by CORY CYR
I was hoping I could fuck you into submission. Not the BDSM variety, but the “I do” type. You never gave in, and honestly, I enjoyed trying. Our sex life was off the charts, especially by the third year. When my twenty-fourth birthday rolled around, I began crossing off the days on a calendar until I would be twenty-five. You appeared entertained by my impatience. You actually made sport of me, saying I was acting more like a bridezilla. Babe, I couldn’t help it. It was finally going to happen. You were going to be Mrs. Michaels and my life would be complete.
I turned twenty-five the following year on Christmas Eve. There was absolutely no way I could sleep. I felt like a kid waiting for Santa. But instead of milk and cookies, I got champagne and nookie.
I had no choice but to wait until noon. Quinn had actually found someone to marry us on Christmas Eve. Was it the dream wedding we wanted? No. But hell, I didn’t care. All I wanted was Ryan Chase to be my wife.
You looked beautiful. The older you got, the hotter you looked. I anticipated you were going to be sexy as hell with gray hair and fine lines. Of course, I never told you that. I think the age thing still bothered you. You never voiced it, but there were times I could tell.
Since the wedding was so simple, I’d planned a honeymoon you would never forget. I arranged to take you away a week later on New Year’s Eve. A cabin in the mountains, under the aurora borealis, with an outdoor fireplace and a hot tub. I had major plans to christen all the rooms and every piece of furniture. As I recall, it was a large space.
You surprised me on our wedding night. You’ve been the only person that has ever made me cry. I honestly believed marrying you was the greatest gift I’d ever received. But damn, Ryan, when you handed me that sonogram, my heart was in my throat.
You’d given me everything in that one day. Yourself and a family. You really did breathe life into me. Knowing something we created out of our love, something that surpassed the age barrier among all the other obstacles, was cocooned safely in your belly. I never thought it was possible to love you more, but in that moment, I did. I had no doubt it was the beginning of the perfect life.
We’d already made our life secure. You had the Christoff Agency job. Who knew my baby would run a charm school? Yes, I know I love giving you shit about that. I can’t help it, because when I hear you talking about teaching young girls etiquette, I remember those two breathtaking words I first heard you utter. They so captivated me.
“Fuck me.”
I was pleased because you seemed generally contented at that job. I’d known you wanted to be a star, but I personally think you thought being a wife, mother, and mentor was a better position. Nothing fulfilled me more than to know I was a part of the life that made you so happy.
Dr. Hansen retired. Finally. I think we both were relieved when I could buy the practice and call it my own.
I enjoyed what I did. It was a satisfying job. I was responsible for saving lives. Now some people would roll their eyes at that. Saving an animal. No big deal. But when you bring a pet back from the brink of death, you’re saving the family too. Nothing is more heartbreaking than having to tell a kid their beloved family member has died.
Not only did we have careers we enjoyed, but also a child on the way. I know most men freak out in the delivery room. Faint. Become unglued. But I loved being able to share that moment with you. I had some fleeting guilt as well as terror as I watched you pushing our daughter out into the world. I couldn’t have loved you more right then because of what you were giving me. Giving us. My life had come full circle. I had everything I’d ever dreamt of and more. These last three years were better than I’d ever anticipated.
And if we can get past this, we’ll have survived the worst that can happen. We have a beautiful son. Wait until you see him, babe. He looks just like you and I can already tell he has your mouth. You should hear him scream. He has lungs—strong ones.
I can already visualize a photograph of our family. We have a boy and girl now. That’s enough. Maybe I shouldn’t worry about shit like this, but the fact is… Did the pregnancy make the coma worse? Is having a second baby going to make your recovery that much harder? I shouldn’t even be thinking about these things or bringing them up. But what the hell? You probably can’t hear me. And if you wake up pissed, I’ll take it. Just wake up.
How do I say this without sounding like a dick? Women in your age group have higher risks during pregnancy. The doctor said it, not me. You were there when you had the ultrasound with Riley. I don’t want to put you at risk anymore. I’m getting snipped.
You’re wondering why I’m bringing up this subject? Because I feel such blame. I shouldn’t have let you drive that day. Not with the bad weather and certainly not in your condition. I think about it every single day. If I’d just talked you into staying home. If I had done the shopping for you. Fuck, Ryan. Those feelings of guilt burrow under my skin until I can’t breathe. You’re going to open those sexy green eyes and smile at me. I need to know that’s going to happen. I’ve gotten my hopes up so many times. This time, good things will happen.
§
Within forty-eight hours, they remove the incubation tube. The very first thing I do after they clean Ryan up is brush my teeth. After the nurses leave, I bend over her and slip off the oxygen mask. Just for a moment. I pray the alarm won’t go off. I brush her lips with mine quickly, then replace the mask. They are warm and softly chapped, but that chaste kiss has sent blood straight to my cock. I really am a pervert. I have no doubt if she knew, she’d be smirking.
By tonight, they’ll turn off the vent. It’s sink-or-swim time. The monitors are brightly blinking, and I’m sure I check the alarm every few minutes. I want to be positive if lack of oxygen is an issue, they can get to her—quickly.
There’s a part of me that has all positive thoughts, no doubts this is going to work. Then there’s the dark and leery persona that’s tired of getting my hopes up, allowing fear and apprehension to invade my thoughts constantly. I loathe that part of me. It makes me feel like surrendering. Giving up. Abandoning all hope. But there’s no one else here in this room for Ryan. I have to be strong. She’ll kick my ass if I give up on her. Because she sure as hell would never give up on me. That in itself makes me smile.
I decide to take a shower. I want to make sure when she wakes up, a sensual smell greets her. This is so not the case. I’m just saying. If my own smell offends me, I definitely stink. And I need to shave and get a haircut. Jesus, I really did let myself go. I spend about forty-five minutes in the shower and another twenty shaving. If Ryan does open her eyes, I want her to see the man she married. Not some unkempt, tattooed homeless dude.
* * *
I smell it before I see it—that distinct coppery scent. I know on instinct what it is because it’s an aroma I’m familiar with daily, working as a veterinarian. I momentarily feel disoriented as I gaze over at Ryan. There is blood. Lots of deep, dark red saturating the sheet under her. I bolt to the bed and touch her. She’s pale and cold. Only moments prior, her lips were warm. Now there’s a bone-chilling temperature in the room. Utter panic fills my lungs as I yell, flinging open the door.
Lynne moves toward me, knocking over a tray as she runs in. Another nurse along with a doctor also race toward the room. I’m pushed aside as a code blue is called. Ryan isn’t breathing. She has no heartbeat. I can see the paddles as they begin CPR. My body begins to shake as I feel my balance going. The room fills with people, Lynne comes to my side.
“Shea, she’s hemorrhaged. Let us do our job. You need to go. I already had the desk call your sister and brother-in-law. I need you to go to the waiting room. As soon as I know anything, I will come and tell you.” She grabs me by the shirtsleeve. “Don’t give up on her. Don’t you dare, Shea Michaels.”
I barely remember walking out of the room. I don’t dare look back at Ryan. I’m too afraid. I feel as though my body is detached from my thoughts. A million pictures and conversations rush through my head. Every single mem
ory of us plays like a movie in my mind.
The wake.
Every kiss.
Every touch.
The moment she said she loved me.
Our first Christmas.
The day I married her.
Holly’s birth.
People say at the moment of death, your life flashes before you.
That’s how I know she’s gone. Our souls are connected, and I no longer feel tethered to hers.
The bond that held us as one—broken.
Her heart that beat for both of us—stopped.
The reason I breathe—suffocated.
The light she brought into my dark world—extinguished.
My brain refuses to accept the one person that gave me life is now expired. I put my head in my hands and sob until there are no more tears to shed. My body now void of all emotion and reasons to exist. There is nothing left.
I look up as I feel a hand on my shoulder. It’s Quinn. Trina lies crumpled in the corner—inconsolable. My life is over. My entire world smashed into oblivion. I close my eyes again, willing away this nightmare. Praying for it to end.
* * *
“Andrew, wake up. Wake up.” I crack my eyes open as Trina continues to shake me.
“Ryan’s okay. They got the bleeding under control. Wake up—come on.”
I shrug her away as I look around. I’m still in the waiting room. My body feels achy, like I’ve slept in an odd position, and I feel groggy and disoriented.
“What time is it?”
“It’s close to midnight. I got you a cup of coffee. Then you fell asleep. I guess you were tired, because you slept hours,” Quinn says as he pulls on his jacket.
“I don’t understand. Her heart stopped. There was so much blood,” I whisper to Trina as I try to regain my bearings.
“They got the bleed under control. I guess it happens sometimes when women in comas give birth. Something about a secondary postpartum bleed. Lynne explained it to us, but crap, it was too technical for me. I don’t care why, just that she’s all right.”
“Is she really? Her fucking heart stopped,” I say again as I drag my hand through my hair.
Just then, Lynne walks up. I try to stand, but my posture feels wobbly.
“She’s good, Shea. Don’t worry. We discovered what happened and it’s been taken care of. The doctor will talk to you about it tomorrow. But trust me. Ryan is fine and recovering nicely,” she says as she passes a look to Trina.
“But the nightmare I had. Jesus, it was so damn real.”
Lynne pulls me off to the side as she lowers her voice. “I’m responsible for that. I’m sorry, Shea, but you had me worried. I gave Trina something to put in your coffee, to help calm you down. Sometimes bad dreams can be a side effect.”
What the fuck? “You drugged me?” I whisper, glaring at both Trina and her.
“I’d prefer thinking of it as helping you through a bad state. You wouldn’t do anyone any good if Ryan woke up and found you in that condition. Besides, I think you needed the rest.”
A small smile cracks my face. And for a moment, I forget the headache that begins to throb at my temples. “You think she’ll wake up soon?” I ask. This information has renewed my hope and made me feel more anchored.
“I do. But you have to be patient. You’ve been waiting for months. We need her to come out of this on her own, when she’s ready. Can you hold on?”
“I suppose so. You’re not planning to slip me drugs again are you?” I ask, both of them, considering I have a hangover from hell and a massive headache. “Only if you act crazy, then maybe,” Lynne quips.
Trina, Quinn, and I walk down the hall back to Ryan’s room. It’s clean and bright. Absolutely no sign of any trauma. They stay another hour, then leave. It’s late, and even though I’ve slept, I feel exhausted. Probably a residual side effect of being drugged. I shake my head in disbelief that my sister and my wife’s nurse slipped me a “mickey.”
Finally, there are no tubes or wires to keep me from being with Ryan. I pull off my shirt and slip beside her in the bed, taking her one hand and placing it on my chest. The physical contact almost makes me groan. Her hand feels warm—alive.
~31~
I wake up to movement. Something’s wiggling across my groin. I have an instant hard-on. It takes me a minute to remember where I am. I nearly fall out of bed when I realize Ryan’s trying to pull off the oxygen mask. I’m stunned. Speechless. I barely comprehend how to push the help button.
Lynne shows up quickly. Shock registers on her face as she takes me in. I have bed hair and no shirt, and Ryan’s struggling to remove the mask. She comes toward me and shoos me away while she works on Ryan.
“What were you thinking?” she says, chastising me.
I pull the shirt over my head. “It’s not what you think. I was just sleeping,” I reply, wondering why the hell I’m defending myself.
“Whatever, go get some coffee. I need to call Dr. Harper and Dr. West.”
“She’s okay, right? I mean—”
Lynne cuts me off and points toward the door. “You’ll just be in the way. She’s fine, better than fine. She’s waking up.”
I almost have to hold on to a chair to steady myself. I grab my shoes as I pad quickly out of the room. Ryan’s waking up. I get to stare into those green eyes and kiss those pouty lips. Ones that will kiss me back.
I need a reality check. This feels surreal. I almost don’t want to get my hopes up. It’s been such a long road to recovery.
I snag some coffee out of the machine as I fumble for my phone. I quickly call Trina and tell her what’s going on. I can hear the excitement in her voice. She’s going to drop Holly off at Quinn’s moms, then go pick him up. I’m a bundle of nerves. What’s taking so long? It’s only been twenty minutes, but it feels like forever.
I go to the NICU. Riley is getting stronger every day, but because he’s premature, he has to stay awhile longer. Thankfully, his lungs are almost fully developed. I carefully pick him up and cradle him to my chest. He smells so good. I don’t think I ever fully appreciated that new baby scent. It gives me comfort and makes me smile. I sit down in the chair and begin to rock him. My “little man.” My boy. My son. I lean back and close my eyes.
“Andrew.”
I open my eyes and see Quinn and Trina. She reaches for Riley, and I reluctantly hand him over.
“Oh, you’re such a cute boy. So adorable and sweet. God, I could just eat you up,” she coos.
“God, Trina, you’re going to turn him into a sissy. He’s going to be a manly man,” I say, chuckling.
“Yeah, because you’re so damn burly. Should I tell him how many times you’ve cried in the last few months? I kept count, you know,” she retorts, laying Riley back in his crib.
“I’m emotional. There’s nothing wrong with a man getting to know his feminine side.”
Trina begins laughing. Even Quinn cracks a grin. I laugh with them. Damn, it’s been a long time since any of us have joked or even found a reason to smile. For the first time, I feel optimistic.
We wander to the waiting room, and I begin my ritual pacing. I despise not knowing what’s going on.
Almost an hour later, Lynne comes and gets us. She can barely contain her excitement.
“She’s awake but extremely groggy and disoriented.”
Tears fill my eyes. I have my wife back. She’s conscious. My entire body feels renewed at the prospect of seeing her awake. I also have a nervous hesitation, as if I’m seeing her for the first time.
“Just remember, Shea, she has a long recovery ahead of her. Her memory is severely impaired. She appears aware of her surroundings and responds well to verbal commands. But she isn’t aware of why she’s here or how long it’s been. We want to fill in the details gradually. I don’t want her overwhelmed, so go easy. I don’t think she realizes she had a baby. Coma patients normally have spotty memories, so this is expected. She’ll remember on her own timetable. We don’t want to push
her. We think its best only one of you goes in first. We want to limit visitation right now until she gets her bearings.”
I nod in agreement. I prepare myself because I know I’ll be the first one she sees.
“Go spend time with her. Then call us and tell us what we need to know. I don’t want to inundate her with too many people, and I want to make sure I don’t say anything I shouldn’t. I can’t wait to hear about your first visit,” Trina says, hugging me.
Hell, I wasn’t going to argue. I’m finally going to see my wife with her eyes wide open.
I walk into the room and see the head of her bed has been propped up. Her eyes are darting everywhere, confusion written on her face. Then she focuses on me. I will be crushed if she doesn’t remember me—us. This inkling of anxiousness creeps up my spine as I move close to her. I need to touch her to make sure she’s real. As I draw closer, a smile curves her mouth. She stretches her one hand out to me. Then our fingertips collide. It is like a rush of heat spikes throughout my body. I have to keep myself in check because the need to reclaim my wife has me in an almost uncontrollable state.
“Baby,” I murmur softly as I sit on the edge of the bed. I swipe her bangs away from her face. Bending my head down, I caress my lips against hers gently. The contact is brief yet intimate. She attempts to talk, but whispery garble comes out. “Just relax, babe. Take it slow. I’m not going anywhere. I’ll be right here.” I grasp her hand and bring it to my lips.
She appears at ease when I say I’m not leaving. Ryan squeezes my hand. She comprehends my words. I wonder how long it will be until the nonstop questions begin. I can’t wait to get her home. I know it will be weeks, since rehabilitation comes first. I’ve already signed the paperwork to have her moved to a rehab center. Yet another facility, but Lynne assures me she’ll recover faster there.
