“I’d rather not have them start off already making fun of their cousin.”
He nods. “Crickett?”
“Like a bug?”
Wyatt chuckles. “Okay, I like the name Emma.”
Hmm. I like that. It’s really popular, and Emma Hennington sounds pretty. Maybe I can keep it as a middle name. I still can’t seem to get my head to stop thinking of Faith, it’s as if it has been her name for as long as I’ve known about her.
“What was your comment about before?” I ask.
“What comment?”
He’s playing dumb, which he sucks at. “The one about Belle.”
“Just that what does it matter if Belle is her name?”
“Well, we live in Bell Buckle.” I shrug.
“No.” He looks over. “I live in Bell Buckle.”
Okay? I don’t know where he’s going with that, considering I was hoping we were going to live here. Maybe I really did misread everything.
“What the hell does that—” My words catch in my throat, and then I’m screaming, “Wyatt! Look out!”
“Shit!” He screams as he sees it too.
A massive buck is rushing from the woods and straight to the car. It’s going to hit my door.
“Fuck!” He yells.
Wyatt slams on the brakes, and his hand shoots out in front of me. I’m already flying forward.
My seat belt stops me, but the pain is instant across my lap.
I scream, trying to cover my stomach as everything slows to a crawl around me.
The deer drops his antlers, and I brace for impact, turning my body toward Wyatt. I know it’s not going to matter. We’re sliding toward the side of the road and straight toward the woods.
Wyatt tries to correct the wheel, but we skid over the wet ground. There’s no way to stop this.
The deer slams into my door, and the sound of metal and glass breaking fills the air.
Pain shoots through my arm as we continue to spin.
Another loud bang cuts through the chaos, but I can’t focus on anything but the pain that’s blooming in every part of me.
“Angie!” I hear his voice, but agony erupts from every inch of my right side as I’m slammed against the door, wrenched left, and then thrown forward against the dash in some twisted dance where someone else is pulling my strings.
My body violently shifts to the left before being thrust forward and against the dash.
My mouth fills with the metallic taste of blood and warmth trickles down my face.
The airbag deploys, and it hits me so hard that whatever air is left in my lungs is pushed out.
I can’t breathe.
It hurts so much.
Then everything is still and dark.
I try to move my body, but it doesn’t cooperate. I feel the blood sliding down my head and the way my lungs struggle to work.
I hear my name over and over, but I can’t open my eyes. I’m going to die here.
I know it.
Wyatt
“NO!” I SCREAM AS I watch her eyes shut. “Angie! Stay awake!” I scream, trying to get to her. She doesn’t move or acknowledge me at all.
I push my airbag out of my face and do the same to hers. I reach behind my back, grab my knife, cut my seat belt, and try to get the door open.
It’s completely mangled shut.
“Angie!” I push her head up. “Angie, baby, wake up.” She doesn’t move. I check for a pulse, it’s there, but it’s weak. I shift a little, and the car jolts.
We’re face down in a ditch.
Fuck!
My hands shift around her body, trying to see if I feel anything. When I pull them back, my fingers are covered in blood. “I have to get us out,” I say to her, but she’s unconscious, and I’m panicking. “I’ll fix this. Just hang on, Angie. Hang on. Please don’t leave me,” I beg her.
I hold pressure to her head as I try to figure out what to do. Using my other hand, I try to open her door, but it’s worse than mine. The deer slammed into her side, and the impact must have buckled the metal.
The phone sits on the top of the dash. How it got there, I have no idea, but I grab it and hold the speed dial button. My fingers shake, but I need to get someone here.
“Someone better be dead or dying,” Trent’s voice croaks.
“I need help!” I yell into the receiver. “I’m in a ditch on the road between our house and the Townsend ranch. Angie’s unconscious, and you need to fucking get here now! Get help! The car is fucking mangled, Trent!” My voice cracks as the panic rises. I have to get her out of this.
“I’m on my way!” Trent yells back. “We’ll be there in a minute, Wyatt. Just stay calm.”
My brother slips into Sheriff mode. I know he will get help, but there’s no calm here. The woman I love and my child are slipping away. I need to get her out of this car and to a doctor. I rip my shirt off, no longer feeling any cold, and tie it around her head, trying to keep pressure on the cuts hiding under her hair.
“God, I’m so sorry, baby.” I want to pull her into my arms, but I don’t. Even through my panic I know that the best thing I can do is keep her still. I count the seconds as I keep moving my hands around. “I’m so sorry I’ve been a dick. Just hang on. Please hang on, Angie!”
I’m such an asshole. I should’ve told her how I feel. Now, she might never know.
No. I can’t let myself go down that road. She’ll be okay, and I can fix this.
I’ll tell her. I’ll tie her to the bed and make her stay. I won’t let her leave me.
I love her.
Headlights and the rotating red and blues of Trent’s cruiser cut through the darkness, tires screech against the ground, and then doors are being slammed shut.
“Wyatt!”
“Down here!” I holler back.
“Shit!” I hear Trent yell. “We’re coming! Dad, go on that side,” he instructs.
“Oh my God!” Mama’s voice yells.
There’s a lot of movement as my brother comes to my side. “How is she?”
I relay everything I know, and he nods. “We need to move her, Wyatt. There’s gas leaking, and we can’t wait. I have a brace in my car. Hang tight.”
He rushes to his car and then returns. It feels like hours are passing. Her blonde hair is now matted with blood, and she still won’t open her eyes.
“Get her. Get her now!”
“We can hurt her more if we’re not careful, brother.”
Trent decides the best way to get her out is the already shattered windshield. He knocks out what’s left of the glass as I shield Angie as best as I can. More noise filters through the once silent woods as more people arrive.
Presley’s voice cuts through. “Angie! No!”
I focus on doing what I can, but there are more lights and more people yelling as Trent, Zach, my dad, and the EMT guys all move to the front of the car. “All right, Wyatt,” Trent’s commanding tone grabs my attention. “I need to know if you’re injured anywhere.”
“Just my shoulder. I’m fine,” I bite out, watching more of Angie’s blood soak into the fabric of my shirt.
“Good. I need you to cut her seat belt, and then Zach and I are going to help maneuver her. I need you to stay as calm as you can, okay?”
Anger fills my body. “Stop talking! She needs help!”
I don’t know how long it’s been. It could be minutes. It could be hours. But we’re wasting time. Every second she spends in here is a second I could lose her.
“Calm, Wyatt,” Zach says holding my eyes. “We need to move her carefully so we don’t cause any damage.”
I close my eyes and take a deep breath. “I’m ready.”
“Okay, cut the belt.” Trent’s steady voice commands.
I do as he says, and she slouches forward in my arms. I hold her, trying to leverage myself against the dash. My brothers are on each side of the car, both of their arms extended to take her. We coordinate our movements, careful not to jostle her too m
uch or let her body touch the glass. When she’s out, they quickly move her to the EMTs.
My father helps me out, and then I’m by her side.
She’s lifted onto the gurney, where Thom and Beau, two guys I’ve known my whole damn life, start to work on her. They attach wires and start running, yelling things back and forth to each other.
“Get in the ambulance,” Trent says. “He needs to be checked too!”
I hop in on autopilot. She’s fading away. I can feel it.
“In bound fifteen minutes, thirty-six-year-old female, unconscious from a head injury. Possible internal injuries and pregnant.” Thom says into his radio before turning to look at me. “How many weeks?” he asks.
I just look at her as Beau inserts an IV. I watch as he continues to try to talk to her, but she doesn’t move. She lies there, blood all over her clothes, glass in her beautiful hair, and cuts all over her body.
“Wyatt!” Thom yells. “How many weeks pregnant is she?”
My eyes don’t move from hers. “She’s twenty-four weeks.”
Twenty-four weeks I’ve had her.
Please God don’t let me lose her.
MY MIND CAN’T STOP SPINNING. I’ve never felt as desperate as I do now. I’ll do anything for her to be okay, but it’s out of my hands.
The ambulance ride was agony. I sat there as she had tubes, needles, and monitors beeping every one of her vital signs. They asked questions that I think I answered. She laid there.
Not moving.
And each second that passed, a piece of me died. I should’ve turned the wheel the other way. I should’ve left ten minutes later. I should have told her I love her. I should’ve done so many fucking things. But I failed.
We make it to the hospital, and I hold her hand until they tell me I can’t go any farther. The moment when my skin lost contact with hers, I felt like I was going to collapse. I don’t know if she’ll be okay or when I can see her.
Zach, Presley, Trent, Mama, Daddy, and I all sit in the waiting room. I recount the details of the accident as best as I can. Presley and my mama have a constant stream of tears. Zach and Trent offer me silent support. Each of them grasp my shoulder, tell me it wasn’t my fault, but I just keep talking. I tell them about how the deer sent the car into a spin, how the roads were the perfect storm, and how I couldn’t get the car to correct. I know what to do when a vehicle is fishtailing or spinning, but it was as if it made it worse.
“There was nothing you could do,” Trent tries to reassure me again. “None of us could’ve prevented the deer, Wyatt.”
“If something happens to her . . .”
Zach grips my arm. “She’s in the best care possible.”
They took Angie into immediate emergency surgery, explaining the baby was in distress and they found signs of internal bleeding. I tried to ask questions, but they said they needed to get in there and would be out as soon as they could.
There’s nothing I can do right now but pray.
So I do.
I hold my mama’s hand and try to stay strong.
Each time I close my eyes, I see her smiling face. How happy she was when we were talking about names. Just three hours ago, she was sitting on the porch swing, rubbing her stomach with her face filled with life.
I feel like I’m dying inside.
I’ve failed her and our daughter.
Seconds turn to minutes which fade to hours. Time passes, and I feel as if I’m petrifying.
Each time the door opens, my heart stops.
Each time they talk to another family, my heart breaks.
“I can’t sit here!” I stand, needing to move. “I can’t wait for them to tell me.” I’m shattering. I can feel it. A pained sound rips from my throat, and Trent embraces me. “I can’t wait for her to die!”
“Don’t think like that. You have to be strong. You have to have faith, brother.”
Faith.
Presley releases a sob at that word, knowing damn well that’s what Angie wants to name our little girl.
“I need her to be okay. I have to talk to her.”
Trent grips my shoulders. “I know. The doctors are working on her. No news is good news, Wyatt. It means she’s fighting.”
I look at him with blurry vision. “I can’t lose her like this.” If I say it enough, maybe the world will understand—maybe I can will it to be true.
“They’ll do everything they can,” my oldest brother says with conviction.
“It was my fault. I was driving that fucking car. I wanted to take the truck, but she said she hated climbing in and out of it. So, I let her convince me to take her car! Now, look where we are! Now look. I should’ve taken the truck when I saw it was raining. I should’ve done something!”
“This isn’t your fault.” My father comes toward us. “I know you’re a man and that you want to own this, but this is not your fault. And no matter what happens, you can’t be thinkin’ that way. Understand?”
I know he means well. But if it were him behind the wheel of that car and my mother was fighting for her life and the life of their unborn baby, he’d be feeling the same. That woman is who I love. That baby is my child. I know I’ve never met her, but I want her more than anything. I want for Angie and Faith to be in my arms—safe—and know how much I care.
I love them.
I will do anything to protect them. If I could be on that table, I would trade places in an instant. Instead, I’m out here, walking around. It should be me—not her.
Before I can answer, the doors swing open. Two doctors in blue scrubs, with sweaty faces and specks of blood on them, walk through.
My body tenses, Presley and my mother flank me. Their hands grab mine as we wait for them to speak. I’m typically the calm in the storm, but right now, my emotions are the outer walls of the funnel. I’m trying not to get swept away.
“Angelina Benson’s family?” The doctor on the right says as they walk closer.
“How is she?” I ask.
He sighs. “She’s sustained a lot of injuries. The most critical was her spleen. Luckily, we identified it quickly and were able to get the bleeding under control. She has a fractured wrist and multiple contusions along her right side from where the car crushed inward, plus a fractured rib and her nose was broken, most likely from the impact with the airbag. But we’re most concerned about the concussion. The CT shows some organ swelling, which we’re keeping an eye on.”
“The baby?” My voice shakes. “Is our baby okay?”
The doctors look at each other and shift their weight. “Unfortunately . . .”
I stop hearing his words as my heart shatters.
I’ve lost my daughter.
I fall to my knees as the world as I know it dies. I’ve lost one. I’ve lost them both.
“We delivered the baby by Cesarean. We tried, but the placenta ruptured in the accident. The baby didn’t make it.”
My mother wails, but my father holds her together.
I’m numb. My tears fall down my face as Presley wraps her arms around me. “I’m so sorry, Wyatt.”
“She—” I choke as I look up at her. “Did she . . . the baby? Suffer?”
The older doctor shakes her head. “No, the baby never drew a breath. We did our best, but we were unable to do anything.”
I nod.
“I’m very sorry for your loss,” the female doctor says.
Loss is too easy of a word. I didn’t lose her . . . she was taken from me. Taken from her parents before she even got to see us. She didn’t know she was wanted. She didn’t know our faces or the depths of the love we already had for her.
She didn’t know. I didn’t lose my daughter.
She was ripped from my life.
“Can I see her?” The words are out of my mouth before I realize it.
The woman gives me a sad smile. “Of course.”
“Wyatt?” Presley grabs my arm. “Do you . . . I mean . . . we can . . .” She stumbles over her words.
&
nbsp; I shake my head. “I need to do this alone.”
Another tear falls from my eyes, and I wipe it away. I have to be strong. I pull myself to my feet and turn away from my family. I hear my mama’s cries, but I need to see my little girl just this once.
We enter a small room with a rocking chair in the corner. The doctor leads me there and talks a little, but I honestly don’t know what she says. I can’t focus on anything other than the pain in my heart.
Then I think about Angie. I can’t lose her too. I won’t survive it.
A few minutes later, a nurse and another doctor enter. “Mr. Hennington,” she says softly. “We can give you some time, but I want to make sure you understand.” I try to focus. “Your daughter is very small. She was only a little over one pound. We’ll be outside if you need anything, okay?”
“Do you know anything more about Angie?”
“She’s out of surgery and in recovery. We don’t know when she’ll wake up, but I’ll come find you as soon as she’s stable enough for visitors.”
“Thank you.” I wipe another tear.
“Of course.” She squeezes my hand.
The nurse wheels in one of those plastic basin things where my daughter lies. They’ve wrapped the baby in a blanket and hand her to me.
The minute she’s in my arms, I lose it. Tears fall, and I shake with sobs. “I’m so sorry, Faith.”
I know she’s tiny and fragile, but I want to hold her close. I want to pump life into her. The grief is overwhelming. I’m her Dad. I was her Dad. This shouldn’t be how I held her for the first time. It should’ve been a happy moment that was filled with smiles and tears of joy.
Not tears of sadness.
“I’m so sorry.” I cry harder. She’s beautiful, even now. How could she not be? “I love you so much. Your mama does, too. I should’ve—” My lungs ache as I try to speak. “I should’ve protected you.” I rock back and forth with an angel in my arms. “I should’ve saved you, baby girl. This shouldn’t be how we met.”
I take her in. I study every line and angle on her tiny little body. She fits in the palm of my hand. My little girl. Gone to heaven.
While my other angel fights for her life.
Say You Want Me Page 17
