Vegas Miracle (19 page)

Ryan leaned forward and put his head on the soft leather seat.  Sean’s recent message burned in his brain.

"Don’t be like me, brother.  Don’t try and prove how tough you are just to show our fucking father you aren’t like him.   You aren’t like him at all.  Don’t lose your chance with Grace.  She’s perfect.  Don’t fuck it up like I always do."

 The memory of his beloved brother Liam, mouth slack, paper that was once his acceptance letter to Yale all over his lap, the car smelling of piss and shit, and the sweet tang of carbon monoxide burned into Ryan's psyche like a brand.  He'd never get that smell out of his nose.  He’d screamed like a girl, yanked at Liam’s arm, pulling him over, smacking his face, furious because he’d proven their father right.  He’d taken a cowards way out.

Ryan groaned into his hand.  Glancing at his watch, he calculated how much flight was left and how long it would take the plane to refuel before he could turn around and go back.  He had to salvage his relationship with Grace and he was the only one who could do it.  Henri tried.  Grace tried.  And Ryan had walked away from them both.

Something pulled at him at that exact moment, tugging at the edge of his mind which made him antsy so he stood up to stretch and started pacing the aisle.   It kept at him, like an elusive, un-scratchable itch. He sat back down and flipped on his laptop hoping he might catch Grace on Skype.  His sudden need to make contact with her, to know she was okay, made his head pound.  Waiting for the sleek machine to boot, he paced some more.  The hot attendant brushed against him, her perfume invading his senses.  He smiled at her, knowing just a crook of his finger would have her legs spread in an instant.

Ryan had fucked more women than he cared to remember.  Always seeking something more, he managed to screw his way through college and beyond, never coming close to anything real.  Scurrying away before he let himself get attached, he avoided making an emotional connection with anyone until that moment six years ago at a friend’s lake party.  Ryan’s breath caught in his throat as his whole body broke out in goose bumps.  Shivering and burning hot at the same time, he rubbed his eyes.

"Mister Sullivan?" the woman asked.  "Are you okay?  Do you need anything?"

"Yeah," he croaked.  "I’m fine.  I mean, water, please. Lots of it. And ibuprofen.  Oh and a pot of coffee after that."

He took deep breaths and tried to collect himself.  He’d never in his entire life had a panic attack but he'd read about them.  Clutching the back of the seat, Ryan felt his heart pound in his chest and sensed his throat closing up.   Something was wrong pure and simple.  He had to talk to Grace right now.  He pulled his smart phone out but cursed at the lack of bars.  God damned wireless company.  Feeling that weird tug at his sub conscience again, he stood up, needing space.

"Mr. Sullivan, do you need assistance?" the senior attendant was speaking now.  They were going to slap him in cuffs in a minute if he didn’t calm down.  Smiling, trying to act natural when everything in him was screaming as his head pounded in time to his heartbeat, Ryan took the water bottle she offered and sat back down.

Never one to pass up the opportunity to be a little untethered from the usual phones, emails, texts and messages, Ryan would've paid a million dollars for a connection right now.  Something was wrong with Grace. She was sick or hurt, or something.  She needed him.  His very soul was responding to some strange signal and it made the band around his chest tighten further.

Nothing could be done, so Ryan convinced himself to stay calm.  He’d be no use to her if he got arrested or pissed people off so they wouldn’t turn the damn plane around as soon as it landed in Tokyo.  Heaving a sigh, he popped a sleeping pill, downed the last of the water and nodded off, dreams full of crying babies carried him through the night.

****

"What do you mean you can’t," Ryan’s jaw clenched in anger.

The pilot shrugged.

"Mister Sullivan, I mean I can’t go back yet, not until tomorrow at the earliest and that would cost you…"  Ryan held up a hand.

"Forget it, I’ll find another way."

Two hours later, he was crammed into a coach seat surrounded by Japanese tourists and sleepy businessmen making their way back to the states.  Ryan hadn’t flown commercial, must less coach, in nearly ten years, but the itch behind his eyes, the thing in his brain that gave uncomfortable tugs on his nerves, was ramping up.  He had to put his head down and take deep breaths to keep from screaming in frustration.   The little Japanese kid next to him kept touching his light blonde hair and saying, "My name is Yoko."  He smiled at her, then popped another sleeping pill knowing if he didn’t, he’d get up and try to fly the fucking plane himself to make it get home faster.

His calls, texts and emails to Grace, Henri and to his assistant, Jan, all went unheeded while he waited for the Delta jet to get cleaned up and ready to load.  He had no idea what was going on but he was certain it was bad.  The connection with his wife ran deep and the sense of mild unease he’d nurtured on the plane to Japan had blossomed into full-blown panic.  As his mind absorbed the sedative he thought he could hear her far away, crying out his name, and he saw blood.  Ryan jerked in his sleep but stayed under, the strong prescription medicine keeping his eyes closed, his body slack.

Ryan’s eyes popped open when the plane touched down in California.  Yoko was flopped over his shoulder, her small hand clutched his shirt in her sleep.  His heart stuttered as he looked at it.  So small and helpless.  Yoko’s mother apologized and pulled the girl off him before he could say anything.

The second the planed stopped, Ryan leapt up, grabbed his bag and shoved his way past the objections of the staff.

"Emergency," he mumbled, his tongue thick with stress and medication.  "Hospital," he said for some reason.  They parted for him, his natural aura of authority convincing them he must be late to perform heart surgery on someone important.

Ryan ran up to a local connecting jet service, booked a flight for Las Vegas that left in thirty minutes and sped down the terminal.  His phone buzzed.  Finally, a connection.  He glanced at it.  Grace’s sister Alice had texted him three times.

"Where are you?"

"Grace says not to contact you but you’d better get your sweet ass to the hospital right now.  Dessert Springs.  Damn it, Ryan, hurry up."

 Ryan’s heart nearly stopped with the next message.

"She’s in surgery.  Lost a lot of blood.  Please call me."

Ryan groaned and hit the call button for Alice.  It rang and rang and went to voicemail at the exact moment a text from Henri hit his screen.

"You need to come home now."

"Fuck!" Ryan yelled at the startled woman at the check in desk.

****

Desert Springs hospital was in the middle of nowhere and the taxi got caught in rush hour traffic, leaving Ryan to nurse his aching head and dry mouth in the familiar dessert heat.  Unable to contact anyone by phone, he’d sent a dozen texts promising them he was on his way, coming as fast as he could, that he was sorry.  He clutched his head as the taxi inched forward.

"Look, I’ll give you a hundred dollar bill if you jump this fucking sidewalk and get me there," he growled at the driver.

The kid glanced back at him. "You a doctor or somethin'?"

"No, but I’ll pretend to be and you’ll be a hundred dollars richer.  Make it happen."

The driver shrugged, looked once in his rearview and swerved up onto the wide sidewalk, laying on the horn, scattering pedestrians like geese.  Ryan grabbed the arm rest and clenched his teeth against the onrushing panic.  When the driver pulled up to the hospital entrance, Ryan threw a hundred and two twenties at the kid and jumped out.

He spotted Henri in the hallway of the surgical recovery floor, his dark face drawn.  Gesturing with a jerk of his head, he indicated Grace’s room leaving Ryan to brush past him and shove the door open.  Grace was there, white and still on the huge bed.  Her father and sister were on either side of her, holding her hands and they both looked up when he entered.   Grace’s father Joe, smiled in relief at the sight of him.  Alice frowned.

"What have you done?" she asked, rising from her seat.

"Alice," her father snapped.  "Let the man absorb what happened before you start blaming him for anything."  He stood and choked back a sob as he stared at his daughter’s pallid face.

 Ignoring him, Ryan sat and touched Grace’s hand.  She stirred.

"Ryan?" her voice was raw.  "Ryan?"

He sat on the bed and hauled her into his arms.

"Oh God, baby, yes. I’m here, I promise.  I came as fast as I…" Grace heaved a sob, cutting him off.

"Oh, it hurts so much." she grimaced and Alice ran out the door for the nurse.   Grace leaned back into Ryan’s shoulder as the metal band around his chest slowly loosened.  Holding his wife as she sobbed from rage and remorse, Ryan resolved then and there to try harder to be the man she needed him to be.  His two days of utter panicked travel, sedative-soaked dreams on planes, the pain behind his eyes as he could feel something dreadfully wrong with her, it proved it to him.  They were meant to be together.  He’d do anything to make it work.

Joe looked up when Henri stuck his head in the door.

"This young man brought her and called us, Ryan.  He says he runs your restaurant or something?"  Joe looked confused at the looks his son-in-law exchanged with the handsome young man standing at the foot of his daughter’s bed.  Ryan held one arm out, inviting Henri into it.  He collapsed there, breathing heavy.

"Jesus, Ryan it was awful.  We went out and ate, danced, had some fun, you know, as much as she could.  I drank too much, passed out on the bed.  At some point, she fainted and hit her head in the bathroom.  I woke up, wandered in and nearly fucking tripped over her—ah!" Henri took a deep breath.  "Doctors say she lost a lot of blood, she got a huge transfusion. The baby was ectopic, outside her uterus.  That's why she was in so much pain.  She never had a chance."

Ryan shut his eyes and held them both.  Aware of his father-in-law’s stare, he was never more grateful for Grace’s sister. Alice pulled a nurse into the room claiming her sister needed pain killers.  She took one look at Grace, cradled by her handsome husband who held an equally good-looking man in the other arm and smiled.

"C’mon dad, let’s leave them a while."  She shot Ryan a look and he mouthed "thank you" to her as she left.

Grace gripped the arm Ryan had around her.

"Henri?"

Ryan kissed her hair. "Yes, darling he’s right here."

Henri moved around to the other side of the bed and she grabbed his hand.    Henri stared first at her then up at Ryan.  Grace hiccupped and was quiet.

"Sleep now, my sweet," Henri murmured in her ear.  "I told you he’d come back.  He knew you needed him.  That we needed him."  Henri put his free hand on Ryan’s face.  Ryan kissed it then started to move away, to give Grace some room in the bed.    The nurse gave them all a bored glance before shooting morphine into Grace’s IV line. 

                        "No!" Grace gulped out.  "Don’t leave.  Hold me.  Someone just hold me." 

                        Henri scooted into the small space on Grace’s other side and propped up on his side as he ran a finger down her now flushed face.  Ryan heard her pathetic cry of pain and desperation, so similar to that of the one in his dream and felt as his heart split into two shattered pieces. 
Was he too late?  Would she ever forgive him?
 He sighed and looked up at Henri.  The man’s face was inscrutable.  Ryan swallowed hard and buried his nose in Grace’s hair, praying to whatever was holy to be able to fix this mess.

Epilogue

"Liam!" Grace yelled, shielding her eyes from the sun’s glare.   Her son’s small form leapt up into his father’s arms as the nurse shark circled Ryan’s legs.  Grace sometimes hated the extreme wildlife experiences they got at this beach in southern France but vacationing here was idyllic otherwise.  Ryan lifted Liam onto his shoulders and walked along the edge of the bright blue Mediterranean.  Trevor, Alice’s husband, walked beside him, little Gracie up on his shoulders as the two men cast long shadows on the beach.

Grace leaned back and tried to get comfortable in her too-soft lounge chair.  She picked up her laptop, balancing it on her eight-month pregnant belly.  The French nanny they’d brought along screeched as Grace’s other nieces tried to bury her in sand, giving up on the massive sand castle they’d been constructing with Henri.   He strolled over, took the computer off Grace’s stomach and kissed it.

"No radiation on my baby, please."  He flopped down beside her and pulled strawberries and sliced mangoes from the picnic basket, feeding them to her a bite at a time.  He kissed her sunburned lips.

"Mmmmm," Grace murmured, her body reacting to his touch.  She stretched and readjusted herself.  "Ow! Jesus," she muttered after a particularly hard wallop to her kidneys.

"Here, let me," Henri gestured for her to turn onto her side.   His strong hands kneaded her spine, loosening her up and forcing the baby to shift downward and off whatever organs he was currently trampling.  He moved close, kissing her neck and shoulder before running a hand up to her swollen breasts, making her nipples get painfully hard.    She moaned and pressed her thighs together.  Henri trailed his hand down her bare belly, then back up, cupping her breasts.

"God woman but I could fuck you just like this," he whispered.  "You game?"

She smiled and shifted her hips back a little to let him lie alongside her and press his erection against her ass.  Still nipping at her neck, he laughed as the baby gave his hand a shove. 

"Ah my darling, little Marie, she wants to meet her Papa," he whispered in Grace’s ear.  Her whole body flushed.

"Good God, will you two get a room," Alice threw herself into the lounge chair on Grace’s other side and smiled at her sister.  "Pass me the fruit, lover boy."