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Malcolm nodded, his throat too tight to say anything comforting when Celia glanced back at him. He shoved the passenger door shut harder than necessary, the thud as it latched not easing the ache in his chest.
Trenton’s phone went to his legal assistant. Malcolm couldn’t remember the guy’s name. “Can you tell Trent I took Celia to the hospital?”
“I’ll tell him right now,” the man sounded as panicked as Malcolm felt, and voices murmured in the background. “Is it the baby?”
“Yeah, but we don’t know exactly what yet.” Malcolm closed his eyes after he parked, then took a breath. He headed into the ER to track down where Celia had been taken.
No one else was in the waiting room where Malcolm had been directed. He paced, unable to sit still.
It might have been minutes or hours later that Trenton rushed inside, eyes wide with panic. “Mal! What happened?”
Malcolm shook his head. “She wasn’t feeling well, and the doctor told her to come here. I don’t know more than that yet.”
Trenton’s hands clenched at his sides. “Her blood pressure probably spiked. Was there swelling?”
Malcolm remembered the tightness of her rubber band. “Some.”
Trenton nodded, though his eyes looked vacant. “At least Celia caught it early. Thanks for driving her.” He turned around, nearly tripping over one of the seats.
“Hey.” Malcolm grabbed his arm to steady him. “Take a breath.”
Trenton’s shaky breathing filled the empty waiting room as he tried to settle himself. “It’s still so early in the pregnancy. I can’t lose her, Mal.” His eyes looked so haunted when they locked onto Malcolm’s.
“I know.” Malcolm wasn’t one to make false promises, so he kept it to that and rubbed his friend’s shoulder.
“Malcolm?” a voice he hadn’t expected called to him from the waiting room’s doorway.
Malcolm’s hand froze over Trenton’s shoulder as he stared at his parents.
His mother shuffled forward with his father close behind. “Is Celia all right?”
“How the hell did you know?” Malcolm asked. His hands became numb while his mind swirled with the only possible explanation. He shook his head, trying to deny the accusation that hovered there. “How?”
His parent’s forward momentum stopped at his tone. His mother stared at her shoes. “I only called to apologize.”
The confirmation made the pressure in his chest overwhelmingly hot. “It was you.” He moved forward only one step before Trenton latched onto his arm.
“No, Mal,” Trenton said, stepping in front of him to block his view of his parents. “No one’s to blame. The doctor said Celia’s blood pressure could spike any time.”
“But it wasn’t just any time, was it?” The words scraped at Malcolm’s throat.
“Well, really, son,” his father said. “Your mother only called to apologize because of how guilty you made us feel at the tavern. But see, we were right.” He waved his hands. “She’s too sick to be socializing in some bar.”
Malcolm lost his breath as he closed his eyes and reminded himself they weren’t bad people. His parents just weren’t good people either.
“I’m the one that drags her to the tavern on Thursday nights,” Trenton murmured. His fingers bit into Malcolm’s arm. “Celia wouldn’t go if it were her choice, but it adds a balance she needs. Even though she says she doesn’t.” His eyes closed. “Blame me, not her.”
“It’s Monday, Trent,” Malcolm snapped. He shook his friend’s arm until he looked at him. “Thursday night had nothing to do with this.”
A heavy sigh came from Malcolm’s mother. “We—”
“Just go,” Malcolm said. He stared at his parents as they blinked at him. “Please. I’ll update you when we have news.” Or when hell froze over. He bit his tongue as he stared at the people who’d raised him, the people he’d never understand.
“Very well,” his father said, tremors running through his hand where he pressed it to his wife’s shoulder.
Malcolm’s mother glanced back from the doorway. “Make sure you call us.”
Having them out of sight didn’t ease the pressure on Malcolm’s chest.
