“What are you not telling me?” I whisper.
“It was an explosion at the gym. It’s not looking good.” He cringes as he puts the car in gear and speeds off towards the hospital.
Please be okay. Please be okay. I chant over and over in my head on the way to the hospital. I can’t lose you.
I must have said that last part out loud because Chase responds, “You’re not going to lose your friend. Have a little faith,” Chase grips my hand in his. Palm to palm his energy seeps into my body and warms my soul. Solid, unyielding. This is the man I’m going to spend the rest of my life with.
We make it to the hospital in record time. Chase’s connections get us more information than the average Joe. Turns out the explosion took place several hours ago.
“Why weren’t we called sooner?” I ask panicking, realizing Anabelle has been with her sitter for a lot longer than Phillip’s usual gym visit.
The nurse that was sent to talk to us, pulls us to the side. “Your friend was wearing gym attire. He didn’t have any identification on him. It wasn’t until the gym was able to pull up the list of patrons and go through a process of elimination, crosschecking who checked into the gym during that timeframe to who the cops had already spoken to as well as who we were able to identify here. There are twenty-five people here from the explosion. Your friend was not one of the luckier ones. He’s still in surgery now.”
White-hot prickles, tingle over my skin and my eyesight goes fuzzy. Blotches of darkness, then light, waver in and out throwing me off balance. “Shit, she’s going to faint!” I hear Chase’s voice.
“Not on my watch,” the nurse says and shoves something under my noise. Synapsis fire on all cylinders and I come alive, completely alert. Turns out it’s called an ammonia capsule that she shoved under my nose. Damn thing felt like it burned straight through the lining of my nasal cavity. Chase and the nurse lead me to a chair and I sit, putting my head between my legs.
“Breathe, Gillian, it’s going to be okay.” Chase rubs his hand up and down my spine in long soothing strokes.
I lift my head and focus once again on the blonde nurse with wide eyes. She reminds me of Bambi. All doe-eyed and small facial features. “I’m fine. Thank you. Please give us the rundown.”
The nurse pulls out a clipboard. “What’s your name? I need to verify you are next of kin or listed as his emergency contact.” My mouth drops open and Chase bristles besides me.
“Look, I’m personal friends with the Dean of Medicine and a member of the Board of Directors for this hospital, not to mention a valued donor. You can talk candidly with us.” Chase uses his, ‘I own the universe and you are but a small pawn in my large game of chess’ voice. Unfortunately, it doesn’t work.
Her eyebrows rise over large doe-eyes giving us an “I don’t give a rat’s ass who you are and who you know” type look. Instead of getting into a verbal brawl, which will get us nowhere fast, I pull out my wallet and present her with my ID. She finds the space in his paperwork, and thank Heavens that Phil and I are one another’s medical contacts.
“Gillian Callahan,” she says out loud and double checks my driver’s license. “Okay, I can tell you what I know, but you’ll have to get full details from the doctor. Mr. Parks is in surgery now. He had internal bleeding and shrapnel injuries from the explosion. They have removed most of the shrapnel and his spleen. They repaired a tear in his liver, re-inflated the collapsed lung, and now, they’re working on setting the breaks in his legs. ”
My hand flies up to cover my mouth. “God, is he going to make it?” I ask not really wanting to hear the answer. There really is no other option but a huge and resounding “YES” that would be acceptable. The nurse doesn’t look like she’s got that magic answer.
“Ms. Callahan, we just don’t know. It’s touch and go right now. If he makes it through the next several hours of surgery, it will be a very long road to recovery.”
“B-b-but it’s possible? Anything’s possible right?” I look at her with all the hope, fear, and desperation of a woman who’s on the verge of losing her best friend, a member of her family for all intents and purposes.
She smiles but it doesn’t reach her big eyes. “Miracles happen every day in this place. My suggestion to you right now is to pray.” Those words slice through my heart and I cling to Chase.
“Thank you. Please send the doctor to us when he’s available,” Chase asks dismissing the nurse.
“Gillian, Phillip is strong and has so much to live for. He’ll fight.”
I suck in a breath and choke back a sob. “Anabelle needs to be picked up or the sitter will need to stay longer.” I frantically grasp at anything I can be doing now. Phillip is laid up on a slab while people put him back together. Please, let them put him back together.
I pull out my phone and dial her grandparents’ number. It rings and rings. “God dammit!” The answering machine picks up and I leave a message to call me. I try Bree’s phone next. This time I leave a message. “Bree, Phillip’s been in an accident. We’re at San Francisco General Hospital in the Intensive Care Unit waiting room. Get down here now.” I stand up and pace and punch in Phillip’s home number. It rings once before the phone is picked up by a young girl.
“Eva, it’s Gigi.”
“Oh thank God! Gigi,” the young girl starts to cry. “Mr. Parks isn’t here. He left hours ago. Said he’d be home…but…he’s not here. I’ve called and called,” she sniffs.
“Calm down sweetheart. Phillip was in an accident at the gym. He’s in the hospital. Can you stay with Anabelle until I have someone pick her up later tonight? I’ll make sure you’re compensated. I know you have school in the morning, but we really need you until I can get there.” Quick math reminds me that Phillip’s parents are two hours away but Angela’s are only thirty minutes. I need to contact them. “Do me a favor and text me the numbers on the fridge for Anabelle’s Nana and Papa.”
“I tried to call them. Some housekeeper said they were in Hawaii for the next couple weeks,” she starts to weep again.
“Okay sweetie, don’t you worry. I’m going to pick Anabelle up tonight or have one of my friends do it. Can you watch her for another few hours? Until around ten or so?”
The young girl hiccups and then takes a slow breath. “Yeah, I can handle it. I’ll call my mom and tell her what’s happening. Can I call you if anything else happens or my mom wants to talk to you?”
“Of course, honey. You’ve got my number now. I’m surprised you didn’t call it sooner.”
The crying jag I thought ended came back with a vengeance. “I did!” she screeches. “I called and called and left message after message.”
“Your phone number’s been changed, Gillian,” Chase taps my shoulder obviously able to hear her. I close my eyes and realize the error. At least Phil updated his medical information or none of us would know what was happening.
“Listen, honey, I forgot that I got a new phone. You’re doing great taking care of our Anabelle, making sure she is safe. I’m very proud of you and appreciate you helping us right now.”
“Of course. I love this family,” she says then takes a slow breath. “Mr. Parks is so good to me. I hope he’s going to be okay.”
“He will be fine,” I say with as much conviction as I can muster, not entirely sure if I am convincing myself or Eva.
Chase hugs me closer to his side, a protective, comforting squeeze that fills my heart with hope. “I’ll be in touch with you soon, okay Eva?”
“Okay Gigi. See you later. I’ll take very good care of Anabelle.”
“Thank you, sweetheart. See you soon. Goodbye,” I hang up and lean into Chase’s warmth. The honest truth that Phillip’s life is in God’s hands is enough for me to break down. Chase holds me tight to his chest while I sob, never loosening his hold. So strong. Deep gut-wrenching heaves wrack my frame as the devastating reality that Phillip could be gone from this earth, wraps its evil, poison dipped claws into my psyche.
&nb
sp; An hour later, a hurricane of footsteps rush into the intensive care waiting area. Maria and Bree are running down the bright white hallway. It’s as if I see them in slow motion. Standing, I open my arms as Bree barrels into them.
“Tell me, tell me,” her voice becomes far too loud in the quiet space.
“It’s not good Bree. He’s still in surgery…” tears fill my eyes and make everything seem blurry. I try to find the words to tell Phillip’s girlfriend the news. Chase puts a hand on my shoulder and ushers me into the nearest chair. Bree stands crumbling inward, her long blonde hair falling in front of her like a veil. Chase holds onto her, bringing her to the seat next to me then crouches low. His hands clasp both of Bree’s as Maria sits down next to us.
This is probably the kindest gesture I’ve ever seen my alpha male make when he’s not behind closed doors, and doesn’t involve me personally. My friend’s head lifts up, her watery gaze on him, as if he is a life preserver during a shipwreck.
“Bree, Phillip was in the middle of an explosion at the gym. He’s one of over twenty people injured in the blast.” She gasps and sucks in a tortured breath. “He has internal injuries, a collapsed lung, and both legs are broken. We know he’s in surgery to manage his injuries. He’s been in for over eight hours. That’s all we know.” Tears slide down Bree’s pinked cheeks. They fall in fat, wet drops, onto her fuchsia yoga pants.
“What if he doesn’t make it?” She whispers the one thing that I fear more than anything.
Maria and I crowd around Bree and the three of us hug. “He has to make it. That’s just how it’s going to be,” I say gaining more confidence with each moment. Every second they don’t tell me my friend has left us means he’s fighting to be here. For us, for Anabelle, for everyone who loves him.
Huddled together is how Kat, Carson, and Tom find us. Chase briefs them on Phil’s prognosis while we wait.
And wait.
And wait.
Over the past three hours I’d gotten ahold of Phillip’s parents and they drove down, making it here less than an hour ago. They agree to stay at Phil’s and alternate taking care of Anabelle with the rest of us girls. Chase and I plan to take her for the weekends, and both Maria and Kat offer to take as many evenings as necessary. Bree is practically catatonic while we hash out the specifics of my best friend’s life.
It’s close to ten at night when a very tired looking doctor makes his way to our group. Chase extends a hand. “Dr. Roberts. We’re Phillip’s friends and family. How is he?”
The hallway is so silent, you could hear a pin drop. “He made it through surgery but not before coding on the table, twice.” Bree and I both gasp. Tears slip down the faces of every woman standing here waiting to hear about the man we all love. “Phillip’s a fighter that’s for sure,” the doctor smiles briefly. “Aside from the broken legs, and ribs, he sustained a collapsed lung and serious bleeding. The explosion did a number on him. He’ll be in a medically induced coma for at least a week. Not only is there swelling in his brain, we have to let his body heal a bit. Otherwise the pain would be excruciating.”
Bree slips to her knees, overrun with grief. Kat and Maria lift her up and hold her as she breaks down. I stand still, as if time has completely stopped. The doctor is speaking but I can’t hear anything. It seems as though I check out somewhere around “medically induced coma” and “excruciating pain.”
“Can we see our boy,” Phillip’s mother asks the doctor.
“Because of the risk of infection, I can allow you a few minutes at his bedside but only next of kin.” Those words send Bree into hysterics. I wasn’t far behind.
“Doctor, I’m sure we can work something out. This is Phillip’s girlfriend and his best friend, my fiancée. I’m sure you can let them just take a peek after his parents have had a moment. Consider it a professional courtesy,” Chase says while clapping the surgeon on his shoulder, the intent clear. You help me, I help you. I’ve seen it many times over the past few months and I’ve never been happier about how much influence my man carries in this town before now.
The doctor takes a breath and shakes his head. “Fine, just the two, and only under escort. But they’ll need to control themselves. There are a lot of people in various stages of healing that cannot handle an outburst such as the one I just witnessed,” Dr. Roberts looks at Bree. She wipes away her tears and pushes back her shoulders as she brings herself under control.
“I’ll be just fine. I promise. I have to see him, if only for a moment.” Her voice cracks on the last word, and I clasp her hand and tug her to my side.
The surgeon leads the Park’s in to see their son first. After they come out, I hug his mother tight. Growing up, I always loved Phil’s mom, the quintessential June Cleaver. Now she looks as though she’s suffered a great loss. Her shoulders are slumped over, her hair is a wild mess from running her fingers through it, and all traces of make-up are long gone, revealing her true age of late fifties. Even still, she’s beautiful and I kiss both her cheeks.
“Kiss my angel girl for me, and tell her I’ll visit tomorrow.”
Phillip’s mom cups my cheek and pats it lovingly. “You always were a lovely girl. So good to my boy, especially after Angela. There’s a special place in heaven for women like you, Gigi.” Then she kisses my cheek and turns to her husband.
Bree starts to tug my hand towards the door to visit Phil. I glance over my shoulder at the pure love I see in Chase’s eyes, and the gazes of our friends, basically telling us without words, that they are there for us, and for Phillip in spirit. Chase mouths “I love you,” as the doors to the unit close behind us.
We’re led to a wall of glass. Behind the panes is Phillip. Bree places her hands and forehead against the glass and closes her eyes. Her lips move and I imagine she’s praying. I take the quiet moment to catalogue every injury I can see from here. Aside from his wrapped chest, he has a row of stitches over his eye, another down the side of his face. His arms are speckled with bruises, cuts, and wounds from the blast. There’s an oxygen mask over his mouth providing him life-saving oxygen. That means he’s not breathing on his own. I close my eyes and send my own prayer, this time asking my Mother in Heaven to pull some strings with the big guy, and save my friend. He’s got far too much to live for to lose his life now.
A warmth fills my chest and slowly expands throughout my body. The feeling of complete and utter serenity lifts the black cloud hanging over my head. The one that has been there from the moment we raced to the hospital. I look at Phillip and send him everything I have. Love, light, friendship, loyalty, peace and happiness. I just hope it’s enough. Something in me believes it is. I just know he’s going to make it.
Chapter 8
Gillian
The next two weeks are touch and go. Phillip is out of the intensive care unit but hasn’t woken from his coma. Originally, the doctors said it was “medically induced,” but when they tried to bring him back a week after the accident, nothing. Yesterday, they were finally able to get him off the breathing machines since his lungs started working on their own. Bree is a wreck. We all are. She’s been at the hospital every possible minute. When she’s not there, one of us girls or Phil’s parents are holding down the fort. Recently, she hired her yoga mentee. The little thing who subs for her is now taking on her full load. Bree doesn’t care. She doesn’t care about much of anything. I don’t blame her. If Chase was hurt, almost killed, and still in a coma, I’d never leave his side.
I turn off the shower and grab one of the towels on the warmer. Heated towels. Only my man would make sure his towels are warmed before getting out of the shower. I make quick work of drying my hair and pulling it into a tight ponytail. Standing in front of the mirror, I notice how much thinner I’ve gotten. The stress of the last few weeks has taken its toll. My body has seen better days. I’ve always been a good size six, bordering on an eight, which normally looks good on my lengthy body. Right now, my size sixes are loose. Scanning my body from head to toe in the m
irror, I can see the indents for each of my ribs and the hip bones are actually coming to a bit of a point. There’s definitely less for Chase to grab onto. Even my full, size C breasts seem smaller. When was the last time I ate? I’m trying to remember as my phone on the vanity rings.
Quickly, I grab a pair of skinny jeans, a form fitting tank, and a tunic style sweater that comes down to mid-thigh. Hitting the speaker button, I throw on a pair of heather grey panties and matching bra.
“Hello,” I say while slipping up the jeans and buttoning them. I turn to look at my bum in the mirror. It’s still a good heart shape but not nearly as rounded as it usually is.
“Gigi, when you leave the hospital today can you come by the theatre for a quick fitting? I have a nice template, but it would be better if I could pin some of the fabrics to the sample where I want them while you’re in the dress,” Kat says in a rush.
I groan and slip the tank over my head. “Kat, I really need some time at home. I have a million things to do for work and for the wedding.”
“Um, hello? Dressmaker here. What the hell do you think I’m working on night and day? If your man didn’t have to marry you in the next four weeks…” she starts on the same rant I hear every few days.
“Okay!” I cut her off before she goes into the extra-long diatribe. “I’ll be there around two. Does that work?”
A loud huff comes through the speaker. “Yeah, I guess. Plan to stay at least two hours though.”
Two fucking hours? What the hell is she making, a dress for the Queen Mother? Christ on a cross this is going to end me. “Fine!” I yell and then hit the end button. I can’t talk to her anymore. I have things to do. It’s my rotation to be with Phil, and I need to get down to the hospital to relieve Bree. Once I throw on the tunic, I pull a pair of ballet flats at random out of the closet and tip toe through our dark bedroom.
Through a miracle, Chase is still sleeping. He’s been working incredibly long hours trying to get past a major merger as well as locate anything on my stalker. There’s been little activity, which makes me hopeful that he’s gone for good. Maybe he was caught for something else. I’m still suspicious about Justin, and the fact that nobody knows where he is. It’s as if he’s fallen off the face of the earth. Chase is convinced he’s the culprit. His rationale is, why would anyone else have such an obsession? My question to him was, “I don’t know; why are you obsessed with me?” He snickered and played it off, but, really, it’s a solid question.
Mind (Trinity Trilogy Book 2) Page 10