymore.” My voice is flat. Emotionless.
“No. I’m a-afraid she’s not.” She starts crying again. “I’m so sorry, Eli. Ava told me how excited you were about this. I’m sure you must be devastated.”
I am. But what’s weird is I’m having no emotional reaction whatsoever. I feel…numb. Like what she’s saying isn’t sinking in. Maybe I’m in shock. “Is Ava going to be okay?”
“Oh, she’s doing really well. She’s such a trooper.” Her voice rasps and I can hear the pride in it.
“That’s my girl,” I whisper, clearing my throat. “Should I wait?” There’s no way I can wait, I don’t know why I said that. “Or do you need me to come help you out? I can leave right now—”
She interrupts me. “Do you have class this morning?”
I bark out a laugh. “I’m skipping class, Mrs. C. There is no way I’m not coming up there at some point this morning to be with Ava.”
“I’ll text you when we’re on our way back to the house. You can leave then,” she says.
“Okay. I can do that. I’ll hop in the shower real quick.” I’m already climbing out of bed.
“Eli?”
I pause. “Yeah?”
“You need to be strong right now. For Ava. For the both of you. She was so upset. Crying, asking for you earlier. You need to be here for her, and not make this about you. She’s gone through something that was very traumatizing to her. She’s going to need you now more than ever,” Fable explains.
“I will be there for her,” I tell her. “I promise.”
I go through the motions of getting ready for my day, as if it’s another regular day. I take a shower. Brush my hair, brush my teeth. Don’t bother shaving. Get dressed. Check myself out in the mirror, reminding myself that everything’s changed.
Just like when Ava told me what…a week ago? It’s changed again. It’s back to the way it was.
Does that mean Ava and I are going back to the way we were? Broken up and about to go our separate ways? Will she go to San Diego? Leave me behind?
No way.
I can’t even stomach the thought.
Not bothering with breakfast, I wait in my room for the text from Ava’s mom. I don’t go out to the living room either. I don’t want to see Caleb and have to explain to him what happened to Ava, and what’s going on.
I’m not sure of the exact details myself. How can I explain it to someone else? And I definitely don’t want to see everyone’s pity. Their sadness. I can’t deal.
I don’t want to deal.
I need Ava—right now. I need to talk to her and make sure everything’s going to be okay. I want to hold her in my arms and tell her I love her and that nothing is going to change. I still need her in my life.
She’s still mine.
A sigh leaves me and I shake my head, cradling my head in my hands and closing my eyes. She told me not to tell anyone and I should’ve listened to her. Now we’ll have to explain to our friends what happened.
And that’s going to be painful.
When the text comes, I nearly jump out of my skin. I leave the apartment in a hurry, grateful I don’t run into Caleb. I hop in my car and groan when I start the engine. I need to get gas.
Damn it. Of course I do.
I stop at a gas station on my way out of Fresno and fill up, impatient as shit, hating how slow it feels. How long it takes. The moment the gas pump clicks, I’m putting everything away and getting the hell out of there. I race up the highway, my lead foot in action. Every passing lane I’m zooming past cars, grumbling under my breath when I get behind a slow car. Throwing caution to the wind because I’m hellbent on getting to my girl.
By the time I’m pulling in front of her house, I’m a wreck. My insides feel as if they’re twisted around each other and my palms are sweaty. My stomach cramps with nerves as I walk up the front porch and I almost want to collapse when I ring the doorbell.
Fable Callahan answers it almost immediately, and I realize in this moment she looks so much like Ava, my knees almost buckle. This is what my girl will look like when she’s older. Just a little taller. Blonde and beautiful with those bottomless green eyes.
“Eli,” she says, opening her arms to me.
I walk into her embrace and clutch her to me, my face in her hair, my eyes falling closed. She rubs her hands up and down my back, offering me comfort like a mom should. I think of my own mother, how I haven’t talked to her since Ava told me the news. How my mother doesn’t even know she was a grandma.
Even if only for a few days.
Fable pulls away from me, her hands grabbing hold of mine. “Don’t look so stressed. Ava is fine.”
“Is she really?” I sound skeptical because, come on. She’s probably not okay at all.
“She’s doing as well as one would after losing a baby. It’s hard no matter how many weeks along you are.” Her faint smile turns rueful. “I lost a baby in between Ava and Beck.”
“You did?” I want to see Ava, but I appreciate her mom’s offer of comfort and reasoning too. It’s more than I’ll get from anyone else right now.
“Yes.” She nods. “I was about eight weeks, just like Ava. It was tough. The experience tore Drew up, but the beautiful thing of it all, is we were blessed with Beck a few years later.”
I nod, following Fable into the house. She shuts the door behind her and I notice there’s a lit Christmas tree standing tall in the window, no decorations on it yet though.
“I’m telling you my little story because this isn’t the end of the world, Eli. I’m not downplaying what happened to Ava. It was a lot. But she needs hope right now, not wallowing in her sadness. She will have other children. Miscarriages are very common,” Fable explains.
I nod. “Okay.”
“You don’t need to give her stats or anything. Just—be there for her. Like she’s always been for you.” Fable sends me a stern look. “Don’t fuck this up.”
I gape at her, surprised at her choice of words. The look on my face must amuse her because she starts laughing. “Oh, you should see yourself right now. Bet you didn’t expect to hear that, did you? Back in the day, I was a real tough talker. I even used to smoke.” Her voice lowers. “Cigarettes.”
“No way.”
“Yep. I’ve come a long way.” She approaches me, reaching up to pinch my cheek like a little old grandma would. “So have you. Go up there and show your girl some love, Eli. She needs you right now.”
I’m about to head up the stairs, but I pause at the base, turning to look at Fable. “I’m sorry we didn’t tell you.”
“It’s okay. You don’t have to apologize. I understand why you kept it to yourselves. Some things are just for you.” Her smile is soft.
“Yeah.” I was really looking forward to telling her parents about the baby though.
Damn.
I race up the stairs, slowing my pace as I draw closer to her room. The door is partially open and I hear voices inside. Mostly a male speaking.
Her dad.
Shit.
I knock on the door before I peek my head around it, relief filling me at seeing Ava sitting up in bed, looking like her normal self. A little pale, but I was getting used to that. She’s listening to whatever her dad is saying, his broad back to the door until I knocked.
He turns and when he spots me, his face falls a little.
“Eli.” He nods, his expression stern.
“Mr. Callahan.” I nod in return, intimidated. He might hate me. I knocked up his baby girl and put her through all this. In his eyes, this could be my fault.
My gaze cuts to Ava, whose face is crumpling.
She’s c
rying.
Damn it.
“Eli,” she whimpers.
Forgetting her dad is there, forgetting that he could blame me for all of this, I go to her, settling on the edge of the bed, right next to her. She leans into me, her arms going around my neck and I hold her carefully, not wanting to hurt her.
But her familiar scent and soft hair have me gripping her tighter. As tight as I can get. Until we’re clinging to each other, lost in each other. And I only realize her dad said, “I’ll leave you two alone,” after he already slipped out of the room, shutting the door behind him.
“Don’t cry,” I whisper when he’s gone. I pull away so I can stare at her, wiping the stream of tears from her cheeks with my fingers. “Your tears absolutely destroy me, baby.”
“I’m sorry. It’s such—a relief to see you, Eli. I’m so glad you’re here.” She presses her face to my shoulder, holding onto me.
I rub her back much like her mom did to me earlier, letting her cry on me. “Are you okay?”
“Now that you’re here, yes.” She lifts her head, her mouth against my jaw, breathing me in. “I lost the baby.”
A shuddery breath leaves me. “I know. I’m sorry I wasn’t here sooner.”
“You were sleeping.”
“Yeah.”
“I figured.” She kisses my cheek, her hand reaching for one of mine. “It was awful. Just—so much blood.”
I squeeze her hand. “Don’t talk about it if you don’t want to.”
“I was scared. But my mom took care of me.” A shuddery exhale leaves her and her still shiny with tears eyes meet mine. “She’s a good mom.”
“The best.” I rest my palm against the side of her hair before I stroke it away from her face. “Just like you’re going to be someday.”
Her eyes fall closed and her lips tremble. “What if I can’t have any more? What if that was our—one—shot?”
“Don’t say that,” I say fiercely. “We’ll have a bunch. Six, remember? I want at least six.”
She laughs, but it sounds more like a sob. “I don’t know about that.”
“Whatever you want, I’ll do. It’s all for you, Princess.” I mean every fucking word.
The Senior (College Years Book 4) Page 30