by Jay Hogan
I’d almost convinced myself, even imagined improvement in the tiny spiking heartbeat my eyes were glued to, but it was all delusion and heart-breaking wishful thinking. At 11:05 p.m., the lead clinician called time-of-death, and everyone stepped away from that beautiful miracle, that tiny scrap of humanity that never even got a bloody chance. Stepped away from Hannah. And when they did, the air in my lungs whooshed out against the heart caught in my throat, and I couldn’t fucking breathe.
The ER resuscitation room fell into a silence weighed heavy with loss and frustration, and for a few seconds, no one in it moved. Then hands dragged over chins and down faces, eyes closed, and heads shook as shoulders fell and sorrow filled the void between bodies. Then, with leaden feet, people began to disconnect equipment, tidy, and clear away the evidence of the tragedy.
I couldn’t look. I couldn’t watch that whisper of a body be wrapped and placed gently aside, however reverently. I knew Hannah. I’d listened to her heartbeat for seven months as she’d matured. I’d measured her growth, felt those kicks and turns, soothed her mother’s worry, placed her brothers’ hands atop their mother’s belly and spoken of their sister’s coming.
I knew this child, not as well as her mother, but I knew her nonetheless, and the loss ground at my heart. Prim had entrusted me with her baby. Her husband had relied on me to be there for him, for his wife. He’d had faith in me to keep them safe, to do my job, and I’d let them down, all of them. And right now, I wasn’t at all sure how I was going to survive it.
“No.” It came out barely a whisper, but every head in the room turned toward me, and the nurse who’d sat me down walked over and put an arm around my shoulder.
“I’m so sorry, Drake,” she said sadly. “She was just too far gone.”
No, no, no. My head fell into my hands, the weight of grief and guilt suffocating.
Caleb
“GO AHEAD, he’s in the break room.” The nurse nodded her blonde curls toward the end of the hall, the armful of paperwork she carried threatening to slide sideways to the floor. I started to move but she stuck out an elbow and caught my hip, the concern in her eyes palpable. “He’s taking it hard,” she said. “He’s gonna need some support. It was pretty rough.”
I swallowed hard. “Thanks.” She let me go, and I fair ran down the hall. Outside the closed door of the break room, I paused and tried to get my freak under control. After I’d dropped Drake at his and seen him drive off, there was no way I was heading home. I’d watched him pull away from me the closer we’d gotten to his home, and put it down to him getting into professional mode. I knew the feeling. I understood. Temporarily shutting the rest of your life down was the only way to stay focussed in a crisis, to do what you needed to do.
But I hadn’t counted on that sudden overwhelming wave of protective instinct that surged through me, that urgent need to keep him safe, to take his stress and soothe it away, to give him something to come home to, a soft place to fall if things went tits-up. The urge to shield another man was brand-new territory, and though I tried to laugh it off, I couldn’t. Nothing other than seeing Drake’s face and being sure he was safe at the end of whatever was happening was gonna cut it.
In the end it was an easy decision. There was only one hospital in Whangarei, and I’d parked myself in its ER waiting room, flashed my badge at the woman behind the counter, and informed her I wasn’t moving till I saw Drake Park. And finally here I was, scared silly at whatever was gonna greet me through that door.
The nurse hadn’t needed to warn me. Everything about the man Drake was spoke to his being devastated by something like this. He loved his job, loved his clients, talked of them as family. It was more than a working relationship.
I breathed deep, pushed the door open, stepped inside the break room, and… holy crap. Drake looked… devastated. A crushing band of protective need tugged at my chest, tears formed in my eyes, and how I kept the silent gasp of shock from my lips I have no fucking idea.
He sat hunched over, elbows on his knees, hands clenched together, head hanging down, his delivery bag on the floor at his feet, stuff spewing out of it. Blood and God knows what else soaked every inch of his white button-down and khaki jeans, not to mention the exposed skin of his neck, and even into his hair. By contrast his hands looked rough and inflamed and ridiculously clean, as if he’d been scrubbing them. He was a mess in every goddamn sense of the word. But the worst of it was this pervading sense of incensed despair that radiated off him like bad aftershave. It screamed at me to keep the hell away.
He looked up, shock and grief registering on his face seconds before he shuttered them down. Fuck. Not the best start.
“What are you doing here?”
Right. I’d been warned. The hedgehog armour was out in force.
I didn’t answer immediately, taking a moment to drink him in. I’d been so fucking worried for him, about him. His eyes were hard, red-rimmed, flinty. His body was tense and drawn in upon itself, nothing about it welcoming. On the table in front of him sat the remains of some kind of cafeteria dinner, nothing remotely like his usual diet fare. I walked over and lifted the plate to my nose, Mexican. Fuck. What was he thinking? He wasn’t.
His gaze narrowed as if daring me to challenge him. Like hell. I wasn’t stupid.
“Sorry.” He didn’t sound it. “I’m not good company. You should go home. I’ll call you.” Flat, direct, dismissive.
Well, fuck that.
“Yeah, about that.” I sat myself down in the chair alongside and pulled him in for a hug. He fought it, went stiff in my arms, and pulled back, but I wasn’t going anywhere. I had more than a few centimetres on him and even more muscle, and I used it. If he thought he was getting rid of me, he had another thing coming, but he gave it his best, pushing against me.
“Stop it,” I snapped softly. He went still, but his frame remained tense and unyielding.
“Caleb, let me go,” he warned. “I know you mean well, but I need some time… alone… to think. I can’t do this right now… I can’t….”
The rest was lost in a choked groan as his head burrowed into my neck and his shoulders began to shake. I pulled him close and his hands slowly snaked around my waist as he went soft in my arms. Yeah, give it up. He smelled of blood and shit and urine and fear.
“There, baby, that’s right. I’ve got you, sweetheart.” I pressed soft kisses into his hair, running my hands up and down his trembling back as he unloaded a mountain of soft sobs against my chest.
“I should’ve gone there today,” he finally stammered out the words. “She rang when Dad was in my office, did I tell you?”
“No.” I pressed more kisses to his neck and shoulder, keeping him tight against me.
“She said she was fine, but I felt it, you know? The need to check on her, and I didn’t fucking listen to it. I wanted you to meet my family, so I put it off till tomorrow. I should’ve gone. I should’ve fucking gone.”
“You couldn’t know,” I tried to reassure him. “The nurse told me there was nothing you could’ve done. That it was a miracle you got her out and alive to start with.”
“But if I’d visited earlier, I might have picked it up, got her in for a scan or something, before it got that far.”
“Shhh.” I leaned back and cupped his chin, forcing him to look up at me. “You did everything you could. You’re a great midwife, Drake. Don’t do this to yourself. Come on. You’re exhausted. You can dissect everything tomorrow. Let’s go home.”
“But Prim—?”
“The nurse said she’s still in recovery. So far, so good. Her sister’s with her. She’s in good hands, Drake. You can deal with that tomorrow. Right now, I’m taking you home.”
“But―”
I kissed his lips to shut him up. “No buts. Your dad said he’ll pick up your car from Prim’s and drop it by your house tomorrow morning.”
“But my clients—”
“Get one of the other midwives to cover you. You’re in no state
to look after anyone else tonight or for a few days, probably. I’m not arguing with you.”
He glared at me for a second, then sighed and pulled out his phone.
Dana of course agreed to cover him without a second thought. In fact it was all Drake could do to keep her from driving straight to his place for a debrief and support.
Before he could come up with any further arguments, I bundled him into my car and took him back to his townhouse, but by the time I got him inside, the Drake I’d met in the hospital had disappeared. Gone was the truculent, spiky, self-defensive but shocked professional, and in his place an infinitely more worrying, defeated, compliant, ash-grey shadow of the same man.
I pushed him into his bedroom and undressed him as he stood silent with his arms hanging loose at his side. Then I showered the worst of the odorous grime off his body and gently manoeuvred him into the bed, drawing the walnut-brown, feather-filled duvet over his trembling form. He stayed where I put him, not a word on his lips until….
“I’ll be fine,” he whispered. “Go home, Caleb.”
Like hell. “Not happening,” I answered simply, adding my clothes to his on the floor and climbing in behind him. I wedged one arm under his neck, wrapped the other around his slender waist, and drew him against me, peppering his shoulder and neck with kisses as God knows what images ran through his head enough to have him shaking.
“You have to work tomorrow,” he said blandly.
“That’s tomorrow,” I said between kisses. “Now sleep.”
Twenty minutes later his breathing evened out and his body became rag-like, cradled in my arms as he fell into a deep sleep. Me? Not so much.
Chapter Sixteen
Caleb
MY ALARM vibrated on silent mode, and I groaned inwardly. 5:30 a.m., not that I was asleep. I’d spent most of the night watching Drake lost to dreams that had him restless and jittery in my arms. I’d kept a firm grip, bringing him back every time he tried to roll away.
I needed him close, needed to feel my body wrapped around his, needed that skin to skin to ground me, convince me he’d be okay, to ground him, shelter him. I worried if I let go, he might float off somewhere I couldn’t reach him. Stupid fears, but that did nothing to shake the grim feeling I had that he’d half left me already. I wasn’t sure how to help this Drake, wasn’t sure he wanted me to.
He stirred at my side and a wave of relief swept through me. For what, I didn’t know. Rolling over, caged in my arms, he nuzzled into the hollow of my neck, and the dampness on his cheeks brushed my skin. Shit. I lifted his chin and kissed each of his closed eyes, tasting the salt on those long lashes.
“You have to go to work,” he whispered, the words vibrating against my cheek.
My heart clenched. “Nah, I’m calling in,” I answered.
He pushed back, sad chocolate eyes flaring. “Don’t. I feel bad enough as it is without you taking time off. I don’t need looking after.”
“Drake—”
“No, Caleb. You need to go to work. I need you to go to work. What you did for me last night—” His words choked off and he swallowed hard. “I can’t tell you how much I appreciate it. But today I need some time… to process everything. Do you understand? I need to be… alone.”
I narrowed my gaze and tried not to feel the sting of his words. Leaving just didn’t sit right. “I’ll just hang around… stay out of your way….”
He sighed and our eyes met. “It doesn’t work like that.”
The hollowness of his gaze scared me.
His breath hitched. “Please, Caleb? I need this.”
Did he? I didn’t know. There was so much about Drake I had yet to learn. Hell, he spent a lot of time dealing with his health on his own, maybe this was what he needed, maybe I was being overprotective. We were still so new, after all.
“I’m not leaving you all day on your own.” I eyeballed him. “Promise me you’ll get Dana or Carly to come by.”
He huffed out a sigh. “Like I could stop them.”
“Promise me, Drake.”
He looked me in the eye. “I promise.”
Okay. Some of the unease boiling in my gut settled. Drake didn’t lie.
I nodded. “All right. I’m bringing you breakfast before I leave, though.”
He sighed. “I don’t—”
“Stop. Just let me do this. You need to eat. I saw what you had for dinner.” I eyed him pointedly.
His eyes slid off mine. “Yeah, well…. There wasn’t much choice, and I only picked at it, anyway.”
“You could have called me.”
“You’d done enough,” he snapped angrily. “I don’t need a babysitter. I’ve managed fine for years without you, you know?”
Ouch. I took a deep breath rather than snap back. “You have. But just let me get your damn breakfast, is that too much to ask?”
He closed his eyes, and when they opened again, an apology hung heavily in them. “No, it’s not.”
I pushed myself off the bed, but he grabbed my hand.
“I’m sorry, Caleb. And thanks… for everything.”
I leant over and pressed my lips to his. “You’re welcome. I’ll call in tonight after work.”
He looked set to argue before thinking better of it, and by the time I was ready to leave, he was asleep again, or at least I thought he was. I left his breakfast on his bedside table and left him be, ignoring the voice in my head demanding I disregard his request to be alone and simply stay. But Drake was a grown man. He wouldn’t thank me for it.
Drake
THE YOUNG nurse touched my arm. “Are you okay, sir?” Her eyes probed my expression for any clue as to why I’d spent the last ten minutes leaning next to the closed door of a room I couldn’t bring myself to enter.
I straightened and pushed off the wall. “Sorry. Yeah, I’m fine. I’m, ah… was, her midwife.” The admission cut the air like a knife between us.
“Oh.” The nurse’s expression filled with understanding and sympathy. “I’m so sorry. Mum seems to be doing all right, though, physically, at least. It was touch-and-go for a bit. So that’s something.”
I nodded. “Thanks. Yeah, I read her chart.”
“So you know they had to….”
“Do a hysterectomy? Yes, I know.” And the discovery had damn near brought me to my knees. Not only had Prim lost her baby, she wasn’t gonna ever have another. The knowledge that I’d been right about the abruptio placentae diagnosis brought little relief to the crippling weight of responsibility mushrooming in my chest all morning. Discovering they’d needed to remove the uterus to curtail the bleeding on top of that had nearly buried me.
On examination of the placenta, they’d found substantial clots attached to the underside, indicating the shearing had not been instant, but a slower process, possibly over days, maybe even longer. The bleeding had been “hidden,” contained between the placenta and the uterine wall, which explained why Prim had not seen any warning spotting herself. The clots loosened the placental anchoring in the uterine wall, pushing the two apart, and eventually causing it to shear off completely.
If I had seen her sooner, I’m sure I would’ve been concerned enough to get a check scan; I always erred on the side of caution. That scan would’ve likely revealed the clots leading to an immediate caesarean section. And instead of lying in a bed in a surgical ward this morning minus her child and her uterus, Prim would’ve been in the maternity wing holding her brand-new baby girl. Fuck.
“Are you going in?” The nurse was looking increasingly concerned.
I blew out a sigh and tried for a smile. “No time like the present, right?”
“Good luck.” She patted my arm and headed for the dispensary.
I knocked on the door and eased it open, my eyes taking a minute to adjust. The room was dark, curtains drawn, grief circling heavy and thick as syrup in the small crowded space. Prim lay on her side, her back to me, hidden under a bundle of rumpled blankets. Even from the door, I heard her soft
sob, caught the hitch of her shoulders.
Kevin was seated at her side, holding her hand and wearing every jet-lagged, panicked kilometre on his face. He glanced up as I entered and immediately got to his feet, his hand held out to stop me in my tracks. Prim turned and lifted her head, her eyes widening when she saw who it was before narrowing to a glare, and my heart sank.
“No.” Her head shook violently and her free hand clutched at Kevin. “I can’t do this, I can’t. He needs to go.”
He. Me. The man who lost her child.
Kevin ran a soothing hand down his wife’s rigid arm. “Prim, it might be good….”
“No. Kevin… please?” Prim pleaded with her husband, tears rolling.
Emotion choked the back of my throat. I’d done that. A client begging her husband not to have to talk to me. Jesus Christ, when had my life become this?
I raised my hands and took a step back. “No, it’s fine,” I said, my voice thick with the emotion I was struggling to contain. “I understand completely. I’m so, so sorry, I… I don’t know what else to say. I’ll get one of my colleagues to take over your care.”
Prim shook her head, lay back, and pulled the covers half over her face.
Kevin answered, “It’s okay, Drake. We’ll be fine with the hospital staff, but thanks.”
I backed out the door and took off down the hall, nearly making it to the bank of elevators before Kevin caught up to me and laid a hand on my arm.
“Wait,” he said.
I pulled up, wiping my cheeks before I turned. “I’m so sorry, Kevin.”
“Stop,” he said. “We don’t blame you, Drake, I don’t blame you. Prim? She knows you weren’t responsible, but it might take her a little time, you understand? She’s still in shock, we all are, including you, I think. And what with the hysterectomy on top of losing the baby… well… it’s been a hell of a night. But the doctors were very clear this morning. No one could have saved Hannah. It happened so fast and there were no clear warning signs, nothing to raise those kinds of red flags. Prim just hasn’t come to terms with it all yet. She hasn’t really even taken it in.”
