by James, E L
“You’re leaving me?”
“No!”
“It’s for you. For your family. Please. Don’t.”
I told her I would always love her. At least I did that.
Please wake up, Ana.
Nagging me, deep down, is concern for the baby. Was Ana really ill, or did she make that up? This…stress, fuck. It can’t be good for him.
Junior. Is he okay?
Finally, we reach the ER, and I’m immediately sidelined as the paramedics swing into action.
Mom and Dad are there, waiting. They rush to the gurney carrying my sleeping or unconscious sister. Grace takes one look at Mia and tears spring to her eyes. She takes her hand. “I love you, baby,” she wails, as the paramedics whisk Mia toward the double doors where Dad can’t follow. He stands aside and watches as Mom follows them through into the ER triage.
A nurse and doctor take Ana’s gurney.
“Careful with my wife. She’s pregnant.” My voice is hoarse and hushed with worry.
“We’ll take good care of her,” the attending says. I release Ana’s hand, and they wheel her through after Mia.
Carrick joins me, ashen-faced, looking every inch his age.
We stare at each other. “Dad,” I whisper, my voice cracking.
“Oh, son.” Carrick opens his arms and for the first time in my life I step into them, and he holds me. I swallow my welling emotion and grip his jacket, beyond grateful for his quiet strength, his reassuring presence, his familiar scent, but most of all his love. “It’s going to be okay, son. They’re both going to be okay.”
“They’re going to be okay,” I repeat like a mantra, while my throat burns with my suppressed anguish. “They’re going to be okay.”
But he doesn’t know that for sure.
I just pray it’s true.
I pull back, suddenly conscious that we’re two grown men hugging at the entrance of the ER. Carrick smiles and squeezes my shoulder. “Let’s go to the waiting room. You can tell me what’s happened, and we can get you cleaned up.”
“Sure.” I nod and look down at my hands. Shit! They’re still stained with that cocksucker’s blood.
Ana is pale, except for the bruise on her cheek where the motherfucker must have hit her. Her eyes are closed as if she’s merely asleep, but she’s still unconscious. She looks heartbreakingly young and small. Numerous tubes wind into and out of her body. My heart clenches and twists in fear, but Dr. Bartley is calm as she looks down at my broken wife.
“Her ribs are bruised, Mr. Grey, and she has a hairline fracture to her skull, but her vital signs are stable and strong.”
“Why is she still unconscious?”
“Mrs. Grey has had a major contusion to her head. But her brain activity is normal, and she has no cerebral swelling. She’ll wake when she’s ready. Just give her some time.”
“And the baby?” I whisper.
“The baby’s fine, Mr. Grey.”
“Oh, thank God.” Relief crashes through me like a cyclone.
Thank God.
“Mr. Grey. Do you have any further questions?”
“Can she hear me?”
Dr. Bartley’s smile is benign. “Who knows? If she can, I’m sure she’d love to hear your voice.”
I’m not so sure. She’ll be mad. I thought she was leaving me.
“My colleague Dr. Singh will look in on your wife later.”
“Thank you,” I mutter, and she leaves.
Pulling up a chair I sit down beside Ana. Tenderly I take her hand, glad to find it’s warm. I squeeze it gently, hoping to rouse her. “Wake up, baby, please,” I whisper. “Be mad at me, but be awake, please.” Leaning forward, I brush my lips against her knuckles. “I’m sorry. Sorry for everything. Please wake up.”
Please. I love you.
I cup her hand in both of mine and press my forehead to my fingers and pray.
Please, God. Please. Bring my wife back to me.
Ana sleeps, her room shrouded in darkness, save for the pool of light from her bedside lamp and the faint illumination from beneath the door. Using my jacket as a blanket, I doze in my chair, fighting sleep. I want to be awake when she comes back to me.
The door opens, rousing me, and Grace enters. “Hello, darling,” she whispers, her face pale—devoid of makeup. She looks as tired and drained as I feel.
“Mom.” I’m too weary to stand.
“I’m just checking in, as I’m leaving to get some sleep. Carrick is here to watch over Mia.”
“How is she?”
“She’s okay. Angry. Still suffering from the effects of the drugs. Trying to sleep. Ana?”
“No change.”
Grace picks up Ana’s medical chart from the end of her bed and scans the notes. Her eyes widen and she gasps. “She’s pregnant!”
I nod, too shattered and anxious to do anything else.
“Oh, Christian, that’s wonderful news. Congratulations.” She steps forward and grasps my shoulder.
“Thanks, Mom. It’s early days.” I think.
“I understand. Couples usually announce at twelve weeks. Darling, you’re exhausted. Go home and sleep.”
I shake my head. “I’ll sleep when Ana wakes.”
She presses her lips together but doesn’t comment, and bending down she kisses my head. “She’ll wake, Christian. Just give her a little time. Try and get some sleep.”
“Bye, Mom.”
She ruffles my hair. “I’ll see you in the morning.” She exits as quietly as she arrived, leaving me more bereft than ever.
Just to torture myself, and also to stay awake, I replay my misdemeanors of the last couple of days.
I’ve been an asshole.
About the baby.
Seeing Elena.
Not apologizing.
And to cap it all, I believed Ana…believed her when she said she was leaving me.
My eyes droop, and my head drops forward, jolting me awake.
Fuck.
I gaze at my wife, willing her to open her eyes.
Ana. Please. Come back to me. “And then I can apologize. Properly. Please, baby.” Taking her hand, I bring it to my lips once more and kiss each knuckle. “I miss you.”
Leaning back, I close my eyes, just for a second.
Friday, September 16, 2011
I wake a moment later. Shit. How long have I slept? I check my watch—nearly three hours. Glancing over at my wife, I see she’s still slumbering peacefully.
Except she’s not asleep. She’s unconscious.
“Come back to me, baby,” I whisper.
“Christian.”
“Dad! You startled me.”
“Sorry.” Carrick emerges from the shadows.
“How long have you been standing there?”
“Not long. I didn’t want to wake you. The nurse was just here checking Ana’s vitals. It’s all good.” He stares down at my wife. “Grace tells me she’s carrying my grandchild.” His eyes shine in reverence as he gazes at Ana.
“Yes. She is.”
“Congratulations, son.”
I give him a bleak smile. “She put the child and herself at risk.” I shiver, and don’t know if it’s because the night air is cooler or because Ana could so easily be dead.
Carrick presses his lips together, his expression grave, then turns his attention to me. “You’re exhausted. You should go home and rest.”
“I’m not leaving her.”
“Christian, you should sleep.”
“No, Dad. I want to be here when she wakes up.”
“I’ll sit with her. It’s the least I can do after she saved my daughter.”
“How’s Mia?”
“She’s asleep. She was groggy, scared, and angry. It’ll be a few hours before the Rohyp
nol is completely out of her system.”
“Christ.” Hyde is a sick, twisted, cocksucking son of a bitch.
“I know. I’m feeling seven kinds of foolish for relenting on her security. You warned me, but Mia is so stubborn. If it wasn’t for Ana here…”
“We all thought Hyde was out of the picture. And my crazy, stupid wife—why didn’t she tell me?” My unshed tears scald my throat.
“Christian, calm down,” he says, gently moving toward me. “Ana’s a remarkable young woman. She was incredibly brave.”
“Brave and headstrong and stubborn and stupid.” My voice breaks on the last word as I fight to contain my emotion.
But what would have happened to Mia, if not for Ana?
This is so confusing. I place my head in my hands, conflicted.
“Hey.” Dad rests his hand on my shoulder. I welcome his comforting touch. “Don’t be so hard on her, or yourself, son. I’d better get back to your mom. It’s after three in the morning, Christian. You really should try to sleep.”
“I thought Mom went home.”
Carrick blows out a breath in frustration. “She couldn’t leave Mia. She’s stubborn, like you. Congratulations again on the baby. That’s some good news, in all this mess.”
I feel the blood drain from my head—I’ll never be as good a father as Carrick.
“Hey,” he says gently. “You’ve got this.”
And because I’m weary and despondent, I’m annoyed that he’s diagnosed my anxiety so precisely.
Perceptive, Dad.
“You’ll make a great father, Christian. Stop worrying. You have several months to get used to the idea.” He pats my shoulder again. “I’ll be back later this morning.”
“Good night, Dad.” I watch him quietly close the door.
A great father, eh?
I put my head in my hands.
Right now, I just want my wife back. I don’t want to think about the baby.
I stand and stretch. It’s late. I’m stiff and sore and heartsick with worry.
Why won’t she wake up? Bending, I kiss her cheek. Her skin is soft and reassuringly warm against my lips.
“Wake up, baby,” I whisper. “I need you.”
“Good morning, Mr. Grey.”
What? Again I’m startled from my doze as the nurse opens the curtains, letting the golden fall light invade the room. It’s the older nurse—I can’t remember her name. “I’m going to check your wife’s IV fluids.”
“Sure,” I mumble. “Do I need to leave?”
“It’s up to you.”
“I’ll stretch my legs.” Feeling like shit, I get up, and with a last glance at my wife, I stagger out into the corridor. Maybe I can find some coffee.
Taylor arrives around 8:30 with my phone charger and some breakfast (courtesy of Mrs. Jones). I wonder if it’s a peace offering from her. One peek into the brown paper bag confirms that it is: two ham-and-cheese croissants. They smell divine. And I have a thermos of proper coffee. “Please thank Gail for me.”
“Will do. How is Mrs. Grey?” He looks toward Ana, his concern obvious in the tight line of his jaw.
“All signs are good. We’re just waiting for her to wake up. I can’t believe we spent last weekend at OHSU, and this weekend we’re at Northwest.”
Taylor nods sympathetically.
“You may as well stay and update me here. I don’t want to leave her side.” I offer him the seat beside me. While I eat my breakfast, he recounts all that happened after the ambulances left the crime scene.
“…and the police have recovered Mrs. Grey’s cell phone.”
“Oh.”
“She placed it in one of the duffel bags with the cash.”
“Really?” I glance at my sleeping wife. That’s genius. “We were following the money?”
“Indeed,” Taylor responds, and it’s obvious he’s impressed with Ana’s ingenuity. “The police have the cash.”
It’s the first time I’ve thought about the five million dollars.
“Will we get it back?”
“Eventually, sir.”
I roll my eyes. It’s the least of my problems. “I’ll get Welch onto the police and let him liaise with them for the return of the money.”
“Hyde is here, being patched up. He’s under police guard,” Taylor says.
“I wish she’d finished him off.”
Taylor holds his counsel, and I remember him wrestling me off Hyde while I was beating that fucker to a pulp. I can’t decide if Taylor’s actions were a good thing or not.
Hell. If he hadn’t, I’d be in a police cell now.
“Detective Clark would like a word with you at some point.” Taylor wisely changes the subject as I take a bite of the second croissant.
“Now is not the time.”
“Ryan has collected Mrs. Grey’s car. Apart from a parking ticket, it’s all good.” His smile is wry. “Sawyer’s mad he let her get away.”
“I’m sure.”
“There are photographers camped outside the hospital.”
Hell.
My phone buzzes. It’s Ray. Shit.
“Ray. Good morning.”
“I need to see Annie.”
Ray has heard about Ana’s heroics, courtesy of the media, and now insists on seeing her. As he’s the only man in the world who intimidates me, I cannot say no.
I dispatch Taylor, and thirty minutes later Ray’s sitting at the end of her bed in his wheelchair.
“Annie,” he whispers as I wheel him in closer to her bed. “What was she thinking?” he says, his voice hoarse. He’s shaved and is wearing loose shorts and a shirt, so in spite of the broken leg and bruising, he looks more like himself.
“I don’t know, Ray. We’ll have to wait for her to wake up before we can ask her.”
“If you don’t take her across your knee, I sure as hell will. What the hell was she thinking?” He’s more adamant this time.
“Trust me, Ray, I just might do that.” If she’ll let me. I clutch her hand while Ray shakes his head.
“She shot him, you know.”
His mouth drops open. “The kidnapper?”
“Yes.”
“Well, I’ll be damned.”
“Thanks for teaching her how to use a gun. Maybe you can teach me to shoot one day.”
“Christian, I’d be honored.” We both gaze at my headstrong, reckless, brave wife. Each of us nursing our own fearful thoughts while Ana remains unconscious.
“Let me know when she wakes up.”
“Will do, Ray.”
“I’ll call Carla,” he mutters.
“I’d appreciate it. Thanks.”
He kisses Ana’s hand, his eyes glistening with tears, and I have to look away.
When he leaves, I call the office, then Welch, who is in Detroit, following a lead on Hyde. He can’t believe Hyde found someone to post bail. Finding out who and why they did is next on his agenda. He’s going to call his contact at the Seattle Police Department to ascertain what they know.
I pace back and forth in front of the window to shake off my fatigue as I talk on the phone and watch my wife. She sleeps through my calls, she sleeps through the frequent arrival of flowers from our family and friends—so by mid-afternoon her room resembles a florist’s, and she sleeps through their calls inquiring about her well-being.
Everyone loves Ana.
What’s not to love? I brush her soft, translucent cheek with my knuckles, fighting the urge to cry. “Baby, wake up. Please. Wake up and be mad at me again. Anything. Hate me…whatever. Just wake up. Please.”
I sit beside her and wait.
Kate barges into the room without knocking.
“Kate. Hi.”
She nods a greeting and strides straight to Ana’s bed and takes h
er hand. “How is she?”
I’m too tired for this. “Unconscious.”
“Ana! Ana! Wake up,” Kate barks.
For fuck’s sake. The tenacious Ms. Kavanagh is here. “I’ve tried, Kate. I’ve been assured that she’ll wake in her own time.”
Kate presses her lips together. “She doesn’t have the sense that she was born with.”
I can’t argue with that.
She turns to me. “How are you holding up?”
Her inquiry into my well-being is a surprise. “I’m fine. Anxious. Tired.”
She nods. “You look it. You two make up?”
I sigh. “Not exactly. When she wakes…” I trail off.
Weirdly, Kate seems to accept this, and doesn’t give me a hard time. “So, what happened? How did she end up here?” She folds her arms, and because it looks like I won’t get rid of her any other way, I give her the executive summary of Hyde’s kidnapping of my sister and Ana’s heroic but utterly foolhardy rescue.
“Shit!” Kate says when I finish. “What the hell was she thinking? She’s supposed to be the smart one.”
“Yeah.”
“You know, Christian—she loves you very much.”
“I know. She wouldn’t be here like this if she didn’t.” I clench my jaw in self-loathing for doubting her.
“Tell her I was here.”
“I will.”
“Hope you get some sleep.” She gives Ana a last glance and squeeze of her hand, and then she’s gone.
Thank God.
A knock on the door wakes me, and Detective Clark appears. He’s the last person I want to see. I don’t want to share my wife with anyone, not when she’s like this.
“Sorry to disturb you. I was hoping there might be a chance to talk to Mrs. Grey.”
“Detective, as you can see, my wife is in no state to answer any of your questions.” I stand to greet him, feeling like shit. I just want this man to go.
Fortunately, his visit is brief but informative. He tells me that Elizabeth Morgan is cooperating fully with the police. It seems Hyde had compromising videos of her, so he was able to coerce her into helping him. It was Morgan who lured Mia out at the gym.
“Hyde’s a twisted son of a bitch,” mutters Clark. “He has a serious grudge against your father, and you.”