“Seriously Gray?” Demi huffs out an exasperated sigh and rolls her eyes, mumbling something about how inattentive men are under her breath. “She’s been super emotional lately, crying for almost everything, and she’s been eating enough for two people. And I know for a fact she’s missed her period because we were on the same cycle.”
How could I have missed all that? Probably because I’ve been so wrapped up in my own shit to notice much of anything else. The word ‘selfish’ bounces around my head.
The doctor walks back in and I jump up so quickly that I almost face plant into the table.
“Miss Morgan is sleeping,” the doctor tells us, “But you are more than welcome to go see her for a short while. She’ll definitely be able to hear you if you talk to her. She’s in room 603, just down the hall.”
The doctor smiles kindly at us and then disappears again. I look at Coach Morgan, “Do you want to go first?”
“You go,” Mrs. Coach replies, a small smile playing on her lips. Coach Morgan looks at me, his face conveying everything he’s not saying. He’ll be having a pretty stern discussion with me. But that can wait. I need to see my beautiful girl first.
I leave the waiting room, a swarm of conflicting feelings exploding in my stomach. Relief. Fear. Guilt. Love. Huntley’s room isn’t far and as I stand in front of her door, I hesitate. My nerves prickle.
I open the door and spot the nurse taking down her vitals. I hear two machines beeping, but it’s the sound of the second machine beeping that both pulls me closer and keeps my feet glued to the floor.
“You can come in,” the young nurse says. She makes a few more notes and then leaves, shutting the door behind her. I walk closer, taking a seat next to the bed. I suck in a breath as the dim light above the bed illuminates her features and shows the bruises that have started forming on her face. She shifts, whimpering in her sleep, but doesn’t wake up. The thin blanket slips further down her waist and I see the fetal monitor through her hospital gown. The monitor beeps, thumpthump thumpthump thumpthump. My eyes are glued to the screen, even though the numbers and symbols make absolutely no sense. All that matters is that is that little heartbeat is strong, and that it belongs to the little life growing inside Huntley.
My throat tightens and I struggle to control my emotions, wiping away the few stray tears that leak from my eyes. I take Huntley’s hand in mine, lacing our fingers together and soaking up the feel of her skin. I don’t know how long I sit there, staring at her sleeping form, listening to the steady beep of her heartbeat mixed with that of our child. I lose myself, allowing time to slip away from me.
I was so lost before Huntley stumbled into my dark world, wearing that white sundress and those damn red cowboy boots. Her light shattered the walls around my heart and showed me how to live again. I’m not me without her. It’s that simple.
Huntleys’ hand moves and my head whips up. She rolls on to her side. Our eyes crash and collide and there’s so much I need to say to her. But the words lodge themselves somewhere between my ribs and my throat.
“Grayson?” her voice is scratchy and hoarse and I hate it. It can only be like that if she’s been screaming.
“Yes baby, I’m here.” I move and take a seat next to her on the bed.
“Where am I?” Huntley looks around confused.
“You’re in the hospital,” I reply gently.
Her eyebrows shoot up and a look of horror crosses her features.
“I’m going to get the nurse ok?” I kiss her forehead and walk out to get a nurse. Luckily the nurse who was in here earlier sees me and I tell her Huntley is awake.
I follow in behind her as she starts checking the machines again.
“Why am I here?” Huntley asks the nurse.
“Miss Morgan, you were attacked.”
The machine attached to Huntley’s finger starts screaming as her heartbeat spikes. I rush over to the bed, stroking her hair and rubbing my thumb on the back of her knuckles. “It’s ok, you’re safe now. You need to stay calm.”
Her eyes flit frantically from me to the nurse but her heartbeat doesn’t slow.
“Miss Morgan, you need to calm down. Panicking is not good for the baby.”
Huntley stiffens and her face goes white, like every ounce of blood is being drained from her. Her eyes widen in shock.
“Baby?” she chokes out. “What baby?”
“You’re twelve weeks pregnant,” I tell her softly. When she snatches her hand from my grasp, I wince at the loss of contact, and watch her carefully. Something doesn’t feel right about her reaction. A knot forms in my stomach and sinks into my gut like an anchor.
“No,” she cries, shaking her head wildly from side to side. “I took a test, and it came back negative.”
“It’s possible that you got a false negative,” the nurse explains sympathetically. “It’s rare but it happens. Either you took the test too early or the test wasn’t sensitive enough to the HCG hormones in your urine.”