The O'Conners: A Made for Love Novella (18 page)

Another sharp pain causes me to whimper and my pathetic attempt to tiptoe into denial is eradicated.

I
’
m bleeding
.
I
’
m bleeding a lot!

I don
’
t know what to do. Something is obviously, horribly wrong, but I don
’
t know what to do! Instinct tells me to keep my legs sealed together. I do the best that I can, but for some reason my knees are knocking against each other. It dawns on me that I
’
m trembling from head to toe.

Yet another horrendous pain has me crying out
—
this time, I call for my husband.

“Oh
—
God, no! Please
—
Grayson!
”

He
’
s jolted awake at the sound of my voice. His large frame jostles my little one and I squeeze my legs together ever tighter, in a desperate attempt to protect our child.

“Ave, what is it?
”
he asks, sitting up to turn on the bedside lamp.

I scream when the light reveals that I
’
m not simply wearing a pair of soiled underwear. No
—
I
’
m in the middle of blood soaked sheets. I wrap my arms around my middle as another cramp heightens my panic. My heart is beating so fast I feel like I might pass out. Then I feel Grayson
’
s hand slide over my hair before he gently grips my neck.

“Breathe, sweetheart!
”
he insists. When I look at him, I can barely make out his face, my eyes overflowing with tears I wasn
’
t aware I was crying.

Everything seems to be happening without my permission! I feel so completely out of control of my entire body.

Oh, God
—
not my baby. Please don
’
t take my baby! Help me! Help us! Please!

My muscles lock up when I feel a pair of big, strong hands grab hold of my knees.
“
No!
”
I shout. When I look up, I notice that Grayson is fully dressed. I shake my head, wondering when he left my side.

“Come on, Ave
—
we have to go. I
’
m taking you to the hospital.
”

“I can
’
t!
”
I sob.
“
I can
’
t move. The baby
—
if I move
—”
I
’
m cut off by another pain. All at once I realize that these aren
’
t just cramps. My womb is attacking our baby.

“Avery, sweetheart, look at me,
”
Grayson insists, gripping his hands around my face. When I look into his eyes, I see his fear and my heart breaks. I can see it in his green irises just as clear as if he were painting it on a billboard
…

I
’
m losing our baby.

“Oh, Shorty, please? Will you
please
listen to me. Let me help you. Just
—
trust me, sweetheart. I have to get you out of here.
”

“Our baby
…”
I choke.

I don
’
t stop him when he slides my legs into a pair of pants I know are at least five sizes too big for me. I don
’
t stop him, but I don
’
t help him either. I can barely
think
let alone
move
—
the pain I feel escalating with every breath I take. As I
’
m lifted into his arms, I can no longer differentiate the agony in my womb from the agony in my chest.

Our baby. I
’
m losing our baby.

The hospital is twenty minutes away from our apartment. I get us there in seven. It
’
s only by the grace of God that a cop doesn
’
t spot me driving like a bat out of hell. Nothing, no one, could have stopped me from getting to my final destination as quickly as possible. I would have rather been arrested after a high speed chase than delay our arrival to the hospital.

Yet, regardless of how fast I managed to get us here, I
’
m terrified that it took too long.

I park right in front of the emergency room and I
’
m out of the car in a fraction of a second. Avery
’
s cries have turned to weak whimpers. I don
’
t fool myself into thinking that her pain has lessened since the moment she woke me up, screaming. I have no idea how much blood she
’
s lost or whether or not her pain has reached a level she simply cannot tolerate, but she
’
s quickly approaching  unconsciousness.

“Somebody help! Help me, please!
”
I cry as soon as I have her in my arms.

Avery
’
s body is like a wilted flower cradled against my chest. My heart is beating so fast, my adrenaline in overdrive, as I race into the building. I know if someone doesn
’
t help me in the next two seconds, I
’
m going to lose it.

“Sir? Sir
—
what
’
s going on? How can I help you?
”
A woman in a pair of plain blue scrubs stands before me, her eyes zeroed in on Avery.

“She
’
s bleeding
—
she won
’
t stop bleeding, and she
’
s in an unbearable amount of pain. She
’
s pregnant.
”

“How far along is she?
”

“Almost twelve weeks. Please
—”

“I need a gurney over here,
”
she calls out.

The words leave her mouth and then everything seems to happen in fast forward. Suddenly, my wife is no longer in my arms. In the blink of an eye, I
’
m informed that Avery is having a miscarriage and we
’
re given two options to help alleviate the situation
—
drugs or surgery. The doctor, whose name I honestly can
’
t remember, suggests the surgery, given Avery
’
s response to her current pain, as it will bring her relief much faster.

Some thoughtless asshole chooses now to tell me that I can
’
t leave my Mustang parked where I
’
ve left it. I toss him my keys and tell him to take care of it before I turn my attention back to my wife.

I look to Avery, completely at a loss as to what to do. This is her body and I
’
ve never had to make a choice like this before. More than that, I can hardly comprehend the fact that we
’
re talking about the best way to handle the death of our unborn child.

“Avery, sweetheart,
”
I say softly, taking her hand in mine as I rest my forehead against hers.
“
Tell me what to do. What do you want to do, sweetheart?
”

“I can
’
t
—
I can
’
t do this,
”
she sobs, barely squeezing my hand.
“
Oh, Grayson, it hurts!
”

That
’
s all the answer I need.

“Explain the surgery,
”
I insist.

Forty minutes later, I watch as they roll Avery down the corridor in order for her to undergo ERPC surgery. I can
’
t even remember what the fuck that stands for. All I care about is that I
’
m told it won
’
t take long and that I
’
ll be able to see her as soon as they are finished. We
’
ll be discharged to go home when the general anesthesia has worn off. It isn
’
t until she
’
s out of my sight that I question what the hell I
’
m supposed to do now. I pace around the waiting room for a few minutes, replaying the horrible chain of events that brought us here. As the memories flash before my eyes, I go numb.

It kills me, remembering the look in her eyes when she was coherent enough to hear me tell her that I was bringing her to the hospital. I know, now, what terror truly looks like. It
’
s horrifying and heartbreaking and my chest aches knowing that there
’
s nothing I could have done to save her from her own fear
—
there
’
s nothing I can do to erase that moment for her
. I wish I could
—
I so desperately wish that I could change all of this. I feel helpless. She
’
s in surgery and I
’
m
—

I reach for my phone as it dawns on me that Avery is in surgery and our parents don
’
t know. I have no idea what time it is in Colorado
—
hell, I don
’
t know what time it is here
—
but it doesn
’
t matter. They would want me to call.

“Hello?
”
Ray answers, his voice gruff with sleep.
“
Grayson?
”

I hear the concern in his voice. I
’
ve never called him in the middle of the night. I
’
ve never had a reason to. I
’
ve never been faced with an emergency concerning his daughter
—
my wife.
I
’
ve never needed him like I need him right now. I
’
ve never
needed
a
father
like I do
right now
. And the sound of his voice
—
just the
sound of his voice
—
reminds me that he
’
s my dad just as much as he is Avery
’
s. Everything I want to be, everything I hope to accomplish as a father, I have learned from him.

Then, like a sucker punch that hits me right in the gut
—
hard as fuck
—
I realize what I
’
ve just lost.

I drop down into a chair, covering my eyes with my free hand, and lose my shit.

“Grayson? What
’
s wrong? Talk to me, son.
”

Son.

Was our baby a boy? Or was it a girl?

“Grayson!
”

I suck in a much needed breath, willing myself to speak.
“
It
’
s Avery
—
the baby
…
we
’
ve lost the baby.
”