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“Not that I’m not grateful, but doesn’t the head of the ER not normally deal with many patients?”
“You’re correct. However, I got a call from Archer Clarke who told me that if I didn’t personally oversee this case, we could kiss his donation goodbye this year.”
Bianca must have called Hollie and told her what happened, and Archer went into crisis mode. I’ve never been more thankful to have such a rich and powerful friend. I look at the doctor in front of me. He’s about my age, which means he must be amazing at what he does if he’s head of his department. But most notably, he doesn’t look angry or annoyed at being bossed around by Archer, and I’m thankful for that. I need this man to do everything he can for Violet.
“Can you tell me what’s happening? Is she going to be all right?”
“She’s going to be fine, Mr. Moreno. In fact, despite a laundry list of injuries, there’s surprisingly nothing too serious. When you see her, I want you to keep in mind that she looks much worse than she actually is.” My heart seizes a little in my chest as he lists off her various injuries. “She’s had some staples for a gash in the back of her head as well as a concussion we want to monitor. She has multiple cuts and abrasions on most of her body from what I understand was a glass coffee table, there are a few bruised ribs which we can’t do much for but manage the pain, then there’s the laceration across her palm...”
The list seems to go on and on. With each injury he lists off, I start to feel more and more physically ill. I can’t believe he said there was nothing major wrong. She could have died. I’m wondering how bad it would be if I lost my lunch all over the scuffed linoleum floor when I hear, “—we’re going to want to keep her another night or two to monitor the concussion and make sure the baby’s all right.”
My ears ring and I swear that my heart stops beating for just a moment. I bring my hand up to my chest, ready to punch myself to restart it when it kicks in at triple time. “Did you just saybaby?”
He opens up Violet’s chart and scans the pages again. He’s taking his time like he doesn’t realize my entire world is in his hands. “Yes, it looks like she’s only a few weeks along. Four at the most. I’ve ordered an ultrasound to see if she’s far enough along for us to get a gestational age.”
“We didn’t know.” My voice comes out as a whisper. I don’t even question if Violet knew or not. Even if she knew and didn’t tell me, I would have been able to read it all over her face.
“I’m not surprised this early in the pregnancy.”
“Did you tell her?” I ask, gesturing toward the door.
“No, we didn’t talk about the baby. She was only awake for a minute or so before falling back asleep. The pain is taking a lot out of her, and we can only use minimal drugs to keep the fetus safe.”
The fetus. We’re going to have a baby. A baby that’s half me and half Violet. I should be terrified. I didn’t want another child, and even though I had resigned myself to opening up the possibility again if I wanted to be with Violet, I guess it hadn’t really sunk in. I don’t feel any of that trepidation anymore. All I feel is unadulterated joy. How I could be so happy standing alone in the middle of a hospital? It feels like my life is starting all over again, and I can’t wait. But first, I need to see for myself that Violet is all right, and then I need to get her back.
“Will you let me tell her about the baby, Doc?”
He gives me a smile and pats me on the back. “Sure thing. Why don’t you go in and see her? The nurses will be in to record her vitals soon, and I’ll be back to check in with you in a few hours.”
“I can’t thank you enough for taking care of her.”
“There’s no need to thank me. Helping people is what I do. But if you wanted to do something, tell Archer Clarke to double that check he’s planning on writing.” He gives me a wink, and I make a mental note to tell Archer to triple it. “Just remember, it looks much worse than it is.”
I slowly push the door open, being as quiet as possible. It’s eerily still in the room except for the gentle hum and lights of machines.
Violet’s always been small, but she looks downright tiny in the hospital bed. When I get close enough to see her clearly in the dim light, I almost fall to my knees. “She looks worse than she actually is,” I repeat to myself. And thank fuck for that.
Her entire face is swollen and bruised with what looks like a split lip before it was closed up with stitches. Her right eye is so swollen I have no doubt that when she wakes up, she won’t be able to see out of it, and her head is wrapped in gauze, presumably from the staples the doctor mentioned. This is only what’s peeking out from the top of her hospital gown. I don’t even want to think about what the rest of her looks like underneath. I sit down hard in the chair next to the bed.
“What did he do to you, baby?” I don’t expect a reply and I don’t receive one. I reach for her hand, but see that the one closest to me is bandaged heavily, so instead I move the chair around to the other side of the bed and gently take her free hand. My other hand gently rests on her flat abdomen and I wonder what she’ll look like once she’s round with our child. “I’m so, so sorry, baby. I love you both so much.” Then I do something I haven’t done in twenty years. I cry.
???
“Dante?” A small scratchy voice calls out my name, and I lift my head from where it had been lying on the bed next to her. My back cries out in protest, indicating that I’ve been here for quite some time. I was correct about her right eye. It’s completely swollen shut. Her left eye is about half open, and what I can see of it is filled with tears.
“I’m right here, baby. I’m not going anywhere.”
“I’m so sorry,” she whispers.
“What are you talking about? I’m the one that should be sorry.”
“No, I should have told you about Tyler. I didn’t tell you how nasty he was getting. I didn’t tell you that he confronted me when I was going to the bathroom when we went out for dinner. If I had just told you, none of this would’ve happened.”
“No one could have foreseen this, Vi. There’s no reason for you to be sorry. I’m just so happy you’re okay.”
“What happened?” she asks. I tell her the story I’ve pieced together between Bianca and Detective Turner. How Bianca showed up, knew something was wrong, and went and got him, so he rushed over to the house and saved her.
“What happened to him?” she asks. There’s fear in her eye and in her voice. I don’t know how she’s going to react to the fact that he’s dead, but she’s going to find out eventually.
