by Zoey Parker
A nurse came in. She was young, no more than twenty-five, and she had blonde hair that hung to her shoulders and flipped up at the ends like the wives in a fifties sitcom. Her nametag labeled her as Donna.
“You’re awake,” she said, talking to me as if we knew one another, as if we were good friends.
I stared at her blankly.
She hurried into the room, checking each of the machines, and putting a new bag on the IV hook. “You came in a few hours ago incredibly dehydrated. Your fella was waiting around for you, but I suspect he went down to the cafeteria to grab some dinner.”
“My fella?” I asked, immediately realizing how dry and scratchy my throat was.
“The handsome one in the denim jacket.”
Typically, hearing a woman say that about “my fella” would have made me instantly hate her, but Donna spoke the words as if they were an indisputable fact, rather than something she’d said to try and get a rise out of me.
“That’s Killian,” I said, more to myself than to Donna, though she nodded anyway, tossing me a very fake smile.
“Okay, let’s give the baby’s heartbeat another listen, shall we?”
“Another?” I asked.
Donna laughed. “Yes, I suppose you weren’t exactly conscious for the first time. We wanted to make sure the baby was doing okay, so we listened to their heartbeat. It was a tough low, but I reckon that was because of the dehydration. I bet it has passed by now.”
“Distress?” I felt like a parrot, hearing her words and tossing them back to her, waiting for a response.
“Absolutely nothing to worry about. You had a bit of bleeding when you came in, but an ultrasound discovered you had a subchorionic hemorrhage.”
I felt my heart begin to race in my chest, my brain fuzzy with worry and anxiety. “What is that?”
“Just a bit of blood that collected from when the baby implanted. It decided to come out, and it gave your fella quite the scare, but don’t worry. You and your baby are perfectly fine.”
Donna lifted my gown until my stomach was exposed, squirted a glob of jelly onto my belly, and then ran the doppler over my abdomen. Every second she spent searching for the baby’s heartbeat, I could feel my own beating harder and harder in my chest. Finally, after what felt like a lifetime, the tiny whooshing noise of a heartbeat filled the room.
“140 beats per minute,” Donna said, smiling down at me as she used a tissue to wipe the goo from my stomach. “Perfectly healthy.”
If I hadn’t already been laying down, I would have collapsed with relief. I’d only known something was potentially wrong with the baby for sixty seconds, but that had been long enough. I pulled down the gown and ran my hand over my stomach.
“So, why was I unconscious?” I asked, finally worrying about myself now that I could be certain the baby was okay.
“That would be from the dehydration. You passed out from lack of fluids, and then the subchorionic hemorrhage happened at the same time. A total coincidence, but a rather scary one.”
“And the hemorrhage thing won’t affect the baby?” I asked.
She came over and grabbed my hand, squeezing it with her cold fingers. “As of now, your baby is perfectly healthy. Many women experience subchorionic hemorrhaging in the first trimester, so don’t worry.”
I squeezed her fingers back. “Thank you.”
She sighed. “Okay, I need to get going on my rounds, but if I see your guy wandering the halls, I’ll send him your way. He sure was shaken up when he brought you in.”
I nodded, trying to smile, but managing little more than a grimace. I wanted to see Killian. More than anything. But the last time I’d seen him had also been in the emergency room, and things hadn’t ended well. I still had no idea how his conversation with his father had gone. For all I knew, he’d been permanently cast out from his family, and it was all my fault.
My fault for getting mixed up with Niall, for placing too much trust in Caleb, for not grabbing the journals that proved Caleb was the killer. So many different aspects of what had happened over the last month had been almost entirely my fault. I wanted to see Killian, but I also wasn’t prepared to see a Killian who may hate me.
###
Killian
I hadn’t eaten for too many hours to count, so the hospital cafeteria hamburger tasted like a gourmet meal, even though the bun was soggy. When I finished, I dumped the remainder of my limp French fries into the trash can and made my way back up to Heather’s floor. We’d been at the hospital for a few hours now, and the nurse, whose name was Donna, I think, kept ensuring me that she would be fine, that the horrifying combination of unconsciousness and bleeding had been a total coincidence, but until Heather woke up, I wouldn’t believe it.
I kept remembering her body on the cold cement floor, my fingers pressing into her neck, the horrifying seconds where I wasn’t sure whether I’d feel a pulse or not. I’d had many harrowing experiences in the last month, but that one was definitely near the top.
I still couldn’t believe that my relationship with Heather had begun simply because of her connection to Niall. In my mind, despite Niall no longer being alive, Heather was mine. I never imagined I would grow to have feelings for her, as well. And now, pacing in the hospital hallways, I couldn’t imagine my life without her. I couldn’t imagine not seeing her every day, not hearing her voice, or running my fingers through her fiery red hair.
As crazy as it sounded, especially since she was currently carrying my brother’s baby, I knew Heather was meant for me. Somewhere in the craziness of life, our paths had gotten a little harried, but we were meant to be together, and no one would convince me otherwise.
“Killian?”
I turned to find Donna walking towards me. I wondered how she had learned my name, as I didn’t think I’d told her what it was, and was about to ask her when she said, “Heather is awake.”
I bolted past her, hoping she’d understand why I didn’t smile or thank her or even nod in her direction. Heather was awake. I’d been dying to see Heather for days. When she wasn’t answering my text messages, I thought that was the worst feeling in the world, but seeing her in the warehouse, bleeding and unconscious—THAT had been the worst feeling in the world. All I wanted was to hear her voice and know that she would be okay.
I ran into her room and ripped back the privacy curtain, feeling bad when I saw her startled by the sudden intrusion. But I didn’t feel bad for long. She was okay. She was sitting up, her cheeks had color, her eyes were bright. I crossed the distance between us in one stride, grabbed her face in my hands, and kissed her.
She yelped in surprise, but quickly began to respond, her fingers tangling in the hair at my neck, her lips pushing and pulling on mine. When we finally broke apart, I collapsed onto the edge of the bed next to her, my breath hitching in my chest.
“Are you okay?”
“That’s what they keep telling me,” she said, shrugging her shoulders. “Did you bring me here?”
I nodded. “When I found you… it didn’t look good. I thought you were dead.”
She reached out and held my cheek in her palm. “The nurse said you were pretty shaken up. She also said you were handsome. Make use of my unconsciousness to do a little flirting, did ya?”
She was trying to lighten the mood, and I wanted to laugh with her, be happy that she was safe and the baby was safe, and everything was fine. But the truth was, everything wasn’t fine. Heather had no idea what had happened to her family while she was unconscious.
“Do you remember anything?” I asked.
Her nose crinkled while she tried to think. “I went to your apartment, but you weren’t there, so I took a cab to the compound.”
“Why would you do that?” I asked. I knew it was impossible to change the outcome of things, the way the day had played out, but I couldn’t stop myself from asking her.
“I needed my car,” she said.
I groaned. “You’d just had a seizure. Didn’t the d
octor tell you not to drive?”
Her face reddened. “I didn’t really think of that.”
“I’m sorry,” I said, leaning forward to kiss her forehead. “Continue. What do you remember?”
“Well, when I got to the compound I saw your car at your dad’s house, so I decided I would just grab my car, go back to your place, and wait for you to finish talking with him. But when I got to my car, Caleb was there. He had a gun, and he forced me to drive to the warehouse. After that, everything is kind of blurry.”
I nodded, suddenly nervous about everything I had to tell her; afraid that, somehow, she would blame me, that she would be mad at me and my dad for showing up, for bringing guns and escalating the violence.
“Do you know what happened?” she asked. “I know you found me, but where were Caleb and my dad?”
I took a deep breath, and reached for her hand, holding it in mine, looking at how small it seemed in my palm.
“Killian?” her voice was a question. “What’s wrong?”
“Caleb and your dad were at the warehouse when we got there,” I said.
“We?”
“Yes, my dad and I. He believed me about Niall. He believed that Caleb killed him.”
“Well, that’s good news,” she said, rubbing the back of my hand and smiling up at me.
“It is,” I said. “But we got to the warehouse and Caleb came out to meet us. I’d gotten a call from Declan that he had you there, but when I asked Caleb he said you weren’t there. We tried to talk him down, to keep things civil, but your dad came out with a gun…”
I let my voice trail off, afraid to continue, afraid of what damage my next words would cause.
“You can tell me, Killian,” she said, her voice already trembling, the beginnings of understanding blooming in her mind.
“They were going to shoot me. Your dad wanted Caleb to shoot me, and if he didn’t, your dad would have. There was no way to avoid violence. My dad shot yours.”
She gasped softly, but her eyes were wide, begging me to continue.
“It was just in the leg, and I’m pretty sure he’s okay, but he got shot. And we tried to convince Caleb just to leave, but he ran back into the warehouse. I wouldn’t have followed him, except I knew you were inside. I couldn’t leave him in there with you. I didn’t know what he was capable of. So, I followed him in, and it was dark, but he kept shooting at me. I didn’t realize it, but my dad had followed us in, and while Caleb was distracted with me… my dad came up behind him…”
“Is he okay?” she asked, her bottom lip trembling.
I shook my head. “He died.”
She closed her eyes, tears leaking from the corners. “He deserved it,” she said. “I’m sorry I’m crying. He killed your brother. He killed Niall. I should be glad he’s gone.”
I wrapped her in my arms. “No, you shouldn’t. He was your brother. As terrible as he was the last few months, you had an entire lifetime with him before that. He wasn’t always terrible. He was your brother. You don’t have to apologize for being sad.”
We sat together like that for awhile, Heather crying softly into my shoulder, me holding her, trying to offer what comfort I could. For all the joy the day had brought—Heather being alive, the baby being okay—it had also brought tremendous pain. Within five weeks, Heather and I had both lost our only brothers, and she’d been left a single mom. They were wounds that would take a long time to heal, if they could at all.
Once the tears stopped, we laid in bed together, watching daytime talk shows and Wheel of Fortune. I brought her three different flavors of jello from the cafeteria, and we talked about potential baby names, though it would be ten more weeks before we found out the gender.
While a soap opera played in the background, someone on the screen crying over the antics of their long-lost twin sister, Heather turned to me, her eyes still puffy from tears, but her eyes wide and bright.
“I love you, Killian,” she said.
The words set my heart aflame. I felt like I would burn up from the inside out. I pressed a long kiss to her forehead and, looking into her emerald green eyes said, “I love you, too.”
And at that moment, despite the crazy ride our love story had taken us on, I knew things would be okay. We’d end up together, and somewhere down the road, we’d both be entirely happy.
Chapter Fourteen
Heather
“Maybe we should go on another walk,” I suggested, scrolling through page after page of Internet search results on how to induce labor.
Killian groaned. “My feet hurt.”
“Oh, your feet hurt?” I said, punching him on the shoulder. “Don’t talk to me about your feet hurting until your stomach has been replaced by a ginormous beach ball for nine months.”
“Okay,” he said, holding up a finger, one of his eyebrows raised. “Let’s not exaggerate. Your stomach has not been that big the entire time. You only got huge in the last twelve weeks.”
“Excuse me?”
He winced. “I didn’t mean huge. I just meant… larger than normal.”
“Yeah, that isn’t any better.” I laughed. “But seriously, when is he going to come out? He’s already a week overdue.”
“It’s good to be fashionably late. Now we know he is going to be really cool,” Killian said.
“I don’t care if he’s cool,” I said, rubbing my stomach. “I care that he gets out of me.”
“Let me see that list.” He grabbed my phone out of my hand and scrolled through the list, raising a finger and mumbling for each idea we’d tried. “Walking… spicy food… pineapple…”
Suddenly he stopped and handed the phone back to me.
“I believe there is one item on the list we have yet to try,” he said. “Number seven.”
“Sex? We should have sex to start labor? Isn’t sex what got me in this position in the first place?” I shook my head and locked the phone screen, setting it on the coffee table. “No way. There is no way I feel like having sex right now. I’m a planet, I’ve had heartburn for two weeks straight, and my lower back is killing me.”
He laughed. “Do you want the baby out of you or what?”
“Yes, obviously, but—”
He slid off the couch and got on his knees, positioning himself between my thighs. “Then who are we to argue with science?”
“Killian,” I said, my voice a warning. “I don’t—”
His finger was inside of me before I could finish speaking, and by that point, I couldn’t remember what I’d been saying. Being as massively pregnant as I was, dresses were all that fit anymore, so he had no trouble slipping my panties to the side and sliding one finger right in, and once I adjusted to that, adding a second and a third.
I slid to the edge of the couch, my legs spread wide, my head thrown back into the cushions, eyes closed. I hadn’t been in the mood for sex for weeks, and now I couldn’t imagine why. He slipped out of me, and placed his palms on the insides of both of my legs, pushing them even wider. He kissed up each of my thighs, alternating between licking and pecking the tender skin there.
Then his tongue swiped up my opening and flicked the bundle of nerves that sat just inside, and I moaned. The sound was involuntary, like I was a sock puppet and he was the puppet master. He sucked on it, and I ground my hips into his face, begging him for more. And he obliged.
His tongue probed in and out of me as his lips sucked me in, and I could feel my legs begin to quiver. Every muscle in my body was contracting and releasing to the rhythm of his penetration, and I felt like my body would shred apart in the best possible way. Then, while sucking and flicking my most sensitive spot, he suddenly reinserted all three of his fingers at once and began pumping away at me.
I writhed on the couch and wrapped my legs around his neck until the ball of tension in my abdomen could no longer be contained, and it burst. Chemicals flooded my body, making me limp and useless as wave after wave of pleasure rolled over me. I ran my fingers through Killian’s hair
, and held his face to me as the last jolts of euphoria made me twitch and buck. Finally, I finished, and he resurfaced, his face red and blotchy, but a giant grin spread across it.
“Do you feel any different?” he asked.
I moaned. “Oh, yes. So much better.”
“Did your water break yet?” He glanced at the floor and the area around me on the couch, thinking it would always make a noticeable puddle the way it did in movies and television.
“Nope.” I shook my head. “Not yet.”
He stood up and reached for my hands. I placed my palms in his and let him pull me to my feet. “Then I suppose we’ll just have to keep trying,” he said.