“I’m bleeding.”
The definition of terror changed when things weren’t just about you. And nothing was less about yourself than when you were thirty-six weeks pregnant, you felt a welling between your legs … and it was not your water breaking.
At first, Beth thought she’d lost control of her bladder, but as she moved the blankets aside and shifted positions, she saw something on the sheets.
She’d never seen blood so bright before.
And shit, her lower back was suddenly killing her.
“What’s going on?” Wrath demanded.
“I’m bleeding,” she repeated.
Things happened so fast at that point. It was almost like being in the back of a speeding car, everything whirring by too quick to catch: Wrath shouting into the phone, another call being made, Doc Jane and V arriving at a dead run. And then faster still, moving, moving, moving, everyone around her, while she felt curiously still and muffled.
When she was transferred onto the gurney, she looked over at where she’d been on the bed and shuddered at the neon stain. It was huge, like someone had poured out a gallon of paint underneath her.
“Is the baby going to be okay?” she mumbled, some kind of shock taking over everything. “Is he—is Wrath going to be all right?”
People offered her compassion, but no real answers.
But Wrath, the big one, was right by her side, holding her hand, orienting himself with the help of the side of the gurney.
John appeared as they hit the second-story landing. He was wearing only boxers, his hair all messed up, his eyes alert. He took her other palm.
She didn’t remember much about the rush, rush, rush down into the tunnel—except for the fact that the pain was getting severe. Oh, and the ceiling lights were whipping by as she lay back, the rhythmic pulsing like she was in a Star Wars movie about to go into warp speed.
Why couldn’t she hear anything?
As she looked at the people around her, their mouths were all going, their eyes meeting urgently over her.
“Is little Wrath going to be all right?” Even her own voice was on a fader, the volume turned way down. She tried to make it louder. “Is he going to be all right?”
And then they were dusting past the usual entrance into the training center, and going farther down—to an emergency door that had been created just for her, just for this situation.
Except this was not her birth plan. She was supposed to go into the human world, where there were people to take care of her and little Wrath, see to any problems he might have, be there for her and iAm if it was daylight, and big Wrath and John if it was night.
Little Wrath, she thought.
Guessed she’d just named their son.
As she arrived in the clinic, she just kept thinking she was not supposed to be here. Especially as she looked up at that massive operating chandelier in the main OR.
For some reason, she thought of all the times she had been down here, supporting a Brother injured in the field, or going to a checkup with Layla, or—
Doc Jane put her face in the way. Her lips moved slowly.
“…eth? Can you hear me, Beth?”
Ah, good, someone had cranked up the volume on the world.
But her response didn’t register. She couldn’t hear her own voice.
“Okay, good.” Doc Jane enunciated everything clearly. “I want to do an ultrasound to rule out placenta previa—which is a complication where the placenta ends up in the lower part of the uterus. But I’m worried you have an abruption.”
“What … that?” Beth mumbled.
“Are you having pain?”
“Lower back.”
Doc Jane nodded and put her hands on Beth’s belly. “If I press—”
Beth moaned. “Just make sure Wrath is okay.”
They wheeled the ultrasound machine over and her nightgown was cut away. As that gel was squirted onto her stomach and the lights dimmed, she didn’t look at the monitor. She stared at her husband’s face.
That wonderful, masculine face was utterly terrified.
He wasn’t wearing his son glasses—sunglasses, rather. And his pale green, unfocused eyes were roaming around the room as if he were desperate to see something, anything.
“How did you know?” she whispered. “That I was in trouble…”
His eyes snapped in her direction. “My mother told me. In a dream.”
For some reason, that made her cry, that image of her husband growing wavy as the out-of-control nature of life came home to roost in the worst possible way: She cared about nothing except the baby, but there was not a single thing she could do to affect any outcome. Her body and the young were rolling those dice.
Her mind, her will, her soul? All her dreams and desires, hopes and follies?
Not even at the table.
Doc Jane’s face came back. “…eth? Beth? Are you with me?”
As she lifted her hand to get some hair out of her face, she realized they’d put a blood pressure cuff on her and run an IV. And that was not hair in the way; it was tears.
“Beth, the ultrasound is not showing me what I was hoping to see. The baby’s heart rate is slowing and you’re still bleeding heavily. We need to get him out, okay? I’m very sure you have an abruption and you’re in danger as well as him. Okay?”
All she could do was look at Wrath. “What do we do?”
In a voice that was so cracked it was barely understandable, he said, “Let her operate with Manny, okay?”
“All right.”
Doc Jane came back in view. “We’re going to have to put you asleep—I don’t want to do an epidural because we don’t have the time.”
“All right.”
“I love you,” she said to Wrath. “Oh, God … the baby…”
SEVENTY-FOUR
All Wrath had to go on was the smells in the room. Antiseptic in the air. Blood—that terrified him. Fear—from his Beth and the others all around him. Calm, cold reasoning on the parts of Doc Jane, Manny, and Ehlena.
Hopefully, that last one was going to be a lifesaver.
Abruptly, a new fragrance entered the mix. Astringent.
Then there was a squeak beside him, as if someone had pulled up a chair. After which a broad hand shoved him down so he was sitting, and took his own in a grip so hard the bones nearly crushed.
John Matthew.
“Hey, man,” he said, aware that time had ground to a halt. “Hey … man.”
In the end, all Wrath could do was squeeze her brother’s palm back—and so the two of them stayed side by side together, frozen as medical terms were traded back and forth and there were metal clanging sounds and hisses and suction noises.
Doc Jane’s voice was so even. Manny’s replies were the same.
They were like the inverse of the situation: As things got scarier, they became more focused and in control.
“Okay, I’ve got him—”
“Wait, is it happening already?” Wrath demanded.
The ascending whistle next to him was the only reply he got.
And then … the sound of a young’s first wail.
“Is he alive?” Wrath asked like a dumb-ass.
Another whistle.
And then he forgot about his son entirely. “Beth? What about Beth?”
No one answered.
“Beth?” he barked. “John, what the fuck is going on?”
The scent of blood was thick in the air. So thick. Too thick.
He couldn’t breathe. He didn’t think. He wasn’t even alive.
“Beth…” he whispered into the darkness.
It was forever until Doc Jane came over to him. And by the closeness and direction of her voice, he knew she had knelt in front of him.
“Wrath, we’ve got a problem. The baby’s fine, Ehlena’s checking him out. But Beth is continuing to bleed even after I closed her uterus from the C-section. She’s hemorrhaging very badly and there’s no sign that she’s clotting. The safest thing to do is a hysterectomy. Do you know what that is?”