by Kelsie Rae
“Okay.” The metal from his stethoscope is cold as it presses against my upper chest. Inhale. Hold it for a couple of seconds. Exhale. I continue the pattern while he moves the circular piece of metal from my front to my back.
As if I’m a riddle he can’t quite figure out, he warily presses the call button on the wall.
“Is everything okay?” I ask, but he doesn’t answer me.
Tracey’s head pops through the doorway. “Hey! What do you need?”
“Are the results from Marcy’s urine test from today in her chart?” Ben demands.
Cocking her head to the side, she thinks for a second before nodding. “Yeah. I just put them in.”
“Okay, thanks,” Ben replies coolly.
“Anything else?”
He shakes his head. “No. Thanks, Trace.”
“Yup.”
Then she disappears and leaves us alone again.
His forehead is wrinkled as he scrolls through the electronic record and studies whatever’s on the screen.
“Is something wrong with my pee?” I ask.
“No. Your protein levels are a little elevated. We’ll just need to keep an eye on it.”
“Okay.”
“I think we should draw some blood to check on a few things,” he decides.
“Ben, I hate needles and would prefer to keep them away from my body for as long as possible. Please? I promise I’m fine. I just have a headache, and I’m pretty sure that’s normal when you’re pregnant and are running on no sleep.”
“Have you not been sleeping well?”
“Oh, so you haven’t felt me tossing and turning all night?” I quip, my voice laced with sarcasm.
“Good point. Still, I think––”
“I’m fine, Ben. Seriously. I shouldn’t have brought it up, especially if I knew you were going to make me get my blood drawn. And now that I think about it, I’ve also been staring at a computer screen all day because I’ve been editing the pictures from our trip. That usually brings on a headache if I do it for too long.”
Hesitating, he checks my records another time, then turns to me. “Have you had any pain in your side? Any vomiting?”
“Nope.”
“Peeing less than normal?”
I laugh. “What’s a normal amount?”
“Marce,” he groans. “You know what I mean. Just answer the question.”
“I haven’t noticed any difference with my peeing amount, which is something I never thought I’d have to say out loud, by the way. I’ll go home. Take some Tylenol. Take a nap. And I’m sure I’ll feel much better. Would that make you happy?”
His arms are crossed over his chest as he releases a wary sigh. There’s a moment of hesitation before he comes over and brushes a kiss against my forehead. “Keep your phone by you. If it gets worse or you have any of the symptoms I just asked you about, I need you to call me immediately. Understand?”
“Yes, Dr. Bennett. I’ll call you if there are any changes.”
“Promise?”
“Cross my heart.”
Eyes narrowing, he mutters, “Go get some rest. I’ll pick up take out on the way home.”
Home. My face stretches into a shameless grin.
“Okay. Love you.”
“Love you too, Marce.”
I don’t feel better. I feel pretty crappy, actually. My back is aching. My neck is tight. And I feel like an elephant is sitting on my head. Stomach rumbling like a bottle of soda that’s been shaken for ten minutes, I shove a pillow under it and release a slow breath.
I feel like I’m going to be sick.
The front door opens, and I roll onto my side on the couch in the front room of his house. I’ve been staying here pretty regularly and have only gone home to grab a change of clothes or to edit pictures. And even editing has become a rare event on my desktop. I’ve been using my laptop at his house instead.
After my appointment, I followed my doctor’s orders and went home, popped a couple of Tylenol, then fell asleep on the couch while watching The Office reruns on Netflix. But now that I’m awake again, I can tell that this isn’t my average editing and lack-of-sleep headache. This is so much worse. Still, if I could prevent a needle from being jabbed into my arm today, I’ll take it as a win.
“Hey,” I greet Ben, forcing a smile while I watch him unzip his jacket.
He freezes at the entrance and studies me carefully. I’m sure I look like a mess as I try to push myself into a sitting position, but I don’t want him to worry. The jabbing at the base of my skull makes me squeeze my eyes shut. I take a deep breath and wait for the pain to subside, but it feels like it isn’t going anywhere.
“How are you feeling, Marce?” his deep voice rumbles. I squint my eyes open and look over at him. There’s something in his gaze that ratchets up my pulse. It’s fear.
“Not so hot,” I admit. The room is so quiet you could literally hear a pin drop.
His jaw tightens, but he doesn’t move a muscle as he accuses, “Why didn’t you call me?”
“I just woke up.”
“Can you get in the car?” His voice is monotone. Numb. It’s not even his doctor voice. It’s more detached and robotic. As if my Ben has disappeared.
“Umm…yeah.” Wincing, I push myself up and walk toward the door while cradling my stomach with my arms.
I am seriously going to hurl.
He watches me carefully, but looks lost in his own thoughts. Or maybe it’s his past that’s holding him hostage. Regardless, I am officially freaking out right now.
“Ben?” I murmur once I’ve reached him.
The paper bag slips from his grasp and hits the floor at our feet.
“Let’s get you in the car.”
“Ben?” I repeat.
Pressing his warm hand to my back, he ushers me outside and opens the passenger door. The strap from the seat belt is tight across my chest as he buckles me in like I’m a toddler. I stay motionless as the ghosts from his past rise to the surface like smoke I can’t disperse.
Once we’re in the car, he calls the hospital through the Bluetooth speaker and says a bunch of medical terms that I don’t really understand. My leg bounces up and down in the passenger seat as his grip tightens around the steering wheel, and he disconnects the call.
I am totally freaking out right now.
“Ben?” I whisper through the silent cab.
His jaw clenches, but he doesn’t answer me.
“Ben,” I repeat for what feels like the thousandth time. “Ben, you’re scaring me.”
He glances over at me with red-rimmed eyes, then reaches over and clutches my hand, entwining our fingers. The death grip doesn’t hurt, but it’s laced with a desperation that is crippling. Still, he doesn’t say a word. Instead of prodding him any further, I squeeze his hand in return, then look out the windshield.
The sky is getting darker, blanketing the town in darkness as the buildings blur past us. Checking the speedometer, I realize we’re going twenty miles per hour over the speed limit.
And Ben never speeds.
Hunching in my seat, I breathe through a Braxton Hicks contraction as a sharp pain shoots from the right side of my stomach. His grip tightens around my hand, and I catch him watching me carefully.
“Ouch,” I mutter as the pain slowly subsides a minute later.
Blue lights glare behind us, but Ben doesn’t slow down. He keeps his frantic pace toward the hospital before pulling into the emergency entrance. Letting go of me, Ben rounds the front of the car and rips the door open. I take his hand again, and he helps me out of the passenger seat as the police officer approaches us.
“Not now, Grant,” Ben growls. “You can write me a fucking ticket later.”
Officer Grant Malone raises his hands in surrender. “How can I help?”
“You can’t,” Ben chokes out. His Adam’s apple bobs up and down as he swallows and turns to me. “Come on, Marce. Let’s get you checked in.”
He guides me i
nside while I look over my shoulder at Grant, Grady’s brother. Gripping the back of his neck, he watches us disappear through the sliding glass doors, looking helpless.
My heels dig into the ground as another wave of dizziness takes over, and I stumble toward the closest garbage can, puking my guts out until I’m positive I’m going to faint. Ben’s firm grip is the only thing that holds me up as I spill what little I’d eaten today while praying this feeling will go away. Once I’m finished, Ben wipes his calloused palm against my forehead, brushing away a few strands of hair that are sticking to my clammy skin. Then a wheelchair is next to me, and he rushes me down the hall to one of the rooms.
His voice fades in and out as he orders a nurse to bring him something, although I don’t register what it is. Seconds later, my arm is pricked with a damn needle.
I flinch. “Ouch. What the hell was that for?”
“It’s a steroid shot to help Little Miss’s lungs,” Ben explains.
“But…why?”
“Because you’re going to have a baby.”
“I’m not ready,” I argue. “Sway and Anthony want to be here. I’m only thirty-five weeks. Ben––”
“I don’t give a shit what they want right now. We’re getting this baby out of you.”
“What? Ben––”
“Not now.”
“Ben.” I scramble for his hand, then push it against my face. “Look at me, Ben.” He squeezes his eyes shut. “Look at me,” I demand.
Slowly, his gaze connects with mine.
“I can tell that you’re scared right now. I’m scared too. But I need you, okay? I can’t have you disappear because you’re terrified of whatever’s going on.”
He sighs as his eyes fill with shame. “I’m not going anywhere, Marce.”
“Your body might not, but the real you disappeared as soon as you saw me on our couch, and I have no idea why.”
His entire body sags as he continues to stare at me like I’m a ghost.
“Stay with me,” I beg.
“I’m not…I’m not going anywhere, Marce,” he chokes out, running his thumb against my cheek. “I just…I can’t lose you too.”
My eyes well with tears as I register his words and lean into his touch. “Lose me?”
Chin dropping to his chest, he explains, “You have preeclampsia, Marce. It’s extremely dangerous for you and the baby. It can cause liver failure as well as a lot of other shitty side effects, which are what you’ve been experiencing for the past few hours.”
“I-it can happen that fast?”
“Yeah. It can happen that fast.” His hands are shaking as a nurse comes into the room with an IV bag and other supplies.
“Excuse me, Dr. Bennett––”
“Give it to me,” he orders.
Flinching at his brash demand, she hands it over to him. He rips open a package, and before I realize what’s happening, he’s inserting a needle into my arm. I cringe when it pierces my skin.
“Sorry, babe. You’re about to get a crash course in needles.”
My expression sours. “Lovely.”
“This is magnesium sulfate. I’m not going to sugarcoat it, babe. It’s going to make you feel miserable––”
“What kind of miserable?”
“Like you’re burning up. Even your tears will feel hot.”
“That sounds promising,” I quip sarcastically.
With a ghost of a smile, he presses his lips to my forehead and murmurs, “I love you, Marce. Just…stay strong, okay?”
I nod while squeezing my eyes shut as that same annoying dizziness rises to the surface. “Yup. Piece of cake.”
This doesn’t feel like a piece of cake.
29
Ben
“She’s going to be fine,” Tracey tells me. Janet, the nurse who’s been assigned to help Marcy, called her as soon as I lost my shit with the IV. Tracey drove here as fast as she could and has been given the shitty task of helping me keep my head on straight.
Good luck with that, Trace.
“Preeclampsia sucks, but you can handle this, Ben. She’s not the first patient you’ve dealt with that’s developed it, and they’ve all been fine as soon as they delivered. You know what you’re doing.”
“None of them were Marcy,” I admit with my head in my hands outside of Marcy’s hospital room.
I know I’m supposed to be strong for her. I know that I look like a green doctor who’s facing a patient with a terminal illness when it’s definitely a treatable diagnosis. But I can’t help it.
I can’t lose her too.
Not after the shitstorm I’ve been through since Kate died.
I can’t.
“Marcy’s strong. She’s going to be fine. And as soon as the anesthesiologist finishes with this epidural, we’ll get her in for an emergency c-section, and she’ll be able to start recovering. It’s going to be okay.”
“What if it isn’t? You know how quickly this can turn bad. How many complications we might face in that surgery. I’m not sure I’ll be able to think clearly in there. That I’ll be able to make the right decisions to save her.”
“You’re the best OB/GYN in the state, and Dr. Delancy will be assisting. This isn’t about your skills or your instincts. This is about your past and your fear of losing someone you love. But you’re her best shot, so you need to face this head-on and get your head straight. Understand?”
I force myself to nod as Tracey’s gaze catches on something behind me.
“Good. Because the anesthesiologist is walking toward us right now. It’s showtime.”
30
Marcy
Pressure. And tugging. Honestly, it’s a weird combination to know your stomach is being sliced open, yet you can’t feel a thing.
Just more pressure.
And more tugging.
A heart rate monitor continues to beat in a steady rhythm, and I try to focus on the sound instead of the wet slurping that makes me want to cringe.
There’s a light blue screen preventing me from seeing what Ben is doing to me right now, but every once in a while, I hear his deep voice rumble, “Hey, Marce? Are you doing okay?”
I swallow. “Yeah. I’m okay. Is everything good over there?”
“So far, so good.”
“Okay.”
The lights are bright, and I close my eyes to block it out as the minutes tick by.
“You ready, Marcy?” Ben calls, though I have no idea how much time has passed.
“Uh…yes?” A nervous laugh slips out of me as I stare at the blue screen, wishing I could see what’s happening on the other side.
Or maybe I don’t want to know.
More pressure.
More tugging.
And then a baby’s cry echoes through the room. A new energy consumes the space as nurses rush around me to take care of Anthony and Sway’s baby, who wasn’t supposed to arrive for at least another two weeks.
“Is she okay?” My voice cracks as my desperation takes over.
“She’s going to be fine,” Tracey tells me, peeking around the screen. “We were mainly worried about her lungs––if they’ve had enough time to develop––but that cry tells us everything we need to know. The NICU nurses are going to take her while we get you taken care of, then we’ll see what we can do about letting you meet her, okay?”
I nod and try to blink back my tears, but it’s no use. They slip down my temple and into my hair as I lie strapped down on the surgical table.
“H-hey Ben?” I whimper.
“Yeah, baby?” He sounds distracted, although I guess that makes sense. He’s a little busy stitching me back up.
“You okay over there?”
Forcing out a laugh, he replies, “Just focused on taking care of you.”
The dizziness I’ve slowly become accustomed to threatens to take over, so I close my eyes again. “Okay. Just checking.”
“You look good in your scrubs,” I note when Ben wakes me up with a kiss to my forehead.
“Thanks. How are you feeling?”
I shrug. “Okay.”
“You sure?”
“Still dizzy,” I admit. “Super dizzy. And hot. But that’s normal, right? Or did I imagine you telling me those symptoms?”
“It’s from the mag sulfate. So, yeah, it’s normal. Sorry, babe. But we’re doing a few tests to make sure you’re stable. The effects of preeclampsia can be rough, and now we have to wait for them to clear up.”
“How’s the baby?”
“She’s good, babe. You did good.” Running his hand over my hairline, he watches me carefully. “You scared me today.”
“You scared me too.”
He hangs his head as a sigh escapes his lips. Blinking slowly, Ben presses his lips to my forehead before murmuring against my skin, “I’m sorry, Marce. The idea of losing you….”
“I’m not going anywhere, Ben.”
“You can’t promise me that. No one can.”
“You’re right, but I’m here, Ben. And I’ll always do everything in my power to stay here. Where I belong.”
“And I’ll always do everything in my power to keep you here,” he promises. “You should rest. You’re tired.”
“I’m exhausted,” I confirm. “Are Anthony and Sway here yet?”
“They got here an hour ago and are waiting to see you. They told me to let them know when they could introduce you to their baby girl. Are you ready?”
My IV gets caught on something as I try to push myself up on the hospital bed. I wince and stop fumbling.
“Shit, you okay?” He helps me get a little more comfortable by fluffing a pillow and putting it behind my back. My abs are useless and make something as simple as sitting up on my own feel like I’m running a freaking marathon.
“Thanks,” I breathe out before dropping my head onto the pillow behind me. “And yes, I’m ready.”
“You sure?”
“Positive. Besides, I wanna meet Little Miss.”
“Okay. They’re monitoring her in the NICU for now, so we’ll have to FaceTime them, but you can’t chat for long. You need your rest.” He gives me a pointed look.