My heart shatters.
Not partly.
Not slightly.
Wholly.
Epilogue
Four weeks later. . .
News of Rico’s untimely death circulated every news channel in the country the two weeks following his death. Hysteria broke out from the fear his murder would start the equivalent of World War III within the Russian mob. Even the governor urged calm. The only thing that eased the tempestuous waters was when the man who was arrested for killing Rico was found hanging in his prison cell the morning of his arraignment. Suspicions ran high that he too was murdered, but with the surveillance cameras in the local county jail on the fritz, they were only that: simply rumors.
Just like the months following my return from Vegas, I’ve been slowly wading my way through the stages of grief. I cried. I got angry. Now, I’m in denial. I’m not just talking about Rico’s death, I’m talking about every part of my life that included him in it. All I want to do is crawl into my bed and forget the world exists.
That would be a whole heap easier to do if I weren’t lying in a hospital bed with an ultrasound wand gliding over the small curve in the bottom of my belly.
I’ve spent the last four weeks recovering in the hospital from my gunshot wound. The nursing staff and doctors have been wonderful. They didn’t even bat an eyelid when my frightened screams in the middle of the night bellowed down the corridor, or when they would find me huddled in the corner of the room crying like a blubbering mess. They took my drastic mood swings in stride, giving me space when needed and occasionally even a shoulder to cry on. They have been a godsend.
But with my injuries now manageable, I can go home – after they check on the little miracle nestled safely in my stomach.
Lacey’s squeeze on my hand tightens when my baby’s heartbeat fills the silence in the hospital room. It's a bittersweet sound. Bitter, because Rico never got the chance to hear it. Sweet, because a part of him will forever live on in his baby’s memory.
“Do you want to know the sex?” the ultrasound technician, Jennifer, asks.
“Isn’t it too early to tell?”
Jennifer smiles a tight grin. “Depends on the baby. Your baby is very obliging today.” Her cheerful tone forces the first genuine smile onto my face in weeks.
“Okay. I want to know,” I inform Jennifer, nodding.
I hold my breath as I wait for her to issue me with the news I already know. It isn’t because I can tell an arm from a leg in the images on the monitor at the side of my head, I can just feel it deep in my soul. I know I’m carrying Rico’s son, a little boy who will have eyes as beautiful as his father’s.
Jennifer clicks on the keyboard of her ultrasound machine before zooming in on the black and white image. “Can you see that?”
Blood surges into my heart as I nod. Even without having a degree in radiology, I can’t miss the long dangling thing sitting between the baby’s legs.Rico’s son’s legs.
After wiping the gel off my stomach, Jennifer helps me sit before handing me two black and white printouts. The weight on my chest doubles when I peer down at the images of the little miracle I created with Rico.
“After you empty your bladder, you’re free to go.” She wraps her arms around my torso. “Best of luck, Blaire. If you ever need anything, don’t hesitate to call.”
“Thank you.” My voice is barely a whisper.
Throughout the day, the nurses and doctors who cared for me the past four weeks have expressed similar sentiments.
Putting on a brave front, I tell Lacey I’ll be out in a minute before pacing into the bathroom. Although my injuries have healed quickly, a twinge of pain still rockets through my body with every step I take.
I manage to make it inside the bathroom before the first devastated sob tears from my throat. I bite on the side of my palm to ensure Lacey won’t hear my heartbreaking howls as the final stage of my grief reaches fruition. Acceptance.
I grip the edge of the vanity in a white-knuckled hold before crouching down, no longer trusting my legs to keep me upright. My cries are loud and gut-wrenchingly long. In these walls, I could hide away from reality and pretend nothing happened, but the instant I step foot out of this hospital, I’m being forced into a world where I have to start living again. In a cruel, tormented world without Rico. I don’t know if I can do that. The two and a half months following my return from Vegas was painful enough, but knowing I’ll never see Rico again, that utterly destroys me.
After splashing water on my tear-stained cheeks, I exit the bathroom and shadow Lacey to her car. She can tell I’ve been crying, but thankfully, she pretends she can’t. She’s been great the past four weeks—the only person I could truly talk to—but I still don’t think she fully understands the crippling pain I'm feeling. How can I explain that I lost the love of my life to a group of people who think Rico was nothing more than a drunken mistake? It’s not possible. I’ve tried.
Remaining quiet, I keep my eyes planted on the scenery whizzing by as we make our ten-mile trip home. Just like the day Rico collected me from Ravenshoe, everything looks similar, but it feels different. The heavy clog of traffic is still on the roads; the sky is still blue, but something is missing.Someone is missing.
Acting purely on instincts, I follow the same mundane routine I always do when I come home. I gather my mail off the floor and hit the button on the answering machine.
“I’ll make coffee.” Lacey stops halfway into the kitchen and spins around to face me. “Can pregnant ladies drink coffee?”
