“It isn’t her fault Irene,” Ethan cut in. “I wanted to be here when she woke up.”
“You havenae even got your oxygen on! You cannae just wander off without your oxygen!”
“I couldnae wait any longer!” Ethan’s voice was harsh. He swiped one hand over his face. “I’m sorry, Irene. I had to.”
Irene pursed her lips and turned to Isla. “I’ll let your nurse know you’re awake, hen.”
“Thank you.”
Irene turned back to Ethan. “As for you, back to bed laddie.”
“One more minute, Irene. Please?”
Irene rolled her eyes. “One. Not ten. Not twenty. One. I’ll be outside the door ready to walk you back.”
Ethan nodded solemnly, and Irene stepped out, pulling the door closed behind her.
“Ethan. I think you should get back to your bed.”
“I will,” he promised. “But first there’s something I have to tell you-”
“No,” Isla interrupted. “Tell me later. Your nurse said you need oxygen.”
“No. What I need is to tell you this. Isla, what I said, that night we were here, when Ryder was injured-” Ethan broke off, coughing.
“Ethan!” Isla sat up suddenly, her skin smarting where wires tugged at it.
Ethan held a hand up, still coughing.
“Ethan. You can tell me all this later. It’s not important right now.”
Ethan stopped coughing, but his chest was still heaving. “Not important? Not important?” He gave a singular harsh cough, thumping his fist against his chest. “Isla. It’s the most important thing in the world. You have no idea. I thought…” he paused, sucking in breath. “I thought I’d lost you. I woke up in that goddamn bed, plugged in like a bloody robot, and it was like I’d been thrown back in time. Like the last five years had been a dream, and I was coming round from the accident all over again. Like I was stuck in my own personal hell. Doomed to repeat the same mistakes over and over. Well, I won’t. Not again. Not this time. Isla, I love you.” His voice was raw, and Isla didn’t think it was from emotion. He was deathly pale and breathing fast.
“Ethan, I know you do.”
His golden eyes flickered. “But what I said, about Briony-” Another coughing fit overtook Ethan, his entire body convulsing with the effort.
“Ethan, stop. Don’t try to talk anymore, please.” Isla raised her voice and called out for the nurse.
“No, no, I’m okay-” Ethan heaved, and blood splattered down his chin, and onto the front of his blue gown.
Isla screamed. Ethan’s eyes rolled back in his head, and he slumped to the floor.
*
It was late. She should have been sleeping. God knows Isla had been told so plenty of times by the various people coming in and out of her room. She wasn’t sure if they appreciated the irony of telling someone they should rest, while at the same time asking if they could poke and prod at them, but the truth was even if she wasn’t having her temperature taken, or having a nebuliser mask strapped to her face, Isla still wouldn’t be sleeping. Every time she closed her eyes she saw the same image of Ethan, grey and slumped at the foot of her bed, blood trickling from one corner of his mouth, like a horrible nightmare. Only it wasn’t a nightmare. She was awake, and it was real.
Irene had burst through the door at the sound of Isla’s scream, and then it had been a blur of faces, bodies, and machinery, all to get Ethan’s 6’1”, 13 stone frame onto a trolley so they could wheel him back to his bed. Where he should have been all along. A stab of guilt ran through Isla. If he hadn’t been so worried about her, it would never have happened.
There was a gentle rap on the door. Another midnight caller wanting a blood pressure reading no doubt.
“Come in,” Isla rasped, her throat still raw.
Irene stepped into the room, pushing the door closed behind her. She was wearing a jacket over her tunic and carrying a tote bag stuffed with papers.
“Did I wake you?”
“No, not at all.” Isla sat up straighter. “How is he? Is he okay?”
Irene reached out one hand and squeezed it over Isla’s. Oh no. Please no. Isla’s pulse began racing. “Irene?”
Irene gave a long exhale. “He’s stable.”
Relief flooded through Isla. “Is he awake?”
Irene shook her head. “He’s sedated and ventilated.”
“You mean...he’s not breathing?” Panic seized Isla once more.
“Not for himself, hen, no. But he will, in time. Smoke inhalation is tricky. It can have a delayed effect. Even when initial x-rays and observations appear normal as they did in Ethan’s case, the damage can grow worse in the first twenty-four hours, and untreated it can lead to respiratory failure.”
Isla blinked, struggling to follow Irene’s explanation. “So you’re saying if he’d stayed in his bed if he hadn’t come looking for me…”
Irene shook her head. “He’d still have collapsed, hen. The only difference is that he wouldnae have ended up on the floor.”
“So, what happens now?”
“He needs to heal. You both do. And I’m not just talking about your airways.” Irene gave her a pointed look. “You’ve been through a hell of a lot, and I’d wager I only know half the story. You’re lucky to be alive.”
Isla lay back against the pillows propped behind her head. “I know.”
She was right. They were lucky. There had been so much loss, and heartache, and danger, but they’d survived in spite of it. And they had each other. Isla’s eyes welled with tears, and Irene gave her hand another squeeze.
“He loves you very much.”
“I know.” She’d always known, Isla realised. But she’d let fear, and doubt cloud her judgement. Had given his past - and hers - more power than they deserved. But if they could make it through the horrors of the last twenty-four hours, they could make it through anything.
Irene looked as though she wanted to say something, but she stopped herself.
Isla tilted her head. “What is it?”
Irene sighed. “You know, Ethan was unconscious on admission, and when he came round the first thing he said was your name. I told him ‘no, sorry hen.’ I didnae want him thinking I was you, you ken?” Irene paused. “But he misunderstood. Obviously, I understand now. I’ve read his notes…” she trailed off. “He near shouted himself hoarse, almost pitched himself right off the bed. It took me twenty minutes to calm him down, make him believe you were here, that you’d survived, that you were alive. And then he crumpled. I havenae seen anyone sob like that in a long time, and I’m a nurse.” Irene brushed one thumb across Isla’s cheek, and Isla realised that she was crying. “You two need to take better care of each other.”
Isla nodded. “I know we do. We will. Thank you. And thank you for coming down here, and telling me all this. Is your shift finished?”
Irene chuckled. “My shift finished two hours ago. That doesnae mean anything in this place. But yes, I’m going home to my bed now, and you should get some sleep too.”
“I will,” Isla lied.
Irene raised one eyebrow.
“Well, I’ll try, anyway,” Isla amended.
Irene nodded. “Good girl. You need anything, you buzz this button here-” She tapped the electronic remote beside the bed.
After Irene left, Isla glanced at the nurse call-bell, before pushing it to one side. There was something she needed, but that wasn’t going to bring it to her. What she needed was Ethan beside her, his arms around her, and his low murmur telling her that everything was going to be alright.
Forty Eight
Isla’s eyelids fluttered open. She instinctively squeezed them shut against the harsh glare of the strip lighting, but not before she caught a glimpse of a figure in the chair beside her bed. Her eyes flew open, and she scrambled upright.
Was it possible? Could it be? Isla’s heart pounded erratically, but then her eyes focused, and the figure turned, and Isla’s heart thundered almost to a standstill.
“Mu
m?”
Juliet Belmont’s cheeks were streaked with mascara, her blue eyes rimmed with red.
How long had she been sitting there?
“Oh, Isla.” She jumped to her feet, and leaned over the bed, pulling Isla into a ferocious hug, the likes of which Isla couldn’t remember ever getting from her mum. “I’ve been so worried. The nurses told me you’d been awake, and chatting, but when I arrived you were flat out, and they told me not to wake you, so I didn’t, but god, I wanted to. I wanted to see your eyes open, hear you talk, know you were okay. You are, aren’t you? You’re okay?” Her mum paused at last and released Isla from her grip.
Isla settled back against the lumpy pillows. “Yes,” she said in a raw voice, not-quite her own. “I’m okay, mum.”
Physically, it was true at least. Emotionally, Isla felt wrung out. She had no idea what time it was, or even what day. She only knew that it felt like a lifetime since she’d seen Ethan’s face hovering above her own, since he’d told her that he loved her, since he’d been wheeled away from her unconscious.
Isla felt the sting of tears in her eyes.
“What happened?” Ms Belmont’s face was full of concern, as she settled back into the green vinyl chair beside the bed. “Len only told me that there was a fire. That you were trapped inside.”
Isla was grateful for Len’s tact, and she knew that she’d have to tell her mum someday, but she couldn’t relive it all now. Not when Ethan was still battling for his life a few floors away. Isla shook her head. “It’s complicated,” she croaked. “But don’t worry, I’m safe.”
She caught the look of disappointment on her mother’s face.
“I brought you flowers,” Ms Belmont said. “But the nurses told me I couldn’t bring them in. It looks like you’ve had a few gifts already, however-” She gestured to the locker on the other side of the bed, and Isla twisted.
A bowl of fruit stood side-by-side with a box of chocolates, and in front of them both, a small silver frame held the scan picture. Isla gasped and turned back to her mum.
It was hurt in her eyes, Isla realised, not disappointment. “Mum-” she began. But that was as far as she could get. How could she possibly explain?
“When were you going to tell me?”
Isla bit her lip and met her mum’s eyes. “I don’t know.”
Juliet Belmont took a deep breath through her nostrils. “I understand.”
“No, mum. You really don’t.” Isla’s words surprised even her. “To be honest, I’m not sure that I do some of the time, but it’s okay. Either way, it’s true. I’m having a baby.”
It couldn’t have been a shock to her, after seeing the ultrasound picture at her daughter’s bedside, but her mum inhaled sharply and reeled backwards all the same.
“You’re keeping it?”
Isla’s gut twisted at the thought of the alternative. She’d considered it at one point, hadn’t she? Back when she’d been reeling with the shock of the news herself, but it had always felt like such an abstract concept, and some part of her knew - had always known - that she could never go through with it. Regardless of Ethan’s reaction...regardless of what might happen now.
Tears welled in Isla’s eyes again, and she brushed them away.
“Oh darling, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like that.” Isla’s mum jumped to her feet, thrusting a box of tissues towards her, and Isla realised that she’d assumed the tears were about the pregnancy.
“I’m only surprised, because, well...I didn’t even realise you were seeing anyone,” Juliet Belmont continued. “Who is it? The father?”
Isla took a deep, shaky breath. “Ethan MacRae.”
Her mother frowned, and Isla could almost see the cogs whirring, as she pieced together where she’d heard the name before. Her blue eyes widened as realisation hit. “Oh, no, darling-”
But Isla held up her hand in a stop gesture before her mum could say anything more. “I love him, mum, and he loves me. He’s an incredible person, who’s been through so much, and he saved my life. If it wasn’t for him-” but Isla broke off, before she made either herself or her mum, cry.
Her mother’s eyes were like saucers, her jaw slack. “Well...I’m glad to hear it, darling. He sounds like quite the man. So, where is he?”
Isla swallowed. “He’s in intensive care. In a medically-induced coma.” They were such clinical terms, it was easy to repeat them without feeling. It was only when she allowed herself to actually think about what they meant, that her chest started to ache, and her stomach clenched.
Juliet Belmont’s hands flew to her mouth. “Oh god, Isla. Sweetheart. I’m so sorry.”
And then, finally, Isla let herself cry.
*
The relatives’ room was unchanged from when Isla had sat in it last. She supposed it was always the same with places like this, the scenery was a constant horizon against which an ever-shifting tide of people played out the worst scenes of their lives. Although not many, Isla suspected, could lay claim to having been dumped in this stark, white room with its humming water cooler, and garish lights.
And now she was back. And although the room may not have changed, she had. In more ways than she could possibly name.
A young nurse in cornflower blue scrubs, with vivid orange hair tied in a high ponytail, peered around the doorframe. “Are you waiting to see Ethan MacRae?”
Isla jumped to her feet and instantly regretted it. She clapped a hand to her forehead, and stood swaying and speechless for a moment. She was in better shape than Ethan, right now, yes, but she wasn’t fully recovered, and she needed to remember that.
The nurse stepped forward quickly. “You’re a patient,” she said, gesturing to Isla’s hospital wristband.
“Yes,” Isla said. “I was in the fire too.”
The nurse pulled a sympathetic face. “I’m so sorry. But I have to ask- are you his next of kin? Only visiting hours for other family members are over, so-”
“Yes,” interrupted a voice from the doorway. “She is.”
Isla peered around the young nurse’s shoulders and saw Connor in the doorway. His green eyes were smudged with dark shadows, and a light dusting of stubble crept across his usually immaculate jaw. He looked like he’d been wearing - and possibly sleeping in - the same clothes for days.
“Oh my god, Connor.” Isla didn’t think, she just ran, throwing her arms around him.
Connor accepted her embrace as though it was the most natural thing in the world, and it felt it. Ryder had once said that he, she, and Connor were all Ethan had, and although she doubted that was true, of the four of them, she and Connor were now the only ones still standing, and the way things were looking, they’d need each other’s support to stay upright.
The nurse cleared her throat, and Isla pulled back from Connor, and turned to her,
“I’m Ethan’s brother,” Connor said. “But Isla is his next of kin.” He looked at Isla. “She’s his girlfriend, and they’re having a baby.”
The nurse’s hazel eyes widened. “I had no idea. Well, by all means, follow me.”
Connor winked. “I’m off to visit Ryder now. No rest for the wicked.”
Isla’s heart constricted. Poor Connor. No wonder he looked like a man who hadn’t slept in weeks.
Isla squeezed his arm as she followed the nurse out of the door. “Give him my love.”
“Of course.”
*
Isla had tried to prepare herself for the sight of Ethan, but of course, there was no preparing yourself for something like that, she realised afterwards. It didn’t matter how logical you tried to be about it, seeing the man you loved being kept alive by machinery was always going to be a horrible shock.
For a few minutes, she just stared, wondering if perhaps there’d been a mistake after all. He didn’t look like Ethan, he didn’t look like anyone, he was more medical equipment than human. But then her shock began to ebb, and her eyes picked out the creamy-white skin of his hand, beneath the bandage keep
ing one of his IV’s in place, and the dark smattering of hair across his bare chest, shaved in places where electrodes had been attached. She didn’t imagine he’d be pleased about that.
Finally, Isla allowed herself to look at his face, trying not to focus on the tube in his mouth, instead, she traced the lines of his scars across his face and over his closed eyelids. His hair looked especially dark against the white cotton of the pillowcase beneath his head.
“You know, I looked after him before,” the nurse said, rounding the other side of the bed, and pressing buttons on machines that Isla couldn’t even hope to understand.
“You did?”
“Yes. And I met him again, just a few weeks ago. Visiting his brother.” She frowned. “Or so he said. Different last name though, and they looked nothing alike.”
Isla felt her mouth quirk at one corner. Ryder.
“They seem to be one unlucky family.” The nurse raised an eyebrow.
Isla was inclined to agree, but then she stopped herself. They’d been through hell, yes. But they’d survived. Surely that made them luckier than some?
Isla touched a hand to her stomach unconsciously. “Oh, I don’t know. These MacRae’s are fighters.”
The nurse nodded her head emphatically. “Oh, I’ll say. So...you’re having a baby?”
Isla nodded. “We are.” She reached over the bedrails and took Ethan’s bandaged hand in hers. “So you see, I really need him to wake up. To get better. To live.” She looked up at the nurse, with tears in her eyes.
“You said yourself, he’s a fighter,” she said. “And it certainly sounds like he has a lot to fight for.”
Isla squeezed Ethan’s hand gently. “Yes, he does.”
~ Six weeks later~
Forty Nine
Isla crouched on the damp, uneven earth, and lay the flowers against the headstone.
She hadn’t been able to face the funeral, and she felt guilty about that even now, knowing Ethan would have wanted someone there, but she’d not long been out of hospital and hadn’t felt strong enough physically, let alone mentally, to endure it.
She was here now, though.
Out of Sight Page 37