by Kaylee Ryan
“You did good,” he yells back.
I step back out of the way and let them go to work. My phone vibrates in my pocket.
Stephanie.
She’s just going to have to wait.
I stay rooted to the spot on the hillside just in case they need another hand. I watch as the firemen join us and survey the car, assessing the risk while they nod and use hand signals. They must say that all is safe, because they immediately get to work on trying to pry the door open. The paramedics are close by, waiting to get to their patient.
I don’t move a muscle; I stand in my spot, soaking wet and wait to see if she’s okay. I wish I could have done more. I make a vow to at least get my CPR certification. What could I have really done if she were awake, or if I had to try and drag her out of the car if there was more imminent danger?
My phone vibrates again, and I continue to ignore it.
My eyes are glued to the scene in front of me. I watch as the door—which will only open a fraction—is cut away from the car. The firemen are working carefully yet diligently. As soon as the door is removed, one of the men picks it up and throws it toward the rear of the car. I’m sure they’re operating on pure adrenaline; it’s their job to get to her as quickly as possible. You see this in the movies, hear about it on the news, but to be here and witness the determination and dedication these men and women have is awe-inspiring.
The paramedics swoop in and check on the driver. I see now that one of them is in the passenger seat. I guess that door opened just fine. Everyone works together assessing the situation. When they yell for the stretcher, my heartbeat accelerates. Is she going to be okay? Can they get her out? Do they have to cut her out? A million questions are running through my head, but I still keep my eyes glued to the car. To her. I need to see that she’s okay.
Minutes, hours—I’ve lost track of time. It’s not until I see them slowly and ever so gently lift her from the car and place her on the stretcher that I feel myself take a deep breath. From the ache in my chest, it’s as if it’s the first in a while.
The paramedics work on strapping her down. A fireman throws a big blanket over her body, followed by what looks like a tarp, an attempt to keep her dry in this torrential downpour. Mother Nature is relentless tonight. Tears from Heaven, as my mother always says.
Four of them flank each corner of the stretcher and begin the slow, slippery trek up hill to the ambulance. In the dark of night, I lose sight of them until they reach the headlight beams.
“Hey, man, are you good? You hurt?” One of the guys lays a hesitant hand on my shoulder.
I shake my head. “No, I just stopped to help,” I try to explain.
He nods, letting me know he heard me. This rain makes it damn difficult to have a normal conversation.
Turning, he heads toward the car. Reaching inside, he pulls out a bag.
Her purse.
What if she wakes up in the hospital all alone? How long will it take her family to get here? She’s going to be scared. It’s that thought that has me climbing the hill. I’ll go to the hospital and just make sure she’s okay, that she’s not alone. I’ll wait until her family arrives. Maybe I can answer any questions she might have. I can at least fill her in from the point that I found her in her car.
At the top of the hill, they already have her loaded in the ambulance. I’m headed that way when the sheriff stops me.
“Excuse me, sir, do you know the victim?” he questions.
“No. I was driving by and saw the headlights over the embankment,” I explain.
He nods. “I’m going to have a few questions.” He looks up at the rain still falling from the sky. “Can you come down to the station?”
“No. I’m following them to the hospital.”
Tilting his head to the side, he studies me. “I thought you didn’t know her?”
“I don’t. However, I do know what happened here tonight—after I found her, at least. I don’t want her to wake up alone. I’ll stay until her family arrives.” I give him the details of what I just decided only minutes before.
Understanding crosses his face. “I’ll meet you there.”
I give him a quick wave and hustle across the road to my truck. Cranking the heater, I pull out my cell phone. Several missed calls and one text from Stephanie.
Stephanie: I can’t believe you stood me up.
Really? Does she not know me any better than that?
Me: Drove up on an accident. Stopped to help. Headed to hospital now.
Me: I’ll make it up to you.
After I hit send, I drop the phone in the cup holder and reach for my seat belt, securely fastening it. I wait for the ambulance to pull out, because I’m going to follow them, not knowing for sure where they’re taking her. I don’t have to wait long before the siren sounds and they’re moving. The sheriff pulls out behind them, sticking his hand out the window for me to follow.
Thankful for the escort, I put the truck in drive and follow close behind. The entire way, I pray she’s okay. I’m not really a praying man; I’ve done it, but don’t make it a habit. But something inside me needs her to be okay.
Chapter 4
The drive to the hospital is a blur. My grip on the wheel is so tight my fingers start to ache. Thankfully, the rain has started to ease a little; however, it does nothing to calm my nerves. I follow the sheriff into the emergency room parking lot, and he parks behind the ambulance. I find the first available spot, throwing my truck into park. I tear off the poncho and throw it in the backseat of the truck, then grab my phone and keys and head toward the entrance.
By the time I reach them, they’ve already wheeled her back to an exam room. The sheriff is waiting for me just inside the door.
“Simpson.” He holds his hand out for me.
I take it. “Ridge Beckett,” I introduce myself.
“They have a room we can use. I turned over her belongings, so they’re going to try and contact her family.”
“Do we know who she is?”
He gives me a sad look. “She had her ID in her wallet. Unfortunately, I cannot divulge that information.”
I run my hand through my hair, frustrated at the situation. I understand that she has rights, confidentiality and all that, but I just . . . She needs to be okay. “Yeah,” I finally say, following him to the room he just mentioned.
“Have a seat.” He points to the row of chairs in what appears to be a private waiting room. “Now, tell me what happened tonight.”
I spend the next several minutes going over the evening. Hell, I even started with stopping to change Dawn’s tire. He doesn’t say a word, just listens and takes notes.
“So, you don’t know either of them?” he asks.
I shake my head, just as my phone vibrates in my pocket. I’m sure it’s Stephanie. I need to explain to her what’s going on. Glancing at the screen, it’s a local number, but one I don’t recognize. I nod toward the phone, letting him know I’m going to answer before swiping the screen and holding it to my ear. “Hello.”
“Hi, is this Mr. Beckett? Mr. Ridge Beckett?” the lady asks.
“Yes, who is this?”
“Mr. Beckett, my name is Alice and I’m calling from Mercy General. Sir, we need for you to come in right away.”
My heart drops. Something’s wrong. “Who?” I grit out, my mind racing. Mom and Dad are home, or should have been. Reagan, she would have been on her way home from work. One of the guys? Fuck!
“Mr. Beckett, it would be best if you come on in. Come to the emergency department and ask for me, Alice. I’ll be at the reception desk.”
Swallowing the lump in my throat and taking a deep breath, I answer her. “I’m already here. I was . . . I’ll be right there.” I hit end and grip the phone tight in my hands.
“Mr. Beckett?” Sheriff Simpson is watching me closely.
“That was the ER,” I tell him. “They need me to come in right away.”
His face pales with what that simple r
equest means. I’m sure he sees it all too much in his line of work. “I’ll go with you.”
Standing on trembling legs, I let him lead the way back to the reception desk. I’m numb with fear and completely over this day. I send up another silent prayer that whoever it is, they’ll be okay.
“This is Mr. Beckett.” Simpson points over his shoulder. “He was the Good Samaritan who stopped to help an accident tonight. Someone just called him, stating he needed to come in right away, but he was already here,” he goes on to explain.
Alice stands from her chair, a folder in her arms. “That was me who called. We can actually go back to that room you were just in to talk.” She doesn’t say anything more, simply starts walking. Sheriff Simpson gives my shoulder a tight squeeze before following her. It’s as if my body is on autopilot, my legs carrying me down the hall on their own accord.
Alice holds the door open for us. “Have a seat,” she says calmly.
“Who?” I grit out again. I’m over waiting for her to tell me.
“Mr. Beckett, I’m a little confused at this, so maybe you can help me understand.” She opens the folder in her hands. “The victim in the car you stopped to help tonight, she has you, Ridge Beckett of Anderson County, listed as her next of kin.”
My mouth drops open. “How is that possible? Who is she?” It was dark and the rain was pouring down. The car . . . I didn’t recognize the car. There has to be some kind of mistake.
“Her name is Melissa. Melissa Knox.”
My mind races. Melissa Knox. Do I know a Melissa Knox? Could it be Melissa from a few months ago? The one who ran out on me in the middle of the night? She’s the only Melissa I can think of. “I know a Melissa, met her several months ago. I don’t know her last name, though. It doesn’t make any sense. There has to be some kind of mistake.”
“It’s all here in her records. She has you listed: Ridge Beckett, Beckett Construction.”
Holy fucking shit! Is this real? There are so many emotions rolling through me right now. Relief that it’s not my family or friends, confusion as to why Melissa—if she is even the same Melissa—would list me as her next of kin, fear that she’s not going to be okay. Regardless of that fact that I now could have a connection with her, I still have this strong urge, a feeling deep in the pit of my gut, that I need her to be okay.
“What does that mean? Is she going to be okay? Can I see her? See if it’s the same person?” I fire off questions one after the other.
“Yes, you can see her, but just for a few minutes. She’s still in critical condition. And being her next of kin means you’ll be the one making medical decisions for her until she wakes up.”
No fucking way. “I need to see her, see if I know her. This has to be a mistake.”
“Sure, but like I said, it can only be a few minutes. We’re monitoring her closely.”
“That’s fine, I just need . . .” I swallow hard. “I need to see if it’s her, if it’s the same Melissa.”
“Of course, right this way.”
“I’ll wait here for you,” Sheriff Simpson says. “Anyone you want me to call for you?”
“Not yet. I don’t know if . . . not yet.” I stand and follow Alice out of the room.
The hallways are bustling with activity—doctors, nurses, even patients walking around. Alice leads us to the end of the hall and through a set of double doors marked Critical Care Unit. There are patient rooms surrounded by glass and doors, unlike the other that are only separated by curtains.
Stopping in front of Room 3, Alice turns to me. “She hasn’t woken up yet. I’ll leave you, but just a few minutes.” I watch her walk to the small nurses’ station, seemingly to give me a sense of privacy.
Squeezing my eyes closed, I take in a deep breath and hold it. Slowly, I release the air from my lungs, willing my heart to slow its pace. I repeat this at least three times, probably more before I grip the door handle and walk into her room. The privacy curtain is pulled around the bed. When I slowly walk around it, I freeze.
It’s her.
Melissa.
Melissa from the bar all those months ago, who left me in her bed in her motel room after our night of hot sex. The Melissa I’ve thought about often and wondered what made her slip away in the middle of the night. What would’ve happened if I had woken up with her lying beside me? Would she be here now? Lying in the hospital bed fighting for her life? I think back to that night—she said she was just passing through. What is she doing here now, so close to me and my company? Why would she list me as her next of kin?
Her face is bruised and she’s bandaged over one eye. Her eyes are closed, and she appears to be sleeping peacefully. Except that’s not the case at all. She has yet to wake up.
Will she ever?
“Oh, I’m sorry I didn’t know she had company. I’m Dr. Ellis. I just came by to check the baby’s vitals.”
Wait? What did he just say? “Umm, the baby?” My eyes travel to her swollen belly. How did I miss that?
“Yes, it appears as though Miss Knox is eight months along.” He gives me a look like I must be crazy. Why wouldn’t I be? Who lists someone they met briefly, had hot sex with and runs out on them as their next of kin?
That’s when it hits me. Eight months ago. I count back in my head. No. It can’t be. I try to breathe, but I can’t seem to suck in any air.
“Sir, you okay?”
Bending over, I place my hands on my knees and fight like hell to catch my breath.
Is this really happening?
“Sir?” the doctor tries again.
“Why don’t you sit down?” a soft, feminine voice says from beside me.
I don’t know who she is or where she came from, but when she and the doctor each take an arm and lead me to a chair beside the bed, I don’t fight it.
“Slow, deep, even breaths. That’s it, in and out,” she coaches me.
I focus on her voice, blocking out the white noise bouncing around in my head. Another slow, deep breath and I feel some of the pressure release from my chest.
“Good,” the woman says. Looking up, I see that it’s Alice. “I take it you didn’t know she was expecting?” she asks.
No shit, Sherlock. “No. I met her once, briefly.” I’m barely able to croak the words out around the lump in my throat.
Confusion crosses her face.
“Is the baby . . . okay?” I can hear myself speak, but it doesn’t even sound like me.
“I’ve been monitoring the baby closely and everything is fine,” Dr. Ellis replies.
Slumping back in the chair, I stare at Melissa, trying to make sense of all this. Why me? Unless . . . Is this baby mine? Is that why she was here, to tell me that I’m going to be a father? My mind races with different scenarios, and that’s the only thing that makes sense.
“I found this in her personal belongings.” Alice keeps her tone soft and soothing.
Looking up, I see her holding an envelope with my name scrawled across the front.
Fuck!
“We’ll give you a few minutes,” Dr. Ellis says.
I grasp the letter in my hands, staring at my name. I want to open it, see what it says, but then again I don’t. I just want to wake up from this nightmare. I want a do-over on today. Squeezing my eyes closed, I lean my head back against the chair. I feel it deep in my soul that these words, this day, are going to change the rest of my life.
Expect the unexpected, isn’t that what they say?
Steeling my resolve, I rip open the envelope and begin to read.
Ridge,
If you’re reading this, that means I chickened out. That’s the coward’s way, I know. I have a tendency to run, but you already know that. First, let me start by saying how sorry I am about leaving you that night. No excuse is a good one, but here’s mine.
A few weeks before I met you, I lost my parents.’ My adoptive parents. Growing up, I was in and out of foster homes until I met Mr. and Mrs. Knox. They adopted me and gave me my first rea
l home. I wanted to show them how grateful I was, so I studied hard, kept my nose buried in a book, and didn’t cause problems. They missed me graduating from college. I chose to be a paralegal to work in their law firm. Needless to say, the day I lost them, I lost my entire world.
The night I met you, I just wanted to forget. I’m not a drinker, but I was willing to do anything to numb the pain. Then I met you and the guys. It was nice to be included in the conversation, to feel like I was a part of something more. I was instantly attracted to you and have no regrets about our night together. You were the first real thing I ever did for myself. I wanted to know what it would feel like to be spontaneous and feel wanted. You gave me both. When I woke up, I was ashamed. Not because of you, but because of the feelings you brought out in me. I still replay every minute of that night in my head. Even through my drunken haze, I remember everything like it was just yesterday. For many reasons, that is, to date, the best night of my life. I finally lived for me, with no regrets.
Now, here’s where things get interesting. Not only did you give me the greatest night of my life, but you gave me my own little miracle. Not even a month later, I started to feel ill. It just wouldn’t go away, so naturally I broke down and went to the doctor. Turns out, I wasn’t sick at all—I was pregnant. I am pregnant. I know we used protection, but you were still able to give me my little miracle. I refuse to call him an accident. I believe in fate, Ridge, and I believe our night together was supposed to happen. In just a little under a month, I will give birth to a little boy, who I already love more than words could ever express. You gave me a real family, something I had for a small time before it was taken away from me. I was lost in the world, until the minute I heard those two words: ‘You’re pregnant.’
Since you’re reading this, you know that I am again taking the easy way out. I know that you have a right to know about your son, but I’m scared to death that you will reject him, or worse, take him from me. You seem like a great guy, but honestly, I don’t really know you. I know it’s still possible, but then again, will I chicken out and not send this letter? I hope not. You deserve to know. I want you to know that I don’t expect anything from you. My parents’ left me set for life, so money is not an issue. I don’t expect you to play a role in his life, unless you want to. All I ask is that if you do, make sure it’s what you want. I don’t ever want my son to know the rejection of a parent like I did. At least that is my hope.
