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“I’m going to make you a hot water bottle,” the midwife says to me, still on hold. “Be right back.”
I nod as she walks to the kitchen. Then, surreptitiously, I hold the t-shirt close to my face and take a deep breath. Immediately, my panic subsides. It’s Sam here, with his distinct personal scent of male musk and sandalwood.
In my mind’s eye, the door opens and my boyfriend walks in before sinking with me into the pool. That muscular body is sculpted like a god, but I can’t speak because I’m so happy that tears are clogging my throat. Sam knows though, and puts his hands in my hair, smoothing the wet strands out of my face.
“Jessa,” he whispers. “You can do this.”
He’s smiling at me like I’m the most beautiful thing in the world. I bleat his name pitifully, and he wraps his arms around me as he settles behind me, holding me close. His bulk is comforting, and to my chagrin, I begin to cry.
“There, sweetie, it’s going to be fine.” Oddly, his voice sounds like Felicity’s, which makes me frown, but it doesn’t ruin the illusion.
Then, I lean my head back against his shoulder and let out an exhausted sigh. Sam wraps his arms around my belly from behind and rubs it in slow, soothing circles. With my boyfriend here, I feel so much better. I know he’ll protect me and our baby from anything, but then a vicious cramp rips through lower belly, and Sam vanishes. I scream, wrapping my arms around my torso while curling into a semi-fetal position. Tears spring to my eyes as spikes of pain ripple across my abdomen.
“Jessa, Jessa!” Felicity shrieks. “Jessa, stay with me! Keep your head above water!”
Images swim before my eyes, each one blurrier than the next.
“Jessa!” the midwife repeats urgently. “Open your eyes! Come on, you can do it!”
But it’s too late. I’m beginning to lose consciousness, and the last thing I hear before slipping away is the dispatcher’s crackly voice.
“9-1-1. What is your emergency?”
Then, the world goes black.
14
Sam
* * *
The moon’s out, casting the night in a reflective glow. It’s romantic, but I certainly don’t feel romantic. Instead, I’m sitting on a stone bench, dressed in my uniform while waiting for dinner to arrive. I wasn’t on duty tonight, but I took an extra shift because why the hell not? Other than spend hours watching shows on Netflix that I’ve already seen and drinking myself to sleep, it’s not like I have anything else going on.
“Hey.”
I look up from my phone and see a sandwich wrapped in parchment paper. Tim’s waiting for me to take it from him.
“Thanks, bud,” I grunt before reaching out. The savory scent of the steak sub makes my stomach rumble. It reminds me of the last dinner Jessa made, but it’s nowhere near as good as her food.
Tim settles next to me with his meatball marinara sub and we eat in silence. Rob’s off duty tonight, so I got paired with Tim. He’s a tall guy—probably about my height—and he’s got straight black hair and piercing blue eyes. Nonetheless, Tim’s a reliable EMT even if he’s quiet and keeps to himself for the most part. We get along just fine, but it’s a professional friendship. We don’t hang out after work or get beers on the weekends like I do with some of the other EMTs. But honestly, with the way I’ve been feeling lately, I don’t make for very good company.
After all, Jessa and I haven’t talked since that fight at the Salty Lagoon, and I still feel like shit about it. I thought if I gave her some time, she’d cool down, but she completely iced me out. She doesn’t answer when I email or call or text, and after months of radio silence, I’ve given up. It’s been about nine months or so, and I’ve heard nada. Clearly, the woman hates my guts.
Normally, I’d just move on, but with Jessa, it’s different. I’ve been stuck in a depression, my mood a constant gray cloud. My friends say it’s not like me to be so down, and especially not over a girl. They say I should “get back into the saddle” and date again. Fuck that. The idea of going out with anyone when Jessa and I had something so good makes me sick to my stomach. “Miserable” doesn’t describe the way I feel. “Destroyed” is a hell of a lot closer.
After all, with the buxom redhead, life took on a bright new feeling. Sights and smells and even colors were fresh and vibrant. She made me feel like there was hope in the world, and that tomorrow was going to be a better day. But now, all that’s gone. Food and drink taste like cardboard, and even my favorite movies bore me. I eat to live, I sleep to forget, and I work to distract myself from the pain of being alone. Rob tells me I have clinical depression, and I’m beginning to think he’s right.
