by Tee O'Fallon
“Nick,” she whispered, leaning down to press her lips to his chilled forehead. The words came bubbling out. “I love you. I love you!” All she wanted at that moment was for him to know she loved him.
He released his death grip on Saxon’s leg. Andi’s breath caught in her throat as he exhaled a low yet audible sigh. His lips moved, but the wind was still blowing so hard she couldn’t hear what he’d said. She leaned closer. “I’m here. It’s Andi. Please, Nick.” She began shaking her head back and forth. “Don’t you die on me. Don’t you dare die on me!”
When his lips moved again, she turned her head, positioning her ear nearer to his mouth. His voice was low, yet his words unmistakable.
“Love. You. Too.”
“Oh, Nick.” Her heart was tearing apart. He really loved her, and he was dying before her eyes.
Eric’s face came into her view. “Let the medics get to work on him. You can ride with him in the ambulance. I promise. He’d want you with him.”
“Okay,” she heard herself say, although inside she was going completely numb.
This can’t be happening.
But it was.
She let Eric help her to her feet, giving the medics more room to work. In seconds they had Nick’s shirt ripped open, and she drew in a sharp breath at the sight of all the blood, some of it wet, some dried and dark.
“Get every patrol unit you’ve got,” Matt ordered, pointing to the other officers. “The second that ambulance starts rolling, light ’em up.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
Andi leaned over and kissed Nick softly on the lips. “Good morning.” His skin was cool, although not nearly as cold as it had been that day a month ago when Meera’s bullet had pierced his chest. “And so, it begins again,” she whispered.
Another day of waiting. Hoping. Praying.
He lay deathly still, his lower body covered by a sheet, his bare chest dotted with heart monitor leads. A jagged, slightly raised patch of red skin marked what was left of the bullet’s entry wound. Tubes ran from his arms, attached to several IV drips on long metal poles. Monitors on the wall beeped occasionally, breaking up the silence of the hospital room.
Sighing, she let her gaze roam his body, searching for a sign that he’d moved, but there was none. Even in a coma, he was still the most handsome man she’d ever seen. And the only man she’d ever truly been in love with.
She lowered herself to a chair positioned next to the bed—the same one she’d been sitting in nearly every hour of the day and night for the last thirty days. During that time, she’d talked to him about anything and everything. She’d given him updates on Saxon, who’d been bunking with her and Stray. The poor dog was so completely lost and confused, he conducted daily searches of her house, looking for Nick and getting the most forlorn look on his face when he didn’t find him. She’d even confessed to feeding him Pop-Tarts, anything to boost the dog’s spirits.
Next, she’d told him how Tess had all but been running the DPC for the last month, popping into the hospital every now and then to make sure Andi ate. As it was, she’d lost ten pounds. She’d even given Nick her thoughts on Eric and Tess. Despite Tess’s adamant denial, something was definitely brewing between them. When she’d run out of things to talk about, Nick’s friends had stepped in, providing long-running recaps on the investigation.
Portia Laird was dead, and Andi had no sympathy for the woman who’d put so many guns on the streets and been responsible for so many deaths. Seeing Nick lying in a hospital bed—another victim of Portia’s greed and viciousness—she’d come to better understand the all-consuming, driving force behind his determination to stop the flow of weapons into Springfield. He hadn’t been able to prevent his wife from killing herself, but he’d dedicated himself to getting those weapons off the streets. In all, nearly three thousand guns had been discovered in a storage facility outside of Springfield.
As for her broken hand, the cast had recently been removed, although her fingers were all still quite stiff. Physical therapy would be necessary to regain full range of motion. Joe had recovered from the wound in his shoulder and signed a plea agreement with the prosecutor. While awaiting sentencing, he’d begun counseling sessions for his gambling addiction and put his fancy house and car up for sale in order to pay a large criminal fine and make restitution to an organization that assisted victims of gun violence.
The only good thing to come from Portia Laird was Scottie, her Bouvier. Matt had graciously taken custody of the dog and was housing him at Jerry’s Place, a kennel that was not only a place of healing for teens with alcohol problems, but a shelter that took in rescue dogs for the kids to work with and train. Despite his size, Scottie was a favorite at the kennel, and two families were already vying to adopt him.
She watched Nick’s chest rise and fall rhythmically, wishing he would open his beautiful gray eyes and pin her with that hard-ass cop glare of his.
Please, baby. Open your eyes.
Even though she’d rejected his love, he’d shown her his in the only way possible at the time. He’d paid off all her debts, allowing her to keep the café. It was as if a bright light had been turned on, illuminating the truth. The DPC meant everything to her, and Nick knew that.
The only emotion flowing through her now was fear. She’d learned quickly over the last few weeks that if she didn’t tamp down everything else, she’d go insane. At this point, she was beginning to feel numb to everything. Better that than the jagged, heart-wrenching pain she’d experienced that first week until Nick’s vitals had stabilized. Now that numbness was the glue holding her together.
Needing to touch him, she trailed her fingertips along his arm. Feeling a spurt of hopefulness, she glanced up to watch the now-familiar green blips track across one of the monitors. She’d become tightly attuned to what each beep and blip represented, and there was nothing to indicate he’d felt her touch. Considering he’d coded twice during the ambulance ride to the hospital, she was grateful for the steady pattern of normal sinus rhythm.
She could vaguely recall the lights and screaming sirens from all the police cars that had given them an escort to the hospital. After that, everything was a blur. Except for the blood. It had been everywhere. On his uniform, his chest, and even on her. When the medics had used the defibrillator on him, her own heart had nearly seized, and she’d never been more frightened in her entire life as she’d been at that moment. When she’d again thought he was dead.
Miraculously, he’d made it to the hospital alive, then been transfused with so many liters of blood she’d lost count. After that, he’d been raced into surgery to repair the damage. The doctors said he’d been anoxic—not enough blood flow to the brain, and his body had shut down. The ventilator had been removed two weeks ago, and he was breathing on his own, but he still hadn’t woken.
The last words he’d said to her on the roof before succumbing to unconsciousness came back to her: Love. You. Too.
She swallowed the rising sob in her throat and blinked back the tears. Theirs was a love that might very well never happen.
One of the nurses she’d come to know, an older woman of about forty, with the reddest hair she’d ever seen, entered the room, smiling as she began inspecting the levels of fluid in each of the IV bags. “Morning, Andi.”
“Morning, Patsy.” She forced a smile, one she didn’t feel in the slightest. “Any change?” It was the same question she’d asked each and every day, although she knew Patsy or one of the doctors would have informed her if there’d been anything new to report.
She shook her head. “No. I’m sorry.” Her expression was kind and sympathetic.
Patsy adjusted the blood pressure cuff on Nick’s right arm, then turned to leave, giving her a light squeeze on the shoulder before disappearing out the door. The blood pressure machine kicked on, its motor whirring as the cuff inflated around Nick’s bicep. She waited for the inevitable readout on the screen, already knowing what it would be. One-ten over seventy. The s
ame as it was every hour of every day. No change.
Her heart clenched, and she pressed a hand to her flat belly. Keep it together. You have to, now more than ever.
The doctors had all agreed they didn’t know how Nick had the strength to survive this long, but there was still a possibility he would die before he ever woke. His injuries had been bad enough, but it was the blood loss that had taken the worst toll on his body.
Her gaze took in the windowsill crammed with flowers and cards. Since the day he’d been brought in, there’d been a constant influx of police and K-9 officers from all over the Commonwealth. Most of her memories of that night in the emergency room were fuzzy, but she had a vague recollection of the waiting area filled to capacity by uniformed officers from all over the city and surrounding areas, offering moral support and ready and willing to donate blood. Though they’d all had to wait in line behind Matt, Eric, the rest of Nick’s friends, plus Agent Cox, and Nick’s family.
For the last month, one or more of them had been there with her at Nick’s bedside. What surprised her more than anything was that they’d gone well out of their way to provide for her every need, and they barely knew her.
Nick’s parents, along with his brother and sister, had visited nearly every day. Despite the horrific circumstances, they’d been pleased that Nick had found someone after Tanya had passed. Andi’s parents had been up to visit, as well, and were coming again this weekend.
Eric lived locally and had been to the hospital every day, bringing her food and coffee, along with restaurant magazines. For a man as big and strong as a Viking, he’d been gentle with her, and his sympathy knew no bounds. She’d lost track of the number of times he’d held her while she’d cried.
Kade, Jaime, Dayne, and Markus had returned to their respective cities, but they’d rotated up on weekends. Agent Cox stopped by every other day. Matt had barely left Nick’s side. He and his pregnant wife, Trista, were both on leave to be there.
As had become her habit lately, she splayed her hand over her lower abdomen, much the same way Trista did. Only Trista was a good five months further along.
“Did you tell him?” Matt’s voice came from the doorway.
She’d been so absorbed that she hadn’t heard him come in. “Tell him what?”
He cracked a smile. “That you’re pregnant.”
Her eyes widened. “How did you know? I haven’t told anyone.” Not even my parents. Subconsciously, she glanced down to reassure herself that at only one month, she still wasn’t showing.
“Trista told me.” He hooked a thumb in the direction of the corridor behind him. “She’s in the ladies’ room. Again. Says the baby is pressing against her bladder. She caught you touching your belly a lot.” He dipped his head to where her hand rested on her lower abdomen. “Don’t worry. Most of us—men, that is—are too dense to pick up on stuff like that.”
Whether it was hormones or from outright relief that she could talk to someone about her unexpected pregnancy, the tears she’d been holding in check streamed from the corners of her eyes.
“Oh, honey.” Trista waddled past Matt, grabbing a handful of tissues from a box on the windowsill, then handing them to her as she sat in a chair and wrapped an arm around Andi’s shoulders. “It’ll be okay. No matter what happens, we’re here for you. All of us. You’re family now.”
Her body began shaking as tears rolled down her cheeks. Matt grabbed the box of tissues and brought it to her, crouching in front of her chair. He remained there, resting his hand on her knee. After a few minutes, she dabbed at her eyes and wiped the wetness from her cheeks. She gave Matt and Trista a grateful smile.
“I’m okay. Really. Sorry, I-I just lost it for a minute there.” Renewed sadness overwhelmed her. Just when she thought she’d exerted control over her emotions, it had shattered in seconds, making her realize she wasn’t quite as numb as she’d thought or wished she could make herself.
“Why don’t you tell him?” Trista’s green gaze flicked to Nick. “Tell him about the baby. He might hear you, and even if he doesn’t, it will make you feel better. Besides, he deserves to know.”
She shut her eyes tightly, then took a deep breath, nodding jerkily. “Okay.”
“C’mon, Matt. Let’s give them some privacy.”
Trista started to rise, when Matt solicitously placed one hand at his wife’s lower back, holding out his other for her to use for balance. There was something so loving and intimate in that simple gesture, it tugged at Andi’s heartstrings. Like Nick, Matt was a giant of a man, but watching him with his petite wife gave her hope. Hope that Nick would wake any day now and they could start working on the same kind of beautiful, loving relationship his friends so obviously had.
After Matt and Trista left the room, she clasped Nick’s hand in hers, threading their fingers. “I have news for you, and I hope you won’t be mad. Do you remember when I said I couldn’t get pregnant?” She uttered a soft laugh. “Every word of it was true, but somehow…I’m pregnant. Can you believe it? I’m going to have a baby. We’re going to have a baby.”
The blood pressure monitor took that moment to kick on, re-inflating the cuff on his arm. She watched the readout on the screen, then waited for the cuff to deflate with its usual whooshing sound.
“It was when we were in the woods and we didn’t use a condom. I mean, who goes running with a spare condom, right?” Her tight laugh came out sounding like more of a sob. “I knew almost right away. My breasts are already tender and swollen, and my back is achy all the time. I’d really appreciate it if you’d wake up and give me a back massage with those magic hands of yours.”
Clasping his hand tighter, she bent down and kissed his fingers. “I love you with all my heart. Please come back to me. Please wake up. I need you. We need you.”
Overwhelmed by emotions she could no longer contain, she rested her head on the mattress while her entire body racked with uncontrollable sobs. “I love you, Nick. I love you.”
…
I’m pregnant… We’re going to have a baby… Please come back to me… I love you…
The words were fuzzy and jumbled, and Nick could swear it was Tanya’s voice. But that couldn’t be right. Tanya couldn’t have children, and she was…dead.
Maybe I’m dead.
Beeping intermingled with the muted voice, along with weeping. Somebody was crying, but who?
Something soft and silky slid across his arm, bringing with it the flowery scent of freesia and reminding him of…
Andi.
With her long golden blond hair and eyes as blue as wild cornflowers. With skin so soft and smooth he could spend hours caressing her body. He wanted to get to her. Needed to get to her. She was in danger, about to be shot by Meera.
The beeping in the distance grew louder, faster. The weeping he thought he’d imagined stopped.
Someone gasped. “Nick?” Andi’s voice, and so, so close.
He tried lifting his arm, but it weighed a ton. Worse was how every time he took a breath, it seemed as if there was an armored SWAT tank parked on his chest. Darkness surrounded him, but he needed to escape. To save Andi. She was everything. Without her, nothing mattered.
He wanted to open his eyes, but he was so tired and weak, he couldn’t find the strength to lift his eyelids, let alone his arm.
“Nick?” Andi’s voice was panicked.
The enshrouding darkness clawed at him, threatening to pull him back under, but he wouldn’t let it win. She needed him. He could hear her crying, screaming his name, and it was killing him not to get to her. Every sob threatened to rip his heart from his chest.
Hand over hand, he crawled up the steep incline of a deep, dark, craggy ravine, clutching at rocks and roots—anything to get closer to that pinhole of light at the top. With every inch he gained, the pain magnified, and it was all he could do not to let go and plunge back into the dark nothingness that awaited him if he did.
Finally, darkness bled to gray. Something squeezed
his hand. Not something—someone. At first, he tried pulling away, fearing it was the blackness threatening to undo his efforts to escape the hellhole he’d been relegated to. The light overhead grew brighter, yet something kept holding him back.
Looking over his shoulder, he peered into the inky void below, straining for a glimpse of what was tying him to that place. But there was nothing.
More tugging, this time pulling him closer to the light. If only he could reach it.
“Nick? Nick?” Again, Andi’s voice, although this time it was clearer and right there next to him. “You can do it, baby. I love you, and I’m here. Open your eyes. Please, open your eyes.”
And he did.
“Oh, thank God.” She was laughing and crying at the same time, clutching his hand, then kissing his face.
He blinked, trying to clear his blurry vision. Bright. Too bright. He squinted, allowing his eyes to adjust to the ambient light in the room. A hospital room. Like so many bad movies he’d fast-forwarded through, it all came back to him in a flash.
Meera shooting him square in the chest—no wonder his chest felt tight. Running. Andi handcuffed to the window-washer cage. Saxon leaping onto the platform, then Meera going over the side. The last thing he remembered was grabbing on to the railing with one hand, and with the other—
Saxon.
Was his dog dead?
Horror shot through him. Over Andi’s left shoulder, one of the monitors began beeping crazily. When he opened his mouth to speak, his lips were dry as a bone, as was his throat. Saxon, he tried to say, but the name didn’t come. Digging deep, he somehow found the strength to squeeze Andi’s hand.
“What is it?” She leaned closer, her eyes brimming with tears. “Are you in pain? I called for a nurse.”
“Saxon,” he managed to whisper, although it sounded more like a croak.
