Sawyer: Quintessence: The Sequel

by Serena Akeroyd

  The more people there were, the more likely it was that Devon would freak out. He was strung tighter than piano wire, and barely keeping it together.

  Sawyer knew it was a testament to how far Devon had come since Sascha had appeared in their lives. Before, he’d have been a wreck. Now? He was still a wreck, but he was coping, internalizing it all.

  Sawyer didn’t doubt it would come out at another point. That this crisis was contained only as they located Sascha and got to her, but that was something else to worry about at another time.

  There was enough to handle without adding more troubles to their worries.

  As they approached the reception desk, he had to clear his throat twice to ask, “Sascha Dubois. She’s a patient. We’re…” He broke off. Not only as Sascha’s surname suddenly resonated with him, but, how did he explain their being here?

  One man was acceptable.

  But three?

  And five when Kurt and Andrei landed at the airport?

  Sean, seeming to sense Sawyer’s bewilderment, murmured, “We’re her family.”

  The woman raked her glance over them. Sawyer stiffened and felt Devon do so too at her appreciative stare. When she just looked at them, gaping, not glancing at the computer once, Sean growled, “Sascha Dubois? We need to see her.”

  The receptionist, in her early thirties, blushed. Her cheeks pinkening as she ducked her head and finally stared down at the computer.

  “S-Sorry,” she mumbled stiffly, before imparting information about the ward Sascha was on. “But visiting hours are over,” the woman said to their backs as they headed out, ignoring her and her stupid remark.

  If the hospital thought they could keep them from Sascha, well, they could think again, Sawyer thought grimly.

  Following the sign-posted directions, he let Sean take charge of leading as he trudged along in their wake while he grabbed his phone. He should have thought to do this on their way over but he’d still been in a daze. Better late than never, though.

  Scrolling through the contacts, he found the number he wanted and before he dialed it, murmured, “Devon? I need you to speak with John Ashton.”

  Devon turned to glower at him. “Why?”

  Sawyer knew it was taking all of his immeasurable focus to stay on track, to stay calm, and this was a breach of focus the other man didn’t need, but this wasn’t about Devon.

  It was about Sascha.

  “I need you to pull strings.”

  “Which strings?”

  Sawyer closed his eyes, seeking patience. “I need you to make the head of the NHS foundation help us out,” he clarified.

  “Why?”

  “Because they’re not going to let us in to visit her otherwise. And I want her in a private ward. You heard the receptionist, visiting hours are over.”

  Sean cleared his throat, but it didn’t ease the rasp there. “Devon, call Ashton. We need to make Sascha comfortable.”

  Sawyer didn’t even have it in him to be irritated that, as per fucking usual, Devon responded to the authority in Sean’s tone. Instead, he chose to be grateful and he handed over his cell as they rounded another corner, ignoring Devon’s awkward one-sided conversation with John Ashton. The linoleum beneath their feet was squeaky and the ivory walls were dingy, not easing Sawyer’s already grim mood as they trekked across the hospital.

  By the time they’d followed the many signs, they found themselves outside a ward that had Sawyer frowning.

  It was private.

  How…?

  Even as he was scowling around at the closed doors shielding private patients, a nurse approached them.

  Her scrubs were green and wrinkled. Her brow was etched with the same creases, and her fatigue was evident.

  “Can I help you? Visiting hours aren’t for another…”

  Before she could finish speaking, a call sounded from the desk five feet away.

  Her mouth opened, but she held up a hand. “One minute, please.”

  Sawyer nodded, but Devon didn’t. When she turned her back, he strode down the corridor, peering into the windowed doors as he hunted Sascha down.

  “Sir!” the nurse called out, but then whoever was on the line—John Ashton, no doubt—took her attention.

  Following Devon, Sawyer watched as his best friend jolted to a startled halt. Before he could ask what had surprised him, Devon had pulled open the door.

  “Who the hell are you?”

  His growl had Sawyer shooting Sean a quick glance. Then, as he entered Sascha’s ward, he saw a stranger seated beside the bed. He was in an armchair that NHS hospitals seemed to specialize in. That weird blue vinyl that squeaked whenever you took a seat.

  But Sawyer wasn’t looking at the blue vinyl or the other crimes against esthetics.

  He was looking at the stranger who had Tin on his lap, who was holding Sascha’s hand in his like…

  Sawyer’s mouth firmed then he released his clenched jaw and, like Devon, demanded, “Who the hell are you?”

  The raspy voice penetrated the fog of her brain. But she knew it.

  She knew it well.

  A dopey smile curved her lips at the brogue that made her have eargasms on a regular basis, but when it hurt to open her eyes, she felt her brow pucker.

  Why wasn’t it easy to open her eyes?

  The ache in her head and her body made itself known and she wondered how much white wine she’d drunk the night before to feel as shitty as this.

  Then, when the memory of what had happened hit home, she tore her eyes open.

  When she saw Sawyer, Sean, and Devon looming over Joseph like avenging angels, she released a sharp cry. One loaded with equal parts relief, misery, and grief.

  Their attention swerved from the man in the armchair, the man who’d been there all day and night, God bless him, and over to her.

  The devastation on their faces floored her. She felt it herself, but it was so perfectly reflected in their features, she felt her own crumple and the tears begin to fall.

  She opened her arms and whimpered, “I’m so sorry.”

  Sawyer’s eyes flashed as he swooped in. Before she knew what was happening, her IV lines had been shifted around and she was suddenly lying in his lap.

  He threaded his arms around her waist and hauled her against him. “God, lass. What do ye have tae be sorry about?” His accent was so thick, she wanted to drown in it.

  Maybe that would take this fucking agony in her heart away.

  “I-I didn’t keep our baby safe!” The cry was torn from her, and it was a thousand times worse for her having to repress it all day long.

  Tin was such a deep sleeper that she didn’t have to worry about him waking up. He’d slept through a gale once; one-hundred and twenty mile-an-hour gusts had whipped through the streets, and he hadn’t made a peep.

  After his own traumatic and tearful day, he’d be down for the count, and she was relying on that.

  She heard a voice clearing, and behind her, Sean asked, “Who are you?”

  She ignored the conversation. It was mean letting Joseph fend for himself after he’d been so kind, but she wasn’t up to anything other than accepting the comfort that Sawyer’s strong arms provided.

  “I’m Joseph Santorini,” was her savior’s reply. He sounded calm, totally at ease. If she’d been on the receiving end of those grim looks her men had cast his way, she wasn’t sure if she’d have felt so easy.

  Sawyer, especially, looked like a bruiser. And over the years, he hadn’t softened up, if anything, he’d gotten harder. His biceps and thighs were huge.

  She squeezed the former as she nuzzled deeper into his embrace. He scented of leather and that scent she’d only ever smelled when they took her deep into the Scottish countryside, heather—she knew because it was his soap, the one she’d bought him for Christmas two years ago, and the one he’d used ever since. He was warm and comforting, and she was safe in his arms even if he was brimming with tension.

  She pressed her for
ehead into his throat and repeated, “I’m sorry.”

  “She has no reason to be sorry.” It was Joseph who spoke, and his voice ratcheted up the strain that was already throbbing through Sawyer’s tense form.

  She hated that he was upset, hated that they were all upset. And all because she’d been thoughtless, a reckless idiot.

  “She fell. There was a big patch of black ice outside one of the stores she was going into. She went down, and…” Joseph’s sigh was heavy enough to echo around the tiny private room. “Her stomach took the brunt of the fall.”

  She blinked, because the whole experience was just a blur of pain. What she did know was her baby’s heartbeat hadn’t been there when they’d checked her over. Then, words like ‘placental abruption,’ ‘firm abdomen,’ and worst of all, ‘stillbirth’ floated around her, and the nightmare she’d only just dipped her toes into, became fully formed.

  Just like that, her child’s life had been snuffed out. Simply because she’d been stupid and just had to go out even though it was cold as fuck today.

  More tears gathered and fell. They burned as they forged a path along her eyeline, and then they drenched Sawyer’s shirt front.

  “We should have been with you.”

  Devon.

  The agony in his voice tore at her heart.

  There was a welter of pain in the depths, and that pain spoke to her on such a visceral level, she moved away from Sawyer to turn to Dev.

  Opening her arms, she whispered, “It’s okay.”

  “No. It’s not okay,” he replied, but his tone was wooden. “It’s the exact opposite of okay, Sascha.”

  Stung, but knowing he was right, she buried her face in her hands.

  “Thank you for staying with her for so long,” Sean said, the words flying over her head as they’d done all day when Sawyer wrapped his arm around her and tugged her close once more. “If you don’t mind giving us some privacy though?”

  “Of course,” Joseph replied, and the sounds of the vinyl seat creaking were loud as he climbed to his feet. “He’s fast asleep,” he continued with a little chuckle. “I’ve never known such a heavy sleeper.”

  “Thank God he was,” Sean said, his voice heartfelt. She dropped her hands, knowing she had to thank Joseph, and hating that she’d be doing so with her face tear-stained.

  As she did, she watched Joseph pass the limp little boy in his arms over to Sean. Tin settled like he’d been born to be there, which she guessed he had. Nuzzling immediately into him as Sean shook Joseph’s hand and retreated to the armchair, taking up the space the stranger had taken all day and for most of the evening as well.

  As he approached the bed, she held out her hands, wincing at the wetness of her tears on them as she whispered, “I’ll never be able to thank you enough for being here for me. For us.” She cut Tin a glance. “You helped us both, so much.” Her smile was wan as she asked, “That bottle of ‘85?”

  Joseph tilted his head to the side. “What about it?”

  “I think you’ve earned one. Please, leave your card?”

  “That’s not necessary,” he protested with a genuine smile. “But, look, I’ll be on my way. I’m just happy I was able to help.”

  She smiled at him, trying to control the quiver in her lips, as he waved awkwardly at the four of them before grabbing his coat, which he’d dumped at the foot of the bed, and headed out the door.

  For a second, there was nothing but quiet, then Devon, his tone colder than she’d ever heard from him, snarled, “I don’t trust him.”

  The coldness hit her hard. “What about him do you have to trust? He didn’t have to stay with me, Devon. But he did. And he was there for me. For us.” She didn’t say ‘when you weren’t’ because it wasn’t their fault they hadn’t been there. It had been hers. Not only for being unable to remember their fucking numbers, but for sneaking out without them. But Joseph had stayed when he could have just left her.

  He’d taken being a good Samaritan to a level she’d thought was a thing of the past.

  Dev’s mouth firmed into a mutinous line but he didn’t maintain the topic, dropping himself down onto the foot of the bed and pressing his hand to her ankle instead. “How are you?”

  “How do you think I am?” She pressed her lips together a second, clenched her eyes shut, then managed to gasp out, “I lost the baby, Dev. I lost—”

  But he shook his head. “I didn’t ask about the baby. I asked about you.”

  She blinked at him, shut her eyes once more, and turned to burrow into Sawyer again. “Tired. Hurting.” She gnawed at her bottom lip. “Regretful.” Resentful. Guilty.

  Ashamed.

  She quieted those words before they could escape her lips though. They didn’t need to hear that. Didn’t need to know she’d…

  Sascha pulled back from Sawyer’s arms and asked, “When will Andrei and Kurt get here?” She didn’t have a doubt in her mind that they’d have dropped everything to be here for her.

  “In three hours.” Sean spoke, but his gaze was trained on Tin. “They’d be here sooner but there were no seats remaining on the earlier flights.”

  She nodded, aware that it would have been too much to ask from the fates after such a shitty day.

  “What happened, Sascha?” Sawyer asked, his voice a rumble.

  “N-Nothing. It was just like Joseph said.” She bit the inside of her cheek, hating that they were going to say, ‘I told you so.’ “I was holding Tin’s hand and he pulled me one way and I intended to go the other. It was just a stupid accident. If that ice hadn’t been there, there’d have been no problem. But it was slippery, and I just…I lost my balance.

  “It just hurt. Hurt so badly. Deep inside.” She pressed her hands to her stomach, remembering the pain like it had happened moments before.

  “I’m so sorry you had to go through that alone,” Sean whispered, and when he turned to look at her, his eyes were as bleak as winter. He leaned forward and pressed his hand to her thigh.

  “It was an accident,” she repeated. “When I fell, Joseph, and this lady, Martha, came to help, but I’d attracted a small crowd. One of them took advantage, stole my purse. I couldn’t remember your numbers. None of them.” She closed her eyes. “Not a single one. It took five hours for me to remember the London house’s.”

  She had to bite back the cry as she realized she wouldn’t be worrying about the brain fog that came with pregnancy anymore. Oh Christ, what she’d give to be back in that fog. What she’d give for this to be yesterday, or for it to be tomorrow. For this fucking day to be over.

  “Have the police been?”

  She nodded. “Joseph dealt with them. Said he didn’t see who took my bag, and that he wasn’t looking at the crowd so he didn’t have a clue who could have taken it either.” She swallowed. “I’m sorry it took me so long to remember. You should have been here.”

  Sean whispered, “Stop saying ‘sorry.’” He pressed a gentle kiss to Tin’s head, reminding her of yesterday’s scare on his part. “We’re the ones who should be apologizing.”

  When he turned to look at her, she wanted to wince at the guilt in his eyes. Immediately shaking her head at him, she murmured, “No, Sean. No.”

  “Yes. Sean’s right,” Sawyer growled. “We should have been with you. Tin’s getting strong. It’s been freezing… the streets were bound to be dangerous. We should have been with you,” he repeated, as though saying it twice would make it hit home harder.

  “Do you want me to be angry at you?” she asked quietly.

  Devon shifted on the bed. “You should be. I’m angry at me. It’s my fault. Sawyer said you were supposed to go shopping.” He stared at her, and in those blue eyes, she saw a chasm that had never been there before. It wasn’t between him and her, it was between him and the world—and that scared the crap out of her. “We were working.”

  They had been. When she’d popped her head around the door, they’d been so busy, and she’d thought nothing of it. She was used to th
em working all sorts of hours, and it wasn’t like she’d needed her hand held while she shopped for gifts they weren’t interested in.

  Except, this time, she had needed her hand holding.

  “Will they kick you out? I don’t think I’m supposed to have visitors. They only let Joseph stay because of Tin. Because I needed help and didn’t know who to call on.”

  “The police should have come to my mother’s.”

  Her voice was small as she murmured, “I could only remember her old address. It was like my brain turned to mush.”

  “Oh sweetheart, I’m so very sorry,” he replied, and she heard the remorse in his tone, a deep welter of pain that she hadn’t meant to stir.

  Amid the day’s panic had been the terror of not being able to remember any of their details, then, when the doctors had left her, sobbing quietly in her bed after the silence of the birth, and Tin had been returned to her with Joseph holding his hand, she’d remembered the London house’s landline number.

  That had felt like a gift from God.

  “Hush, lass,” he told her, seeming to sense the ramble that were her thoughts. “Tomorrow’s another day.”

  Releasing a trembling breath, and fully aware of the fact that she couldn’t think about any of this without wanting to cry, she nodded and whispered, “I want to sleep. I need this day to be over with.”

  “O’ course, lass.” Sawyer helped settle her down, and she was about to ask him to stay, fearful he’d, they’d leave, when he settled behind her and slid a hand over her stomach. The hand he pressed there made her eyes burn with unshed tears. “I-I’m sorry, lass. I wish we’d known the person they’d become, and I’m sorry you had to go through everything that happened today without us at your side.” He pressed his nose into the slight cavern of her throat, and she felt the welcome warmth of his breath brushing her tender skin.

  “She, Sawyer. She was a little girl. And she was perfect.” So perfect, Sascha still didn’t know what had happened. How things had gone so wrong.

  His breath whooshed out from his lungs, making it sound as though he’d been punched in the gut. “How do you know that?”