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I run my hand through my hair, frustrated at the situation. I understand that she has rights, confidentiality and all that, but I just . . . She needs to be okay. “Yeah,” I finally say, following him to the room he just mentioned.
“Have a seat.” He points to the row of chairs in what appears to be a private waiting room. “Now, tell me what happened tonight.”
I spend the next several minutes going over the evening. Hell, I even started with stopping to change Dawn’s tire. He doesn’t say a word, just listens and takes notes.
“So, you don’t know either of them?” he asks.
I shake my head, just as my phone vibrates in my pocket. I’m sure it’s Stephanie. I need to explain to her what’s going on. Glancing at the screen, it’s a local number, but one I don’t recognize. I nod toward the phone, letting him know I’m going to answer before swiping the screen and holding it to my ear. “Hello.”
“Hi, is this Mr. Beckett? Mr. Ridge Beckett?” the lady asks.
“Yes, who is this?”
“Mr. Beckett, my name is Alice and I’m calling from Mercy General. Sir, we need for you to come in right away.”
My heart drops. Something’s wrong. “Who?” I grit out, my mind racing. Mom and Dad are home, or should have been. Reagan, she would have been on her way home from work. One of the guys? Fuck!
“Mr. Beckett, it would be best if you come on in. Come to the emergency department and ask for me, Alice. I’ll be at the reception desk.”
Swallowing the lump in my throat and taking a deep breath, I answer her. “I’m already here. I was . . . I’ll be right there.” I hit end and grip the phone tight in my hands.
“Mr. Beckett?” Sheriff Simpson is watching me closely.
“That was the ER,” I tell him. “They need me to come in right away.”
His face pales with what that simple request means. I’m sure he sees it all too much in his line of work. “I’ll go with you.”
Standing on trembling legs, I let him lead the way back to the reception desk. I’m numb with fear and completely over this day. I send up another silent prayer that whoever it is, they’ll be okay.
“This is Mr. Beckett.” Simpson points over his shoulder. “He was the Good Samaritan who stopped to help an accident tonight. Someone just called him, stating he needed to come in right away, but he was already here,” he goes on to explain.
Alice stands from her chair, a folder in her arms. “That was me who called. We can actually go back to that room you were just in to talk.” She doesn’t say anything more, simply starts walking. Sheriff Simpson gives my shoulder a tight squeeze before following her. It’s as if my body is on autopilot, my legs carrying me down the hall on their own accord.
Alice holds the door open for us. “Have a seat,” she says calmly.
“Who?” I grit out again. I’m over waiting for her to tell me.
“Mr. Beckett, I’m a little confused at this, so maybe you can help me understand.” She opens the folder in her hands. “The victim in the car you stopped to help tonight, she has you, Ridge Beckett of Anderson County, listed as her next of kin.”
My mouth drops open. “How is that possible? Who is she?” It was dark and the rain was pouring down. The car . . . I didn’t recognize the car. There has to be some kind of mistake.
“Her name is Melissa. Melissa Knox.”
My mind races. Melissa Knox. Do I know a Melissa Knox? Could it be Melissa from a few months ago? The one who ran out on me in the middle of the night? She’s the only Melissa I can think of. “I know a Melissa, met her several months ago. I don’t know her last name, though. It doesn’t make any sense. There has to be some kind of mistake.”
“It’s all here in her records. She has you listed: Ridge Beckett, Beckett Construction.”
Holy fucking shit! Is this real? There are so many emotions rolling through me right now. Relief that it’s not my family or friends, confusion as to why Melissa—if she is even the same Melissa—would list me as her next of kin, fear that she’s not going to be okay. Regardless of that fact that I now could have a connection with her, I still have this strong urge, a feeling deep in the pit of my gut, that I need her to be okay.
“What does that mean? Is she going to be okay? Can I see her? See if it’s the same person?” I fire off questions one after the other.
“Yes, you can see her, but just for a few minutes. She’s still in critical condition. And being her next of kin means you’ll be the one making medical decisions for her until she wakes up.”
No fucking way. “I need to see her, see if I know her. This has to be a mistake.”
“Sure, but like I said, it can only be a few minutes. We’re monitoring her closely.”
“That’s fine, I just need . . .” I swallow hard. “I need to see if it’s her, if it’s the same Melissa.”
“Of course, right this way.”
“I’ll wait here for you,” Sheriff Simpson says. “Anyone you want me to call for you?”
“Not yet. I don’t know if . . . not yet.” I stand and follow Alice out of the room.
The hallways are bustling with activity—doctors, nurses, even patients walking around. Alice leads us to the end of the hall and through a set of double doors marked Critical Care Unit. There are patient rooms surrounded by glass and doors, unlike the other that are only separated by curtains.
Stopping in front of Room 3, Alice turns to me. “She hasn’t woken up yet. I’ll leave you, but just a few minutes.” I watch her walk to the small nurses’ station, seemingly to give me a sense of privacy.
Squeezing my eyes closed, I take in a deep breath and hold it. Slowly, I release the air from my lungs, willing my heart to slow its pace. I repeat this at least three times, probably more before I grip the door handle and walk into her room. The privacy curtain is pulled around the bed. When I slowly walk around it, I freeze.
It’s her.
Melissa.
Melissa from the bar all those months ago, who left me in her bed in her motel room after our night of hot sex. The Melissa I’ve thought about often and wondered what made her slip away in the middle of the night. What would’ve happened if I had woken up with her lying beside me? Would she be here now? Lying in the hospital bed fighting for her life? I think back to that night—she said she was just passing through. What is she doing here now, so close to me and my company? Why would she list me as her next of kin?
Her face is bruised and she’s bandaged over one eye. Her eyes are closed, and she appears to be sleeping peacefully. Except that’s not the case at all. She has yet to wake up.
Will she ever?
“Oh, I’m sorry I didn’t know she had company. I’m Dr. Ellis. I just came by to check the baby’s vitals.”
Wait? What did he just say? “Umm, the baby?” My eyes travel to her swollen belly. How did I miss that?
“Yes, it appears as though Miss Knox is eight months along.” He gives me a look like I must be crazy. Why wouldn’t I be? Who lists someone they met briefly, had hot sex with and runs out on them as their next of kin?
That’s when it hits me. Eight months ago. I count back in my head. No. It can’t be. I try to breathe, but I can’t seem to suck in any air.
“Sir, you okay?”
Bending over, I place my hands on my knees and fight like hell to catch my breath.
Is this really happening?
“Sir?” the doctor tries again.
“Why don’t you sit down?” a soft, feminine voice says from beside me.
I don’t know who she is or where she came from, but when she and the doctor each take an arm and lead me to a chair beside the bed, I don’t fight it.
“Slow, deep, even breaths. That’s it, in and out,” she coaches me.
I focus on her voice, blocking out the white noise bouncing around in my head. Another slow, deep breath and I feel some of the pressure release from my chest.
“Good,” the woman says. Looking up, I see that it’s Alice. “I ta
ke it you didn’t know she was expecting?” she asks.
No shit, Sherlock. “No. I met her once, briefly.” I’m barely able to croak the words out around the lump in my throat.
Confusion crosses her face.
“Is the baby . . . okay?” I can hear myself speak, but it doesn’t even sound like me.
“I’ve been monitoring the baby closely and everything is fine,” Dr. Ellis replies.
Slumping back in the chair, I stare at Melissa, trying to make sense of all this. Why me? Unless . . . Is this baby mine? Is that why she was here, to tell me that I’m going to be a father? My mind races with different scenarios, and that’s the only thing that makes sense.
“I found this in her personal belongings.” Alice keeps her tone soft and soothing.
Looking up, I see her holding an envelope with my name scrawled across the front.
Fuck!
