Fight for Me: The Complete Collection

by Jackson, A. L.

When all I could think about was that kid.

  That kid.

  I struggled to focus, to breathe in the dense, dark air that had taken hold.

  Hope fisted her hands on her lap, choppy pants heaving from her shuddering chest.

  Terrified.

  Doing my best to keep it together, to be there for her, I reached out and set my hand on her leg. I gave her a soft squeeze. “He’s going to be okay, Hope. I promise you, he’s going to be okay.”

  The oaths I’d kept silenced before came tumbling out.

  Her nod was jerky. She set her hand on top of mine, squeezing so hard I was sure she was drawing blood.

  Leaning on me.

  Relying on me.

  Silently begging me to keep that promise.

  Five minutes later, I skidded into the parking lot at the ER.

  The same ER where I’d been a resident for the previous three years.

  I jerked into a vacant spot, killed the engine, and was already out and at Hope’s door by the time she had it open and was climbing out.

  “Thank you,” she rasped, clutching my shirt. She was shaking all over, so I wrapped my arm around her waist to support her.

  Together, we rushed for the entryway doors.

  They swished apart as we approached.

  Once we got inside, I let Hope run ahead of me, feeling like a complete asshole for dropping my arm.

  But I felt so tied.

  Those memories too close. Too real. Too much.

  I rubbed an anxious hand over my jaw, watching Hope as she went for the triage station, her son’s name a plea from her tongue.

  The door leading into the back buzzed and swung open. Hope went right for it.

  And I stood there like a chump.

  Fuck it.

  I hurtled after her, barely grabbing the door before it closed. I hurried to catch up to her where she raced down the hall that was lined with curtained exam spaces, a big nursing station in the middle.

  She headed straight down the hallway and toward the room number she’d been given.

  This place was so familiar. So much of my time had been devoted to this emergency room. But it was always me caring for the patients that came through the doors.

  My complete dedication given to them.

  But this time . . . this time it was different. The tables turned.

  I passed familiar faces, and a couple of nurses offered confused hellos as I passed.

  Frantically, Hope jerked open the door of one of the enclosed exam rooms reserved for higher-risk patients. Equipment at the ready for testing and treatment that might need to be rendered urgently.

  And that chaotic world spinning around us?

  For a moment, it completely froze.

  It gave Hope a second to catch up.

  A chance to take in her son, who was in the middle of the room, partially propped up on an elevated hospital bed with an oxygen mask covering his nose and mouth.

  He was alert, those green eyes scared, but they shimmered with relief when he caught sight of his mom.

  For a beat, Hope was locked in that suspended moment where only her son existed.

  Then she jolted forward. “Oh . . . God . . . Evan.”

  Her hand was on the side of his face, the other going straight for his heart.

  My heart. My heart.

  From behind, I could see her shoulders sag in relief when she felt it beating.

  When she felt the life that pounded through his veins.

  And there was nothing I could do but step up behind her, touch Evan’s cheek, his forehead, fingers trembling as I felt along the steady pulse in his neck.

  It was the furthest from an exam. It was simply a man needing to be reassured that someone he cared about was okay.

  From under the mask, Evan smiled his wide smile, and I ruffled my fingers through his hair, barely able to mouth the words, “Hey, buddy.”

  He was okay.

  He signed HI.

  A breath pressed from my lips, a million pounds of worry let loose in the sound. I glanced at Hope, touched her cheek, praying she could see it in my eyes.

  He’s fine. I promise. He’s fine.

  A throat cleared, and my attention jumped up to meet the confused gaze of a woman I’d never met, but knew had to be Josiah’s mother. She stood on the opposite side of the bed, watching over him, dried tears still staining her cheeks.

  She tore her eyes away from me and turned them on Hope. “Hope . . . I’m so sorry to scare you this way. I think . . . I think he just got out of breath, and I panicked—” She fumbled, hesitated, her worried gaze turning to Josiah, who was huddled in the corner, sitting on his father’s knee.

  Josiah’s eyes were wide and terrified and confused. Worried about his friend.

  “You know . . .” She said it like an apology riddled with empathy.

  Because Josiah’s mom understood all the things Hope was feeling perfectly.

  “It’s okay,” Hope managed, stare still locked on her son. “It’s okay. I’m just . . .” She forced herself to look at Josiah’s mom, offering a soggy smile. “I’m so grateful you brought him here, Chanda. It isn’t worth the risk. I would have done the same thing.”

  Chanda gave a reassuring tip of her chin, her eyes flitting to me before they jerked away. As if she thought she was invading on something private.

  At the exact same time, her husband’s brow was pinching together in his own confusion, clearly working to figure out where he’d seen me before.

  I roughed a hand over my head, blinking, calculating, trying to figure out what the fuck to do. I had no idea how Hope would want me to handle this.

  How I wanted to.

  That was right when I noticed Dr. Laurent Kristoff standing just off to the side, studying the readout on the portable ECG machine, checking the rhythm of Evan’s heart.

  In all the upheaval, I hadn’t realized the emergency room doctor I’d worked next to for years was right there. Seems Hope wasn’t the only one with tunnel vision.

  Laurent did a double take when he noticed me. “Dr. Bryant?”

  Nodding, I forced myself to give him a cordial smile, but I didn’t get anything out before the door opened behind me.

  Dr. Krane, the cardiac specialist at GL Children’s Center, stepped inside.

  Obviously, he was the pediatric cardiologist on call this weekend.

  Shit.

  He grinned when he saw me. “Dr. Bryant, I didn’t realize you were on call.”

  That’s because I wasn’t.

  I grimaced. “Not on call,” I admitted.

  His expression shifted for a flash, morphing into confusion or concern, I wasn’t sure, before he shrugged it off, moved across the floor, and turned his attention on Evan.

  The reason we were all there.

  That didn’t mean I couldn’t feel the weight of Josiah’s dad’s stare. The questions that were coming from everyone.

  Because I was responsible for the care of both of these boys.

  They were supposed to be my single focus.

  No distractions.

  I’d lived my life on that rule.

  And here I was, so goddamned distracted my insides were in knots and my spirit was roaring, wrapped up in a way I’d never let it before.

  Sure. I’d examined Frankie Leigh. But always on the side. As a bolster for Rex. A second opinion. Reassurance. Her pediatrician was the one who was truly in charge of her care.

  Hope sent me an apologetic glance.

  I shook my head.

  Don’t be sorry.

  Because the truth of it all?

  I wanted to be there.

  I wanted to be there for her.

  And goddamn it, I needed to be there for him.

  20

  Hope

  “Ms. Masterson, I would think it would greatly benefit you to apply for our state health care program.”

  I blinked at the woman behind the desk, who was speaking to me about the fact my son had been rushed in
to the ER. Uninsured.

  What she didn’t understand was that he had to be, for just a little while longer.

  My head shook, and I fought the new kind of panic that clawed through my spirit. “No, I’ll be paying out of pocket.”

  She looked at me as if I were crazy, which admittedly, was exactly how I felt, never having imagined I would ever go down a path such as this. But my son was worth it.

  He was worth any debt. Any sacrifice. Any lie.

  It was only for a year. Until the day I could ensure Dane would never be a threat to Evan again.

  “You’re looking at, at least five thousand for this visit alone, Ms. Masterson.”

  My throat constricted at that number, but I managed to force a bright, fake smile. “It’s fine, I have the funds.”

  Or really, I would find a way to get them.

  Another loan taken out against the coffee shop.

  A rush of guilt made me cringe. I hated that I was putting Jenna in this position. A Drop of Hope was every bit as much her dream as it was mine. But she’d promised me she was willing to make any sacrifice she had to. Promised she was in this with me. Whatever it took or cost.

  The woman pushed out a confused sigh. “Okay, then, but I’m including these pamphlets for you to look over. I’m sure there’s a plan that’s a good fit for your son.”

  I reached over the desk and took them from her. “Thank you, I’ll look through them,” I promised, telling another lie, tossing it right on the mounting pile. The shorter the paper trail, the better.

  Pushing to my feet, I left her office, feeling shaky all over as I went. Adrenaline dumping from my veins, leaving me drained, the remnants the fear of this day had evoked almost too much to bear.

  My emotions precarious. So close to breaking me.

  Desperate.

  That was what I was.

  Desperate for my son to be okay. Desperate for this charade to go away and Dane to leave us be so we could live our lives.

  Rounding the corner, I peered into the examination room through the small window in the door, just needing to get a peek at my son.

  A buoy to give me the strength to keep fighting. To gain the confidence that he was really okay. The doctor had spent a half hour trying to reassure me that he’d just overexerted himself. That it was typical. That there wasn’t anything to worry about.

  Still, Dr. Krane had made an appointment for him to follow up in two weeks to do a thorough workup of his heart to make sure it was functioning fine. Covering all the bases.

  My frantic spirit eased when I gazed in, taking in the sight in front of me.

  Evan was fully propped up in the hospital bed, his mop of messy red hair flying all around as he laughed.

  Laughed because Kale was sitting at the end of his bed, angled with his knee under himself so he could face Evan, scribbling something on the pad one of the nurses had brought in for ease of communication.

  My heart clenched.

  Painfully.

  Beautifully.

  Because my son looked so free and content and comfortable with Kale at his side. And Kale was looking at my son the way a child deserved to be looked at.

  Protectively.

  Adoringly.

  And now I knew the source of Kale’s unease. His fear of loving someone and taking the chance that they might be violently, savagely ripped away. The barriers and shields he struggled to maintain to protect himself from that chance.

  And he had stayed.

  That meant more to me than he could ever know.

  Kale met my eye through the small window.

  That protective possessiveness extended out to me, searching through its own confusion and uncertainty. The man holding me up with a simple glance.

  I’m here.

  I blinked, swallowed, no steel left around my heart. Because in that blink. I was right back in that day. The day I’d been left alone . . .

  “Mrs. Gentry, has your husband returned?” He looked around the room where I sat alone. Clutching my arms over my chest.

  Rocking.

  Trying to be strong.

  Jenna had just left to get coffee, and my mama was on her way from Texas. Promising she would get there as quickly as she could.

  “No.” I swallowed around the ball of agony cinched tight in my throat. Cutting off circulation. Shutting down belief. I didn’t know how much more I could take.

  The doctor who’d first given us the news tried to hide his surprise when I told him I was still alone, but it was there. He shook his head in what I knew was supposed to be sympathy. “All right, then.”

  He sank to the chair beside me. “We would like to have your blood drawn so we can try to determine the exact genetic defect your son suffers from.”

  Jerkily, I nodded, rushing my hands over the chills that lifted on my arms. I was cold. So cold.

  “Of course.”

  I would do anything.

  Give anything.

  The doctor paused, as if he were waiting for me to snap. Break. Then he issued almost carefully, “It is important we get your husband’s as well.”

  I blinked, trying to stay upright against the force of the walls that spun and spun. “He’s not here,” I said, somehow feeling as if that statement was on repeat.

  The words leaving me through the stark numbness that echoed from that hollow place inside.

  He hadn’t been there since he’d stormed out the day before when I’d refused to leave.

  Refusing food.

  Refusing sleep.

  “Just as soon as it’s possible is all we ask.”

  I nodded again. “I’ll do what I can.”

  I couldn’t understand it. How he could leave us there. He’d doted on me through my entire pregnancy. I could never forget the amount of pride on his face and love in his eyes when we’d found out we were having a boy.

  Then he had just . . . disappeared.

  Abandoned us.

  But Dane was the least of my worries right then.

  “The arrangements have been finalized for his transfer, and the heart team will be ready to perform his surgery as soon as he arrives. Transport is scheduled for three this afternoon.”

  I nodded again, clutching myself tighter.

  “You can go in and see him now, and I will send someone to come to draw your blood while they prep him for transfer.”

  The only thing I could process was that I could see him. I could finally see him.

  “Thank you.” The words left me on a gush of air.

  Kindly, he patted my knee. “I know things look bleak right now, and I know you’re scared, but don’t stop praying. I’ve seen a lot of miracles in my lifetime.”

  Gratefulness pulsed through my being, thankful this doctor had taken the time to step outside of his duty and offer me kind words when it felt as if the world only had cruelty to offer.

  “I won’t,” I promised, though I was terrified it might be a lie.

  When he stood, I followed, my knees weak and my body swaying.

  I followed him out and down a long hall and then another before I was cleared through a set of imposing double doors.

  I was taken to a preparation area and instructed on how to wash, before I was led into a darkened room. The large area was only illuminated by dim, unobtrusive lights, sections curtained off, concealing the isolettes behind each.

  Some of the curtains were opened where I could see mothers nursing and fathers cradling their babies in the rocking chairs.

  I gulped again when the nurse led me toward another sectioned off area. My heart raced in its confines.

  Fear and grief and hope.

  They constricted and squeezed, my chest so tight I thought my heart might be physically crushed.

  The nurse drew the curtain back slightly so I could slip through.

  At the sight in front of me, a tiny sound climbed from my throat.

  Love.

  The impact of it was staggering.

  My infant son lay riddled
with tubes and lines, attached to monitors, tape concealing the lower half of his face to keep the oxygen in place.

  But I saw none of those things.

  I saw the child that’d been given into my care.

  I saw a little boy running on a playground.

  I saw a future.

  Slowly, I edged forward. Tears blurred my eyes as I looked down on my son. Hand shaking, I reached out and caressed my thumb across the back of his tiny hand.

  Those tiny fingers searched, tightly wrapping around my finger.

  He stared up at me.

  I was certain that connection was greater than anything I’d ever felt.

  My mouth trembled, overwhelmed with affection. With my free hand, I reached up and softly ran my knuckle down his plump cheek.

  “My heart,” I whispered, and the little boy stared up at me as if he’d known me for a million years.

  The little boy who would forever hold my heart.

  And I murmured a million of those prayers into the air.

  Believed.

  And knew, right that second, with every part of me, I would never, ever give up on hope.

  Blinking out of the reverie, I ran my fingertips over my eyelids, clearing the tears. Refusing to allow myself to spiral into hopelessness.

  I just needed to focus on the fact Evan was okay. Spend this time in gratefulness.

  Knees shaky, I opened the door.

  Instantly, Evan was frantically signing my way, his eyes still dancing with his laughter. DR. BRYANT SAID HE WAS A NERD IN SCHOOL. DID YOU KNOW THAT? HE SAID NERDS ARE THE BEST. THEY GROW UP TO BE DOCTORS.

  Nerds are the best.

  The memory of him teasing me about being a nerd that first night hit me.

  This man. He had completely demolished me in the best of ways.

  A sound that was half a sob and half laughter tripped from my mouth. It originated somewhere in my spirit.

  The sound made up of the remnants of terror I’d felt this afternoon.

  The astounding relief when I’d found Evan was really okay.

  The million emotions Kale had taken me through earlier at his loft. The need and the desire and the beauty.

  The pure adoration I felt then.

  It was all there.

  Compounding.

  Kale stood from the bed, and I sucked in a shattered breath.