I want to move, but I can’t. I think I’m in shock. I have to see if Tim’s okay, but my legs won’t support me. I watch dumbly as Ben hurries toward his brother, flipping him over. Tim coughs and sputters, choking as his lungs fill with blood.
There’s nothing anyone can do. Lauren must have gotten off multiple shots into his chest. Even if we call for help, the paramedics will never get here in time. We all watch speechless, knowing that Tim is dying in his brother’s arms.
“Hang in there, buddy. Okay?” Ben encourages him, resting his head on his lap. “You gotta come see me play at Penn State next fall. You hear me? If it weren’t for you, I wouldn’t have had a chance at any of this. You were the one who always protected me from anyone who was out to get me. You were the best big brother a guy could have. You risked everything for me… Everything…”
The light in Tim’s eyes starts to fade as Will and Eric step forward. Within seconds, Tim’s frantic determination to breathe is replaced with that telltale expression of surrender. Ben starts to moan as Tim’s chest stops moving. He lowers his head onto his brother and utters a heartrending sob. Will bends down and places his arm around him, but he’s inconsolable, wailing in anguish.
I want to cry, too, but I can’t. I don’t feel a thing as I observe what’s unfolding right in front of me. I’m in some sort of trance, like if I let it in, it will consume me. I look blankly over at Lauren’s body, the bullet holes that tore through her ivory coat and straight through her heart. I don’t know who shot her, Eric or Ben, and I don’t want to know. I watch listlessly as Eric puts down Tim’s rifle, which he stored last night next to the door, never realizing he would have to use it this morning. I don’t know where Ben came from all of a sudden. Was he tailing them the whole way? Was Lauren going to kill us next? She finally snapped, but why did she have to take Tim with her? Things were finally starting to get back to normal between him and Eric, and now he’s gone. Gone forever. Just like Cassidy.
I rock up on my knees slowly, feeling numb. Eric’s there beside me before I can even stand up. I’m so dizzy as I cling to him for dear life, not wanting to let him go.
“Ivy, don’t move,” he whispers intently against my ear. “Wait here. I’m going to call an ambulance.”
“But it’s too late, Eric,” I argue, tightening my grip on him. “They’re already gone.”
“It’s not for them,” he says, gently, guiding me back onto the floor. “It’s for you.”
And that’s when I look down and see that I’m sitting in a puddle of my own blood. When I realize that it’s mine, my hands begin to shake before my whole body starts to tremble.
Oh God, the baby… Not the baby.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Eric
Somewhere in my consciousness, I perceive the cops going in and out of the hospital waiting room, but for the most part, I’m blind to their presence.
They’ve already questioned me about the incident, and I’ve told them everything I know. Things like double homicides just don’t happen around here. It’s too much to comprehend, and to think that it happened under my roof… I don’t ever want to step foot in that cabin again. Not after seeing the guy who was my best friend blown away before my eyes.
I have to focus on something else, anything else, because if I concentrate on everything that went down, I’ll lose it. Tim’s old hunting rifle jammed and I couldn’t even get off a shot. If Ben hadn’t appeared when he did, God knows what would’ve happened next. The last thing Lauren saw before she died was me pointing a gun at her, believing I was the one who shot her. And there’s poetic justice in that. Lauren always thought she’d win me over. Instead, she left this world thinking I was the one who took her out of it.
And if Ivy lives, I think I’ll be okay with that.
The chief of police already indicated to me that, pending a full investigation, they don’t plan on charging Ben with any crime. Off the record, they feel he acted in self-defense. But I think that’s the least of his worries right now. I’ve never seen someone so shaken. I’ve come to realize that, since he started working for me last summer, Ben’s become someone I can depend on—to take an extra shift, to watch over Ivy, to do whatever needed to be done. I don’t know if he’s going to bounce back from this, knowing that he took a life and he still couldn’t save his brother. Now he’s going to have to start his college career with everyone knowing about the events that transpired. That’s a lot to deal with for anyone, especially someone so young. He was so worried about people finding out he was gay, but this seems worse. It’s going to be a lot harder to handle. I’ll just have to keep an eye on him. It’s what Tim would’ve wanted me to do.
I can only hope that Conrad Price abides by the forensic evidence and doesn’t make things any tougher on Ben. It’s been rumored that Conrad was planning on leaving his business empire to Lauren after disowning Ryan, so I don’t know how far he plans on taking this. Now that Lauren’s gone, I just pray that he leaves Ben alone and lets the rest of us walk away in peace.
We’ve been through enough, and it’s still not over.
Dr. P.’s been in there with Ivy for nearly three hours, and I don’t know how much more I can take. I sag against the hard plastic chair as my dad taps my knee consolingly. I’m glad he’s here, along with my mom, because I don’t think I’d be able to get through this without them.
The good news is that Ivy wasn’t shot. I was terrified at first that one of the bullets went astray and hit her. But it was the trauma of everything going on around her that did her in. The placenta must have ruptured. The amount of bleeding this time was immense. There was no stopping it. She bled out all the way here, even losing consciousness before they were able to wheel her in.
This could be it. Lauren could very well have pulled it off. It would be the final act of her sick and twisted life if she succeeded in taking Ivy and the baby away from me. I can’t believe that fate would be that cruel. I just can’t.
“Honey child?” Wanda, Dr. P.’s nurse, pokes her head around the corner, still wearing her hairnet and scrubs. “Why don’t you come with me?”
I exchange an anxious look with my parents before getting unsteadily to my feet. This is it. They’re going to take me in a room and tell me she’s dead. The last time this happened, it was about Cassidy, only I wasn’t allowed back here for this part. Her parents told me afterward that she was gone. I didn’t get to hear it firsthand from the hospital staff. Her parents didn’t grant me the courtesy, since technically I wasn’t her husband yet.
But I’m surprised when Wanda stops and guides me into an adjacent hallway, away from all the noise and prying eyes.
“Now I need you to be strong for me, sugar,” Wanda pleads, gazing into my eyes. “Ivy’s not out of danger, not by a long shot. However, Dr. P. wants to try something, but he’s going to need permission from her next of kin in order to do it.”
And once again, that sinking sensation grips my stomach. It’s the same thing happening all over again. We’re not married. I’m not her next of kin. I can’t make the decision, even though her life is hanging in the balance.
“She mentioned to me once in passing about the strained relationship she has with her mama,” Wanda continues delicately. “But we’re going to need her to sign off on this, and we’re going to need you to help us get her consent.”
“What does Dr. P. want to do exactly?” I ask, going through all of the possible scenarios in my head.
“Ivy’s not at twenty-two weeks. She’s close, but she’s not there yet, and the chances of the baby surviving outside the womb aren’t very good if we can’t get her there,” Wanda explains as I try to absorb everything she’s saying. “But Dr. P. wants to do something that’s never been done before. He wants to go in and repair the placenta. Buy her the time she needs. It’s risky. It’s experimental. But he wants to try.”
“So the placenta…?” I ask, my voice unsteady.
“It’s hanging on by a thread,” Wanda says,
hushed. “Dr. P. doesn’t expect it to remain attached much longer. He doesn’t give it the rest of the night. So you understand how urgent the situation is. We need her mother’s approval as soon as possible. Dr. P. is going to prep her for surgery one way or the other and hope against hope that you’ll be able to pull off a miracle.”
“And if I don’t?” I question, dreading her answer.
“You’re going to lose the baby, Eric,” she responds, holding on to my arm. “Hospital policy dictates that Dr. P.’s priority is to save the life of the mother, even if it means sacrificing the child. But we both know what that will do to Ivy. That’s why we can’t let that happen, not as long as there’s still a chance. I don’t care if you bring her mother in drunk out of her mind. You bring her in.”
“I will. I promise,” I reply, grasping just how dire things are.
“I had my girls at the front desk call around, and they were able to pull an address and phone number from a chart that Ivy’s previous OB-GYN had on file,” Wanda relates, handing me a folded piece of paper. “It listed her emergency contact as a Ramona Thompson over in Monroe. They tried the number, but no one picked up. I can only hope she’s at home and just didn’t answer.”
“I’m on it!” I exclaim, shoving the paper in my pocket. “I’ll call you as soon as I know anything.”
“Even a verbal confirmation from her will let us get started!” Wanda calls out to me as I hustle down the corridor, and I raise my hand to acknowledge that I heard her.
Ivy’s mother better still be there.
She has to be.
***
My dad knew that I was in no condition to drive, so he volunteered to take me wherever I needed to go. After plugging the address into the GPS on his dash, we set off from the hospital on a last-ditch effort to save my unborn child.
I’m glad that Ivy’s sedated. If she knew that it all hinged on her mother, I think it would crush her spirit. She wouldn’t be able to rally, and she’s going to need her strength when Dr. P. operates on her later. I only hope it is to repair the placenta and not to remove the baby from her womb.
So I’m okay with plunging into the breach and taking on her mother. From everything Ivy’s told me about the woman, she sounds like a lousy human being. The minute Ivy turned eighteen, she left and never looked back. The neglect, the abuse—it was just too much to bear. Ivy didn’t have a happy childhood, and she’s still feeling the effects of it. It’s why she’s so determined to make something of herself. It’s why she’s willing to risk her life to bring our child into the world. All because she keeps comparing herself to a woman she’s nothing like.
I know this is a stumbling block for Ivy, like she has to constantly prove to herself that she’s not her mother. I wish she wouldn’t torture herself like this. She’s her own person. She hasn’t just broken the mold. She’s shattered it. She’s going to be such a great mom, if only she’d believe it. She’s so afraid that she’s going to turn into her mother. But she’s not. It just isn’t possible. She’s too good a person.
“Well, this is a part of Monroe I’ve never been to before,” my father mumbles as we pull into a development full of low-income housing.
I stare out the window at the lines of laundry strung about even though it’s December. The sides of the buildings are tagged with gang-related graffiti. There’s a refrigerator without a door standing in the middle of somebody’s yard. I can only hope it is trash day, because the dumpsters next to the curb are overflowing.
Even though the wind is biting, there are people sitting in lawn furniture outside, smoking or doing nothing but waiting around. We’re eyed with suspicion as we drive down the narrow road, leading through the complex. They know we don’t belong here, and they’re checking us out. A young kid talks into his cell phone as we pass, probably alerting someone up ahead that we might be cops.
We keep going until we reach the cul-de-sac at the end. My dad proceeds slowly, scoping out the situation before sliding into a parking space in front of unit five. There are two women on the third floor, leaning over the balcony railing, observing our every move. Their heads are covered with brightly colored scarves as they whisper back and forth to each other, watching us.
The situation screams danger. We could very well be ambushed or mugged if we climb those stairs. But Ivy’s mom lives on the top floor, so we have no choice. It’s now or never. I nod to my dad as we open our doors together and step out.
The minute we do, one of the women shouts down, “You lookin’ for some action, sweet thing?”
The other whistles as I shake my head.
“Well, maybe I wasn’t talking to you then. How about you, old man?” she persists, undeterred.
“Do you know Ramona?” I yell up, and they start whispering again.
“It’s gonna cost you,” she responds, tilting her head, sizing me up.
“Now why would we pay you when we already know where she lives?” I counter, narrowing my eyes.
“Yeah, but that doesn’t mean she’s going to open the door, now does it?” she sasses back.
“And how do I know she will for you?” I shrug, feeling her out.
“Because I’m her supplier, baby,” she smiles knowingly. “She always opens for me. She can’t help herself.”
I swallow, trying to ignore the bile rising in my throat. Ivy’s mom has advanced well beyond alcohol, it seems. I don’t even want to know what this woman is supplying her with, feeding her addictive tendencies.
“You front me fifty, and I promise”—she pauses, chuckling—“open sesame.”
I start climbing the stairs with my father right behind me. When we make it to the third-floor landing, I reach for my wallet, counting out two twenties and a ten—all the cash I have on me—and hand it over.
She snatches it away from me as her friend laughs.
“This way, fellas,” she drawls, beckoning us forward with her finger. “But you’d better stay back so she doesn’t see you. Let me do the talking.”
I exchange a tense look with my dad as she bangs on the door.
“Ramona, open the fuck up. I got this new shit you gotta try. It’s the bomb. And I’m even willing to let you have a taste out of the goodness of my heart for being such a loyal customer,” she says sarcastically at eye level with the peephole.
For a minute, nothing happens but the woman doesn’t move. She stays rooted in place, sure of her conquest. Her friend mutters some obscenities under her breath before strolling away, leaving the three of us. I glance around nervously, wondering if we’re being set up, when the door opens with the chain hanging across the top.
“Hand it over,” a gravelly voice commands from inside.
“Not ‘til you let me in,” the woman sneers, shoving her foot in the crack as Ramona tries to close it.
Knowing this is our one and only opportunity at this, I slam my shoulder like a linebacker against the door, breaking the chain as it flies open and I go hurtling into the smoke-filled room.
“Later, Ramona,” the woman says, waving from the doorway as my dad follows me in. “Don’t forget you owe me for the shit I gave you last week, and Boo Boo’s none too happy about it.”
“Get out!” Ramona screams, raging out at her.
“Well, you can always work off your debt if you want. You know Boo Boo’s always up for that,” she snickers.
Ramona rushes at my dad, trying to push him out.
“Yeah, you guys can deal with this crazy bitch on your own, I’m outta here,” the woman exclaims, but I barely hear her.
All I can see is the scraggly grey hair whipping around the back of Ramona’s head as she pummels my dad. He tries to restrain her, but she’s strong even with such an emaciated body. I still haven’t gotten a good look at her face as I gently put my hands on her shoulders in attempt to pry her off. She spins around, digging her nails into my forearms, fighting me off.
But I don’t resist even though the crazed eyes glaring at me in hatred are filled with a
wild sort of frenzy. They’re red-rimmed, bloodshot, and drowning in an immense ocean of sadness. But I’d recognize them anywhere.
Because they’re Ivy’s.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Ivy
I wake up groggy and disoriented.
I look up, thinking that the skylight is above my bed. But it’s not there. My heart starts to pound, and that’s when I hear the steady beeping of the monitor next to me. I move my arm and feel the tug of the IV line. Immediately, my hands fly to my stomach.
I’m still pregnant. The baby is still inside of me.
I exhale and lean back against the pillows. No matter what else happens, as long as the baby’s okay, I can deal with anything that comes my way. I don’t remember how I ended up back in the hospital, but I didn’t lose the baby. And for now, that’s all I care about.
The room is dark as I glance nervously around. The curtains are drawn, and the only light is coming from the machines beside my bed. It’s not until I detect a faint trace of snoring that I spy a shadowed form sitting in the corner.
Eric…
My mind is fuzzy as I try to remember how I got here. I attempt to sit up, but I feel so incredibly sore down there. And that’s all it takes for it all to come flooding back. The blood. The gunshots. Tim.
I stifle a gasp, but Eric hears it anyway, jerking awake.
“Ivy, don’t move,” he says, his voice hoarse. “Dr. P. said you have to keep still.”
Eric gets to his feet and drags his chair closer to the bed. I don’t know how long I’ve been out, but he looks terrible, like he hasn’t slept in days. Not heeding his command, I slide my hands out from beneath the covers and reach for him.
He takes my hands in his, leaning toward me as he gazes into my eyes. I reach for him, lowering my head because I feel like I’m going to start crying and never stop. I hold on to him even tighter. I’m so scared. Having him here is the only thing that’s getting me through this without collapsing into a fit of hysteria.
Hold Me Tight Page 17