Locked in pain.
It was one beat before his arms and legs gave.
My little boy fell to the ground.
Face down.
I screamed.
I screamed and screamed. But my screams were silent to my own ears. As if no matter how loud they were, no one would hear. No help to be found.
I crawled for him, half-rolling down the steps as I fought to get there. Everything was weighted, spindly tendrils reaching out from the depths of a nightmare to hold me back.
Because it felt as if I were slithering through quicksand.
Sinking.
Farther and farther away from him with each savage moment that passed.
It was a slowed motion I couldn’t breach.
My entire body shivered when I reached for him and flipped him over.
He rolled, completely limp.
I couldn’t stop shaking . . . shaking and shaking and shaking . . . when my hand fumbled out to press over his chest.
My heart. My heart.
This time, I heard it.
My scream.
The agony that tore out of me when I could no longer feel the beat of his little life.
My sun and my moon.
I couldn’t see.
Couldn’t hear.
And I swore, right then, all the stars fell from the sky.
“No,” I raked over a sob, my hand pressing harder. Frantically searching. “No. No, no, no. Evan, no. You aren’t going to leave me. I won’t let you. No. Please.”
A cry scraped from my throat when I was suddenly being torn away from where I clung to Evan, hands I’d missed so desperately squeezing me hard for the flash of a second.
Before he’d taken my place.
Kale.
Quickly, the man moved to kneel over my son. He tilted his ear to Evan’s mouth then pressed his fingers to his neck.
For the beat of a second, horror struck on his face.
It was the exact same horror I’d seen him wear in my kitchen.
It was the kind of horror that destroyed worlds.
Despairing and desolate.
He started pumping Evan’s chest.
My mouth dropped open in another scream.
A plea.
A prayer.
I didn’t know.
No. No. No.
Kale’s face broke into my vision.
His lips were moving, shouting, but I couldn’t hear.
My son, my son, my son.
“Hope. Hope! Call 9-1-1.”
Finally, the sound cracked against my ears, penetrating the horrifying daze, snapping me out of my stupor and into action.
I scrambled onto my hands and knees, slipping on the grass before I managed to get to my feet. Clinging to the railing, I fumbled up the steps and raced inside. It felt as if it took a lifetime to get to my room where my phone was charging on the nightstand.
A lifetime flashing.
A tiny infant in my arms.
“I’m sorry, but your son will require a heart transplant. It’s the only chance he has.”
M-A-M-A, he signed for the first time.
His grin. His smile. His belief.
Love. Love. Love.
Grief fisted me by the throat, and I ripped the phone from the cord and rushed back out, trying to see through the torment as I forced myself to remain steady enough to dial the three numbers.
I was already back outside and dropping to my knees beside where Kale was hunched over Evan when the operator answered.
“9-1-1, what’s your emergency?”
“Help, my son. He’s collapsed. He’s a heart transplant recipient. Please . . . hurry.”
I rattled off my address, begging the whole time.
“Ma’am . . . try to stay calm. Can you tell me if he’s breathing? Does he have any other visible injuries?”
“No. Just . . . please . . . hurry.”
“We have an ambulance in route. Please stay on the line with me.”
Kale worked over Evan in a controlled desperation.
Hopefully.
Fiercely.
Grimly.
As if he could pump his own life into my son’s body.
While I sat there, helplessly clutching my chest, trying to keep everything from spilling out.
Chills raked down my spine when I felt the shadow looming over us.
It was the evilest kind of darkness.
The man who stared down with animosity and a twisted sort of disbelief where Evan lay on the ground. To where Kale tried to save my son’s life.
Then the monster bolted down the walkway and to his car.
His engine roared, and he sped away.
Gone.
The way I wanted him to be.
The sound of sirens whirred in the distance, growing louder and louder as they approached. Red and white lights flickered and flashed through the growing darkness in front of my house as a firetruck and ambulance arrived.
Paramedics swarmed around us, but Kale refused to budge from Evan. He shouted that he was a doctor, making orders, never pausing chest compressions.
Evan’s shirt was cut up the middle and a mask was placed over his mouth and nose.
I cringed when an IV was placed in his veins. I hated it for him, how terrified my son was of that specific thing. His fear of needles. The way I’d always wanted to take away all of his pain.
But I’d never, ever been prepared for this.
In a scramble of activity, a defibrillator was set on the ground.
My entire body froze in grief when they set the paddles on his chest and a huge shock jolted his tiny body.
I was certain the entire earth held its breath as we waited for the line on the monitor to blip to life.
But there was nothing.
They administered another.
I could feel all the pieces I’d been trying to hold together fall away when Evan was shocked again and there was still no response. In horror, I watched as Kale went back to compressions as Evan was strapped to a backboard and placed on a gurney.
Kale never stopped his efforts when they moved Evan.
He climbed onto the gurney and straddled my son.
Pumping.
Refusing to give up.
And I prayed. I prayed, and I prayed, and I prayed.
Promising I would never give up hope.
30
Kale
Fear took me whole. Frantically, I ran across the lot and dropped to my knees at her side.
Her eyes rolled back. “Melody!” I shouted.
I searched for her pulse. For her breath.
Screams echoed through the air.
My shouts for help.
“I won’t let this happen. I promise, I won’t let this happen.”
I pressed my hands to her chest and began to pump.
Compression after compression.
Teeth grinding together, I worked over her, begging, “Don’t leave me. I won’t let you leave me.”
I fought and the sun spun out of the sky.
Darkness.
The world canted and tipped from its axis.
Everything shook.
Evan’s face.
His little, broken body beneath my hands.
That fucking flat line.
A scream. A plea. Hope on her knees. “I need you. I need you . . .”
I bit back the roar that threatened in my throat, a clod of fear and desperation that took up the entire cavity of my chest.
I pumped and pumped and pumped as people moved around the trauma room in a controlled chaos.
I tried to shrug off the hand that landed on my shoulder. “Dr. Bryant . . . you need to step down. We have him. We have him.”
“No!” I shouted, continuing to pump through the tears and the cries that raked from my soul.
No.
Evan.
Oh, God, no.
I wouldn’t let this happen again.
I couldn’t.
Another hand landed
on my shoulder, and this time it was Dr. Krane’s face that cut into my vision. “Dr. Bryant, we need to move him, and we need to do it now. I will do everything in my power to save him. I promise.”
Grief tore through me as I looked down at Evan, to where I was still straddling him on the gurney, the precious little boy’s face covered by the mask where one of the nurses pumped the bag.
“We have to move him,” Dr. Krane said again in attempt to break through the mayhem that scattered my brain and scrambled my spirit.
No. Evan.
My favorite. My favorite.
Feeling a piece of me rip away, I let two male nurses haul me off the gurney. Knees weak and my arms screaming from the exertion, I slumped forward, sucking for the nonexistent air.
I tried. I tried. I tried.
I would have given anything.
I’d never be enough.
Grief ricocheted from the walls as the trauma room door slid open, and they quickly wheeled out his tiny, broken body and moved him toward the elevators that would lift him to the surgical floor.
Open-heart surgery.
His only chance.
His last chance.
They’d already gotten Hope’s consent. I couldn’t imagine what she was feeling right then. The devastation she had to be dealing with.
Fuck. I wanted to take it from her. Shoulder it all.
I staggered out five feet behind them. Hopelessness swooped down, winding around me.
Destroying.
Dizzying.
Overpowering.
I tried.
I tried.
They stopped to wait for the elevator, and my attention was captured by the two big wooden doors that led out to the front entrance as it buzzed and swung open.
That awareness was back. Coasting across my skin like an omen.
A chill.
That sixth fucking sense that knotted my stomach and curled my fists.
Dane Gentry strode through, still wearing the suit he’d been wearing back at Hope’s place an hour before, though, his crisp white shirt was smattered with blood and his fucking pretentious face, which he’d tried to wipe clean, was mottled with rising bruises and gaping cuts.
And I wished . . . I wished with all of me I hadn’t stopped when I did.
That I’d ended the piece of shit the way he’d deserved to be.
Because there was no missing what was written all over Hope who was right behind him. She was screeching and clawing and trying to jump on his back to keep him away from her son.
The one she’d been living for because she’d always been living for the right things.
The best things.
Dane’s voice boomed, a vile echo across the linoleum floors. “Stop what you’re doing. That child has a DNR.”
Hope screamed. A scream made up of fury and protection. A mother’s fight. “He’s lying. I would never sign that. Never. Don’t listen to him.”
Caught off guard, Dr. Krane paused to twist at the waist to check out the commotion behind him. He frowned, confusion and disgust lining his brow. “Excuse me, but I’m afraid I don’t know who you are.”
When the elevator dinged and the doors slid open, he turned back around and started to move forward, but Dane’s voice was bellowing again. “I’m Dane Gentry, Evan’s father.”
Dr. Krane shook his head. “I’m sorry, but I have no idea who Evan Gentry is. If you’ll excuse me, I have a patient to treat.”
A blast of hot fury blew through me. I was already moving toward Evan as Dane approached. I’d fight to the end for that little boy.
With everything.
It was all I had left.
What I had to give.
The dickbag had no clue I was there, his attention all wrapped up on one goal. His disgusting ambition that was slowly beginning to make sense.
Those disordered pieces and threads that’d been dangling around me for close to the last two weeks finally coming together.
Seeping into my consciousness.
Dane’s words hit Dr. Krane and his team from behind, “If you proceed, I will have your medical license. Your home. Your life. My attorney is on his way, so I suggest you stop whatever she has consented to. This woman’s name is Harley Gentry, and that boy’s name is Evan Gentry. She perjured his records.”
Hope’s sweet, sweet voice ripped through the air. Pain. Grief. She tried to scramble around him as she screamed, “No. Don’t listen to him. Please, save my son. Save him!”
Her torment pummeled me. Wave after wave, and I didn’t know whether to stand guard in front of Evan or rush the motherfucker and make it so he couldn’t utter another word.
In the middle of everything, wondering if I would finally truly have something to give.
Because another of those pieces finally took hold. I’d looked through Evan’s records what had to be a hundred times. Dane had never been mentioned once.
Not once.
The memory hit me, the plea that had been woven into her tone when she’d told me she’d do absolutely anything to protect her son.
Anything.
This amazing, giving, selfless girl.
Rage churned, and I stepped in front of Dane who was still making his approach.
I didn’t give a flying fuck if I lost my medical license. My freedom. Whatever it took.
He tried to keep his arrogant chin lifted, but I saw the way the pussy’s knees wobbled, the tremor in his misstep.
I shifted to look over my shoulder at Dr. Krane. “I assure you, Dr. Krane, there is no evidence of a DNR in that boy’s file. This man is lying.”
It didn’t matter if he was or not. I’d gladly go down for this. For Evan. For Hope.
Dr. Krane hesitated, looking between Dane and Evan and me.
“Please . . . save him.” I couldn’t even manage to get sound into the words. It was just a silent plea.
Issued with every part of me.
Because if I could offer Hope one thing? It would be a chance for her son.
For her amazing, incredible son.
For a moment, Dr. Krane wavered before he cleared his throat and yelled, “Go, get his boy upstairs.”
Standing there with my heart battering at my ribs, I watched as they rushed Evan into the elevator. It wasn’t until the door closed shut behind them that I sensed the flurry of movement, the whoosh of air before I felt the connection of the fist against my jaw.
Pain splintered across my face and my head rocked back.
But I didn’t care.
As long as Evan got his chance.
Hope screamed. Screamed my name so loudly it penetrated my soul, which I swore trembled and shook, stretching out for her.
Wishing it could reach her.
Impossible.
I knew.
But that didn’t mean that connection between us wasn’t real.
Feet knocked out from under me, I tripped and thudded to the ground. Instantly, Dane was on top of me, going for another blow. Roaring, I caught his wrist just before it connected against my eye.
I tossed him off.
It sent him reeling across the floor. He slammed into a metal file cabinet, head striking against the corner, body slumping to the ground.
I went for him, sitting up high on my knees when I cocked my arm back and let my fist fly. It cracked against his cheekbone. The already fragile skin split and blood poured out.
“Why would you do this?” I demanded, gripping him by the shirt in both of my hands. A new kind of frenzy rose inside me.
Hysteria and turmoil.
A need for Hope. Maybe a need for me.
Melody.
I blinked against the images of her face that flashed behind my eyes. That fucking flat line.
“Why? Did you know Melody was sick? Did you know your sister was sick?” My own sickness roiled when I thought of the possibility.
Melody falling to the ground, shocked by a pain she never could have anticipated.
I need you.
&n
bsp; Hope yelped when I said it. “Your sister? Oh God. Kale. Oh God, the girl . . . your first love who you lost.”
No doubt, the girl was catching on to my truth.
The second I’d realized the connection, I’d known the reality would break her in two.
God knew that it’d broken me.
But in the end, she needed to know this more than I did. For Evan. We needed the whole, complete truth for Evan.
I wouldn’t stop until we had it.
I could feel her . . . her presence behind me, her cries biting into my skin. Fuck, I just wanted to take it all away. Make it better. Give her back her life.
“Fuck you,” Dane spat.
I tightened my hold on his collar, making sure I was cutting off some of the airflow, my teeth gritting as I forced out the low, biting words, “Tell me . . . did you know that your sister was sick? That her heart was bad?”
Guilt streaked across his face before it was replaced with indignation.
He knew. Anger stretched hot across my chest.
“You bastard, you fucking knew.” My hands constricted tighter, and his legs flailed, his pathetic hands coming to mine, nails scratching as he tried to break my hold.
“No. You’re the one who was supposed to be the doctor. You should have seen it. You should have saved her.”
Knives.
They cut and flayed. Slashes across my flesh. Cutting me to pieces.
Because I knew I should have. I should have seen. I should have stopped it.
But I’d ignored all the warning signs. Too busy and too wrapped up in my life to realize their importance until there’d been nothing I could do.
Melody.
My Melody.
“Tell me why, you piece of shit. Tell me.”
I cocked my fist back, and he flinched, confession grit from his mouth. “My mother.”
Just Dane mentioning Melody’s mother threatened to knock me back on my ass, but I kept hold. “Why?”
He roared and struggled to break free.
I curled both my hands around his neck. “Don’t assume I wouldn’t think twice about ending you. Right now. I’ve already lost everything. I’d take pleasure in taking you down while I go.”
He thrashed, and I tightened my hold, teeth grinding. “Tell me.”
His eyes bulged with air loss, his own teeth clenched as he forced out the words. “My grandfather . . . he couldn’t know it ran in my mother’s family. She had a sister . . . a sister who died from the same thing.”
Fight for Me: The Complete Collection Page 64
