27 Truths: Ava's story (The Truth About Love Book 1) (25 page)

I must look shocked, because Harper says, “I’m sorry. She’s just been having a … time, and we can’t leave her.”

I nod as Dad sits down, still holding me.

“You’re going to be okay, Ava,” she says.

Piper climbs up next to me as the doctor approaches.

“Piper, come with me.” Emma smiles at her.

“No.” She yawns, leaning her head against me.

“She’s fine,” I say, looking at the doctor.

“Thomas is in recovery.”

I nod my understanding.

“He’s in critical condition. His pelvic and hip bones were crushed due to the impact, two collapsed lungs, several broken ribs, one that broke off and punctured his heart. He went into cardiac arrest several times during the initial surgery, and he has lost a lot of blood. We have no idea when or if he will wake up. He is not breathing on his own, so we are using a ventilator, per Mr. Robert’s request. His injuries are substantial. We’ve done everything we can for him.”

“So, now what?” I ask.

“Are you praying people?” he asks.

“Yes.”

“Then you should pray,” he says with a sincerity that nearly scares the life out of me.

Tessa walks up to him as he walks away.

“Can I see him!” I yell.

“As soon as you can, I’ll have a nurse come and get you,” he answers.

“No!
You
. You come and get me,” I demand, pointing at him.

“Ava,” Dad says, trying to calm me.

“No,” I tell him. “He needs to stay with T.”

Piper puts her hand on my knee. “T is okay.”

I hug her tightly, burying her face in my chest, not wanting her to see how truly scared I am.

“Pray for him. We all pray for him.”

She pulls back and looks up. “T is okay.” She puts her hand on my belly and nods. “Yep.”

“That’s very sweet, Piper,” I say, standing up, and I feel crampy again. “I’m going to get a drink.”

I drink down the bottle of water Dad gets for me and close my eyes as he hugs me.

“He’s going to be okay, Daddy, right?”

“I pray he is. Him and Luke.”

I know Dad needs me to say the same, but I am terrified that, if I pray for Luke, Thomas will get less. It makes no sense. None of it makes any sense.

I squeeze him. “Pray, Daddy, pray hard.”

“I am.”

Twenty minutes later, I follow the doctor to a room. We are told only three people are allowed in, but I don’t pay attention to who is behind me; I just need to get to him.

When I see him, I flinch and my stomach turns.

“This is a mechanical ventilator.” I glance toward Tessa and then take T’s hand, careful not to pull out the IV. “An endotracheal tube is running from the machine to his lungs.”

“Down his throat?” I whisper.

“It has to, Miss Links,” the doctor says.

“Doctor, my name is Ava and his is Thomas, or T. We love each other. We’re getting married in two weeks and having two babies in September.” I feel like I am going crazy, but I know I have to be strong for T. “So please don’t call me Miss Links. In my heart and in his, I am Ava soon-to-be Hardy, Mrs. Thomas Hardy. I am the love of his life, and he is the love of mine. Right, T?”

Silence.

“The tube in T’s nose is a nasogastric tube,” Tessa continues. “The air goes in the endotracheal tube and comes out the nasogastric tube. He’s getting oxygen, Ava.”

I look up at her and nod. “That’s good, T. The machine is breathing for you, and you can concentrate on healing. We need you. The three of us need you.” I take his hand and hold it to my belly. “We’re right here with you, T. We are right here, praying for you and loving you and waiting for you to open your eyes. Please, T, I need to see your eyes.” I pull his hand up and kiss it as I wait.

I know he can hear me. I know he can.

“Please,” I beg in a whisper.

***

For a week, I lie next to him, afraid if I leave, he will wake up and I won’t be here. The only time I leave is to shower, and Maddox is with him then.

They are all staying at the flat. No one has gone back home. I haven’t gone back to our home, either. I can’t, not until he is with me.

Every day, the doctor looks at me, and I know what he wants to tell me. He wants to tell me that I need to prepare myself. He won’t tell me that again; I can guarantee it.

I have no appetite, and the only time I attempt to eat is when Harper makes me. She sits with me and makes me.

I heard them talk about Luke. He is stable, awake, and a mess. They are trying to get him stable enough to bring him to Walter Reed.

Jade has called my phone a dozen times, but I can’t answer it. I won’t. Instead, I tell Dad to make sure she knows I’m sending her my love. Never in front of T, though, because I know he can hear me, and I don’t want him to be jealous. I want him strong and concentrating on waking up and proving them all wrong. I make sure Dad tells her I love her and that, as soon as T wakes up, I will call her back.

Maddox and Brody are by his side as much as they can be. The publicist T met the night that seems like a lifetime ago at the Spotted Pig has been dealing with the reporters and fans who have gathered outside the hospital to pray for him. I can’t look out the window, but I am grateful T is loved by so many and that they are praying for his healing just like I am. I hear them talk about the crowd, but I am one hundred percent focused on him and me and love and hope.

I tell him what I hear and that he has such a support system and love from all over the world. I tell him because he is loved. Regardless of what he felt as a child and young adult, Thomas Hardy is loved by millions and even more so by me and the two we have created.

Maddox sits in the chair, staring at him, but he doesn’t talk to him unless I urge him to. I know he has given up hope. I know they all have. But not me.

God has brought him to me, not fate. Fate is a bitch, and bitches don’t bring angels. Fate doesn’t bring people who smell like T, like love and home.

I don’t cry in front of him or anyone. But in the shower, I cry, I sob, I pray and plead with God to please wake him up soon, because I know … I know I can’t handle it for much longer, and I heard God doesn’t give you more than you can handle.

God must know I am strong, so strong that He is waiting for me to promise Him the right promise. When I figure it out, T will open his eyes. T will open his eyes, and we will get married in a week. Here, not home. Here is our home. Home is wherever he and I are.

I am standing under the water now, crying, pleading, begging, and holding my belly.

For two days, T’s and my babies have been fighting, too. I can feel them moving. I can feel them, and I know they want him to wake up.

I am naked on my knees, my hands folded as I look up under the shower’s water.

“God, please, they need to meet him. They need him.”

When my phone alarm goes off, I know it has been seven minutes. I have given myself three to dry off, dress, and get back to him.

When I step out, I slip. I grab the shower curtain, and it falls down, too weak to sustain my weight. I fall on my side, and it hurts. It hurts badly, but it’s nothing like the pain T is feeling.

I dry off and get dressed. Our babies are moving, so I know they are okay.

My alarm goes off again, letting me know it has been ten minutes.

I brush my teeth, wanting T to be able to smell me and know that I am clean and taking care of myself and them for him.

When I walk out, Maddox stands. “I’ll be back in a few hours.”

I walk past him to T’s side. “T, did you hear Maddox? He’ll be back soon, okay? He has to go see Piper, okay?”

I feel a warm, wet gush between my legs, and I grab my belly that is cramping now worse than ever.

“Ava?” Maddox says as I lower myself to my knees, gripping the sheet covering T.

“I’m okay,” I say so T hears me. “I’m okay, Maddox.”

“No, Ava, you’re not.” He reaches past me and hits the call bell. “You’re bleeding.”

I look down between my legs and see blood.

“Maddox,” I say as I feel my head begin to spin. “I don’t feel very well.”

Maddox lifts me and runs into the hallway.

“Maddox, don’t leave him,” I say as my eyes get heavier and heavier.

“He’d have my arse if I didn’t,” he snarls. “I need some help!”

“Ava?” I hear my dad’s voice.

“I’m okay,” I say. “I’m—”

When I wake up, I am in pain—horrible, terrible pain—but I need to get to T. I need to. My body is so heavy, but I try to push myself up, anyway.

“T …” The words are slurred.

I feel hands on my shoulders. “Lie back, Ava.”

“I need T, Daddy.”

“You need to rest, Ava. You need to get stronger. You have two”—his voice breaks—“tiny, little people who need their mom to be strong.”

I drag my hands to my belly and quickly realize that it’s the source of all the pain. “Oh, God, why? Why!”

“They are fighters, baby girl. The girl is two pounds, and the boy is two pounds, two ounces.”

“It’s too soon!” I cry.

“They’re in for a hell of a fight, Ava, but they are part you, and I know God is looking out for them.”

“They’re beautiful, Ava,” I hear Mom cry, and I open my eyes.

“I need to see T, Mom. Please take me to see T,” I beg. “He needs to see them.”

I can’t comprehend what has happened. I can’t handle everything going on.

“Rest, Ava,” Dad says.

I cry, “I don’t want to.” Then sleep claims me.

***

I wake up and open my eyes. I am still in pain, but I refuse to let them know that.

I see Harper sitting next to me, my father at the door talking to my mom, and Logan on the other side of me.

“Ava,” he says as soon as he notices my eyes are open.

“Logan, when did you get here?” I don’t wait for him to answer me. “Take me to T, Logan. Please take me to him.”

He shakes his head. “Can’t do that, Ava.”

“I would do it for you, Logan. I would, and you know it!” I don’t know where the strength comes from to sit up, but I do, holding my belly tightly with my hands.

“Ava, don’t,” Harper pleads as tears escape her eyes.

“Harper, take me to T. Please take me to him.”

Dad nearly runs through the room to stand over me.

“Dad, if you make me go to sleep again, I’ll never forgive you. Not ever.”

“You need rest, Ava. Those babies need you to rest,” he says sternly.

“They need to see their father,” I snap at him.

Tessa walks over with her phone and holds it up. “Your dad, Maddox, and Brody were allowed to bring them down.”

I see my babies on her screen. They are so tiny, so tiny and fragile. They have tubes and wires, just like T.

I cover my mouth with my hands as I watch Maddox take T’s hand and put it inside the incubator and hold it there. Then Dad and three nurses carry in some sort of machine and wheel up the other baby, and Maddox does the same thing to that one.

“
Your babies need you
…” Maddox pauses and chokes back tears in the video. “
Brother
.”

I begin to tremble. I reach up and take her phone.

“Your girl needs you, too. I need you, T. Please, if there is a chance for a miracle, now is the time, T. Open your eyes. Open your fucking eyes!”

Brody takes Maddox by his shoulders. “
Okay, Maddox, let’s take a walk
.”

“
No. No, I told her I would stay, and I will. But, T, we need this now. We need it now.
”

The video stops, and I look around the room. I see Maddox sitting against the wall on the floor, his head buried in his knees.

“Maddox?”

He doesn’t look up.

I look at Dad and then realize everyone is in the room.

“Who is with T?”

Dad swallows as he sits next to me.

“Dad. Who. Is. With. T!”

“Ava, he met his children. He touched them and—”

“Who is with him!”

Harper begins to sob; Logan is crying; Mom is crying; Dad has tears in his eyes; Brody is holding Emma; and I look at Tessa.

“You tell me. You tell me now … please.”

“Oh, Ava,” she says, closing her eyes. “He’s gone.”

“No. NO. NO!” I push at my father and cry out from the pain inside and outside and all around me.

“Baby girl, we are so sorry,” he says.

My hand stings, and I know he has drugged me again.

“Don’t. Please don’t.”

My body begins to fall backward, and he catches me and lays me back.

“Don’t ever do that again.”

***

I wake up facing the window. I see the sun rising, and my heart hurts. I didn’t think to insist that T see the sun rise.

I cover my face with my hands and squeeze my eyes tightly. My T, the love of my life, the father of my children, the only person who ever truly got me is gone while the sun is still rising.

I hate the sun. I hate it!

I look around the room to see Brody and Dad are here, asleep.

I hold a pillow tightly to my belly and sit up. I look at the IV and see that they are attached to a pole with wheels. I hurt, and I hurt badly, but I get out of bed and very quietly, very slowly walk out of the room undetected.

In the hallway, I look up to see Dr. Kennedy, the doctor T and I saw when we first found out I was pregnant. She sighs and shakes her head at me disapprovingly as she grabs the empty wheelchair and pushes it toward me.

“I have no idea how you are walking, but I’m telling you it’s a very bad idea. Sit, and I’ll get you back in bed,” she says.

I shake my head. “I want to see T.”

“I’m very sorry, but that’s not possible.” She pats the chair. “But if you’d like, I can take you down to the NICU. You have two beautiful babies who, God willing, are going to pull through.”

I can’t sit. I don’t want to see them. I’m afraid that, if I see them, I won’t ever be able to walk away. And if I pray for them, they will end up just like their father.

“Ava,” she says firmly, “sit. I promise you, right now, things may seem hopeless, but down the road, there is hope in abundance.”