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"Hey, man," Nate said worriedly. "Let me talk to you first—"
Ethan ignored that and pushed passed Nate. The scene that greeted him as he rounded the corner into the living room made him stop short as anxiety slithered up his spine. Mrs. Anderson was there. What was she doing there? What the fuck was he looking at?
The room was in chaos. Ava's mother was in the middle of it all, sobbing hysterically as she crouched over Ava.
Ava.
Ava was lying on the couch, her eyelids flickering, a deathly pallor draining her usually animated features.
"What the hell did you do?" he thundered with hostile accusation, his jealousy of Nate disappearing in a heartbeat as rage at Ava's mom rose up and took over his faculties. He was at the sofa in record time, where he physically pushed Ava's mom out of the way. He stood in front of the couch, guarding it, guarding Ava as he turned his fury on the woman who'd caused so much angst in their lives. "Stay away from her, you understand me? Don't even speak to her. You've hurt her enough for a lifetime. So help me God, you'll never get a chance to hurt her again."
The woman said nothing, only retreated back with a dull, lifeless expression. Nate broke in, "Ethan, man, I need to tell you something. Sit down."
The demand did nothing for Ethan's temperament. "Fuck off, asshole." One night—one night Ava had spent at the guy's apartment and now the dude thought he could get all up in their business?
Nate's shoulders stiffened but just then, Ethan heard it. A groan from Ava that meant only one thing. She was in physical pain.
Worry made him spin on his heel as he leaned over her. "Ava, baby. What's wrong?" Her face lacked color, her lids opened, the bright orbs of her eyes seemingly focusing on him, but then her eyes rolled to the back of her sockets until all that was left was the white of her eyes. Panic exploded within, manifesting itself in fury toward the two other occupants of the room. "What the fuck did you people do to her?"
Nate tried once again to calm him. "Ethan, calm down."
"Fuck you."
Ethan turned toward Ava's mom, the true source of his fury. "This is your fault. Every fucking thing that's happened here is your goddamn fault. You're Satan, lady. If anything happens to her, if anything happens to our baby—you'll never see either one of them again, understand me? Not as long as you live."
Nate's face blanched white and he looked more than worried as he said firmly, "You'll only upset Ava more than she already is, man. The ambulance is on the way."
"Ambulance?" Ethan rasped, the word barely forming as he whipped around to study Ava once more. She didn't seem to be even halfway conscious, and horror exploded as he took in the details he'd missed up until now: the towels, the bloody mess—Jesus Christ. She was losing their baby.
Fire licked at his veins and a crushing wave of grief constricted his heart. He sank to his knees in front of her and brushed a strand of hair from her cheek. He lifted a limp, clammy hand then pressed it against his heart. If she couldn't see him, he wanted her to feel his heartbeat and know he was there. "Ava, baby. Everything's going to be okay, I'm here."
Her lids flickered once more, but they didn't open and anguish clawed up his throat, damn near cutting off his air supply. Was Ava's life in danger, as well as the life of their child? He refused to accept that. He wouldn't fucking allow it. He couldn't make it through life without her—there was no way in hell. That's exactly what his life would be without her: hell. Pure, unmitigated hell.
A siren wailed and flashing lights lit up the front window. Within moments, two EMTs charged into the room and pushed him out of the way. They did a quick preliminary check of Ava's vitals and moved quickly to load her onto the gurney they had positioned in front of the sofa.
Ethan stood as close as he could, helplessly watching as they secured her on the gurney and began wheeling her away. Through a haze of anguish and disbelief, he saw Mrs. Anderson approach one of the paramedics. "I'm her mother. She needs me with her."
"One person gets to ride along. If you're the mother, let's go," one of the men announced with quick precision, ready to get a move on.
Ethan almost lost it when he realized he was going to be brushed aside by this woman, once again, as if he didn't exist. "I'm the father of that baby. I'm going with y'all," he demanded, his legs braced apart.
The paramedic spared a single glance at Ethan, as if he'd been through this drill more than once. Asking of the room in general, he asked, "How old is she?"
Mrs. Anderson piped up, "Seventeen."
"That so?" he asked Ethan.
Ethan thought about lying for only a split second and then decided against it. His needs were important, but getting Ava to a hospital was paramount. So he nodded his head in agreement. As if that were all the confirmation that was needed, the paramedic firmed his lips and pointed at Ava's mom, as if she were the chosen one. "Let's go." He spared only a single glance at Ethan, rattled off the name of the hospital and off they went.
Ethan moved quickly, meaning to follow along behind the ambulance, but Nate stopped him. "Dude, seriously—I need to tell you something."
Through his pain and upset, Ethan was surprised he could still feel such hostile jealousy toward someone he'd known his entire life. Someone who'd stepped in and helped Ava when she'd needed it; someone who, if not one of his best friends, had certainly been a casual buddy for much of his life. But there it was: his hostility and his jealousy, front and center, doing a damn good job of making his head explode.
He should have been the one there for Ava when she'd needed him. He should have been there for her, but he hadn't been. He'd failed her as a man, as a protector, and as the partner she should have been able to lean on.
Everything was his own damn fault, and although unreasonable, his resentment toward Nate only escalated. "What? What's so goddamn important when you know I need to be by her side? What the fuck is it?"
Nate took a deep breath, looking anxious and agitated. At the expression on the guy's face, Ethan felt his emotions splinter, realizing that Nate had been thrown into all of this without any choice in the matter, through no fault or desire of his own. Slowly, he felt his animosity bleed away. "What is it, Nate?" he asked more sanely, feeling the weight of the world on his shoulders.
The dude swallowed, looked away for a second and then more slowly, back at Ethan. "Ava's father died last night."
"What?" Ethan exclaimed, so shocked he felt like he was in the middle of a nightmare that just wouldn't end.
"Yeah. The police called her mother right when Ava started hurting so bad. He was on his way to North Dakota to be with Ty, but he never made it. Hit a semi. The car was…well, it was bad."
"Holy shit." Ethan stumbled back a step before managing to steady himself. He felt like he'd taken a hit to the solar plexus and just tried to breathe for a
few seconds. "Does she know?"
"Yeah. She found out right before she passed out. It probably pushed her over the edge."
Ethan felt like he was about to lose it. This shit was bad—everything was bad. But as bad as it was, there was only one thing he had to focus on right now. Ava and their baby. He had to get to them. "I've got to go, man. Gotta get to her, you know?"
"You shouldn't drive, dude," Nate said, studying him. "Let me grab my keys."
Nate was right. He was too upset to drive. He probably could drive, but he shouldn't risk it. If something happened to him—well, he couldn't even imagine what that would do to Ava on top of everything else.
He nodded his head as he walked from the apartment.
****
Their baby had been born way too early.
As Ethan stared down at his infant son from behind a wall of protective glass he felt his heart constrict just as it always did when he watched over him. The hospital's antiseptic aroma depressed him, making him feel slightly sick, even though he was completely used to it by now.
How many days had he come to this exact spot to stand and watch as his son struggled to live? Two weeks? Three weeks? He didn't know without looking at a calendar. His days were jumbled, his mind was jumbled. He supposed it was understandable. Continually hearing 'touch and go' would screw any parent up.
If his boy was 'having a good day', the nurses let him come inside and touch him. He'd stroke the paper-thin flesh of his arm and run his fingers over the peach fuzz on his tiny head.
How strange that his lungs weren't fully developed, yet he'd been born with hair on his head. Not much, but still. Ava's hair. Already, he could tell their baby would grow up to look exactly like his mother.
