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“Thorne,” Sunny says, her voice strained. “Thorne, something’s wrong.”
I’m used to having to snap out of sleep at a moment’s notice. But for it to happen in my own bed, with the emergency involvingmy wife, that throws me into high alarm. I quickly shake off my drowsiness and turn on the lamp on my side of the bed.
Fuck. There’s blood on the sheets.
Knowing every second matters, I rush to get dressed and get Sunny into my truck. She’s shaky and dazed, and I don’t like how pale her face looks right now. I drive us as fast as I can without being reckless, desperate to get her to the hospital as quickly as possible.
When I walk into the emergency room with my pregnant wife in my arms, everyone stares.
They can stare all they want. I don’t give a shit anymore. Sunny has given that gift to me. She’s given me so much else, too, so much that I know I’ll never find with anyone else.
If I lose her—if I lose our child—I’ll be nothing for the rest of my life.
“My wife needs to be seen.Now,” I roar at the woman sitting behind the triage desk.
She scrambles to call for a doctor and ushers us into a trauma room. When the doctor asks me to lay Sunny down on the bed, every protective fiber of my being wants to keep her in my arms. But I know, right now, I can’t. Fuck. I press a heart-pounding kiss to her forehead and lay her down. A team of medical professionals swarms around Sunny, blocking my view of her as they urgently assess her.
“Sir, if you could stand back,” a nurse says, urging me further away.
I swallow the burning in my throat and force my feet to step back. No. Fuck. This is all wrong. This isn’t how it’s supposedto be. I try to step forward, try to see Sunny’s face again, but a curtain is quickly pulled closed between us.
Every second after that is torture. In the hallway outside the trauma room, I pace continuously, unable to stand still. A different nurse tries to direct me back to the waiting room, but I just huff at her, and she leaves me alone after that.
When the door of the trauma room opens, my head snaps toward it. A nurse steps out, looks around, and spots me.
“Are they both okay?” I ask, my voice hoarse with worry. “Jesus, please tell me they’re okay.”
What the nurse tells me doesn’t sink in at first. I have to replay the words in my head several times.Severe hemorrhaging. Emergency C-section. The NICU. A coma.
“But they’re both alive,” I manage to say.
The nurse nods. “Yes. And they’re both stable. I can take you to see them now.”
8
SUNNY
It feels like I’m fighting my way through a cloud of cotton candy. There are muffled sounds in the distance, but I can’t tell what they are.
Thorne? Is that him?
I try to call out his name, but my voice doesn’t work. Nothing about my body works. It’s like I don’t even exist in a body anymore.
But I keep trying anyway. I try to speak, try to cry, try to do anything at all.
Even if it feels like it’s completely hopeless.
9
THORNE
Afull day passes. Then two more. Then a week. It drives me mad, not being able to be with Sunny and the baby at the same time. If I could split myself into two, I would.
But I can’t, so here I am, going back and forth between Sunny’s room and the NICU, constantly worrying that I’m not going to be there when one of them needs me.
On day eight, they’re able to remove the respiratory support from the baby. On day ten, they tell me that the baby is gaining a good amount of weight. On day thirteen, the nurses tell me that the baby’s progress is remarkable and that their expectations have been exceeded.
But Sunny remains trapped deep in her coma.
