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She just makes another godawful scratching sound with her throat and shakes her head frantically. I reach for the switch by her bedside and turn on the table lamp. Light pierces through the shadows and illuminates her face.
Blyat’.
“H-headache,” she manages to say—but the blood streaming down her nostrils gets in her mouth and makes her sputter. “Urgh…”
“Hush,” I whisper as coolly as I can, trying to keep her calm. “It’s gonna be okay, moya devushka. Come with me—we’re gonna get you to a hospital.”
Her eyes go wide as she realizes just how much blood she’s drenched in. It’s turned the front of her white slip into a fucking horror show.
I try to get her to the door, but she shakes her head vehemently and pulls me towards the bathroom instead. Okay, so she wants to wash the blood out of her mouth. Fair enough.
But even after she’s washed her face, her nose doesn’t let up. She stuffs some tissues into each nostril and turns to me. “It’s okay. I’m fine.”
“You will be…” I growl, “as soon as I get you to the hospital to see Dr. Liza.”
She shakes her head again. “It’s just my sinuses acting up.”
“Look at yourself, Wren. This isn’t normal.”
“I know, but?—”
I grab her elbow and tow her in my wake. “We’re going. That’s final.”
As I march her out, I call Liza with my free hand. Thankfully, Wren can’t put up much of a fight because she’s busy trying to stop her nose. The blood just keeps coming. One tissue after the next piles up at our feet in the car, soaked straight through with red.
Dr. Liza has a wheelchair ready for us when we arrive at St. Joseph’s. Then Wren is wheeled into the emergency wing and I’m left standing there like a helpless fool as she disappears around the corner.
“Fuck,” I mutter, pacing along the well-lit corridor. “Fuck.”
The hospital bustles around me. Hundreds of disasters unfolding in every direction. Hundreds of people, like me, each having the worst nights of their lives.
Twenty minutes tick by, but each one feels like fucking hours. I try to be patient, but a man can only hold out for so long. When the clock hits 3:00 A.M., I cave and dial Liza.
“We’re moving her to a private room,” she says instead of hello. “I’ll text you the number in a second.”
She hangs up on me before I can ask what the fuck is going on with my wi— my woman. Thankfully, about a minute or so later, my phone pings.
LIZA: 5th floor. Room 12. Meet you there.
LIZA: P.S.: She’s fine.
The news ought to calm me down, but my heart is thrumming hard against my chest as I race up to the proper. I follow a nurse into the room to find Wren lying on the bed with her nose bandaged all to shit like she’s broken it.
The sight of it damn near ruins me.
I was supposed to be providing a stress-free environment for my woman, my wife-to-be. I was supposed to be keeping her safe and calm.
But the baby hasn’t even been born yet and I’m already accumulating strike after strike on my record.
What happens if I fail?
32
DMITRI
I pounce on Liza the moment she appears.
“What the hell happened?” I snarl. Wren is snoring softly, so I’m not worried about disturbing her. “Is she okay? Will this happen again?”
