Life Support (The Breathe Series Book 2) (31 page)

As the cut above her eye starts to coagulate, I place a clean piece of gauze to her head and secure it temporarily with medical tape. All I want to do is take her in my arms and hold her, tell her that she’ll be all right, though I don’t know who I’m trying to reassure—Olivia or myself. I don’t know the extent of her injuries just yet, and the worst-case scenarios come to mind—internal bleeding, any number of brain injuries, a broken leg perhaps… What I do know is that I’m not losing her. Not today. Not ever.

“Olivia?” I manage to squeak out through my tight throat. I clear it and try again only louder. “Olivia, baby, wake up. It’s me. It’s Owen. I’m here, baby. I’m here to take care of you. You’re going to be all right.” I quickly swing around towards Saul and Tanner, who are running toward us with the Jaws of Life. “Run, goddammit! Run! Get her out of here!” I yell, gripping the door of the Rover and frustratingly shaking it with all my might, willing it to open so I can get at my girl.

“Whoa! Whoa! Whoa!” the rest of my team shouts in unison. The shaking of the car causes the Rover to rock, which causes Olivia’s head to loll back and forth. I stop immediately and am promptly pulled away from the door by the back of my jacket.

Tanner and Saul arrive with the Jaws of Life equipment, and I stand aside as the men work on extricating Olivia from the vehicle. The massive clippers slice through the metal of the SUV like a hot knife through butter. As they cut away the twisted metal, I yell over the noise of the machine, constantly reassuring Olivia that she’s going to be okay. She likely can’t hear me, but it’s more to keep myself sane while I wait. If I keep telling myself that she’s going to be okay.
She’ll be okay. Right?

Piece by painstaking piece, the firefighters clip and saw until, finally, the lid of the vehicle can be lifted off. I assist with removing the top and place it to the side while another team of men disentangle Olivia from the car, eventually laying her on a backboard. They strap her down and splint her leg. All I can do is watch helplessly from the side. She’s bloody and mangled. Dried blood is in her hair along with shards of glass. I stand watching, my hands in my hair, struggling to keep it together.

As the EMTs roll Olivia to the ambulance, I walk along the gurney, giving the EMTs her age and weight. I confirm that she’s not on any medications and otherwise in good physical health. My speech is frantic and I’m trying to give them as much information as I can. As I’m barking at the EMTs, Olivia’s eyes fly open. They’re as big as saucers, all-consuming fear etched in them.

“Baby…” she groans somewhat incoherently. “Baby!” she screams, this time much clearer. Her strapped-down hands flail frantically.

“I’m here, Olivia. I’m right here,” I say, trying to sooth her.

“No. Baby! Baby!” she calls out again.

I grab her hand, push the hair from her eyes, and lean over her so she can get a clear view of my face. “I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”

No sooner than she flashed awake, she’s out again.

“Mr. Maxwell?” a nurse calls out quietly into the private waiting room at the hospital. It’s a nurse I know and have had interactions with at the hospital before.

I stand up from my chair and chuck my cup of cold coffee into the garbage. “Hi, Jamie.”

“Hey, Owen. How you holding up?”

“I’ll be better when I see her and talk to her doctor. I just got off the phone with Olivia’s parents and had to break the news to them. That was gut wrenching. They’re on their way, so…”

“Not a problem. I’ll let the nurse’s station know to be expecting them. Come on,” Jamie says, putting a hand on my shoulder. “I’ll take you to see her now.”

As Jamie leads me down the hospital corridor, I feel the eyes of visitors and hospital staff alike. Still wearing my bunker gear, I know I stick out. I nod nervously at the people who catch my eye and take off my helmet before stepping into Olivia’s room.

I stand at the end of Olivia’s bed, watching her. Jamie gives me a supportive pat on the back and tells me that Olivia’s doctor will be in soon to talk to me. IVs are attached to her left hand. Her leg and knee are wrapped, but there’s no cast. Hopefully she didn’t break it when it was trapped under the dashboard of the SUV in the crash. Her left eye is swollen and a Steri-Strip bandage covers the cut above her eye. Her hair is still matted with dried blood, but otherwise, it looks like she was incredibly lucky. My heart aches for her. I would give anything to be the one in her place. I’m the one who deserves this, not her. She’s good. She’s pure. She’s my life.

As I approach her bedside, Olivia’s doctor walks in, reviewing his chart. He introduces himself as Dr. Alex McCarthy, head of Neurology at Maimonides Hospital.

“Well, Owen, our girl is doing pretty well, considering.”

His use of ‘
our
girl’ makes me bristle, but because he’s helping to save her life, I’ll let it pass.

Dr. McCarthy goes over her bill of health, covering her obvious injuries. Her knee is severely sprained and they’re still concerned about a torn ACL, but they’ll know more after the swelling has gone down. He discusses his concerns about her severe concussion and explains that Olivia is in a coma because of the swelling. This seems counterintuitive as a coma, at least for me, means bad news. But he assures me that there’s no concern for alarm—it’s just nature’s way of healing itself. They’re monitoring all of it very closely. Thankfully, her skull wasn’t fractured, but her brain was rattled around quite a bit. As Dr. McCarthy is going over Olivia’s status, another white coat walks into the room.

“Ah! Perfect timing. Owen, this is Dr. Anna VanderVeen. She’s the OB/GYN who examined our girl.”

OB/GYN? Why does Liv need to see a… Oh God! What if something happened to Olivia’s lady parts? What are they called? Oh yeah! Ovaries. Did something happen to Olivia’s ovaries or something? That car did hit her pretty hard, and maybe the lap belt did damage. What if she’s not able to have children?

“Owen?” Dr. VanderVeen grabs my arm, bringing me back to the present. “Let’s have a seat, shall we?”

In a daze, I take a seat opposite Dr. VanderVeen and lean forward, placing my elbows on my knees as Dr. McCarthy goes to Olivia’s bedside and reviews her monitor and vitals.

“Owen,” Dr. VanderVeen says quietly, “I’ve done a thorough examination of Olivia, and the baby is perfectly fine.”

Wait. What? Baby? Olivia’s not—

“She had some vaginal bleeding, but that’s common in about twenty-five percent of pregnant women, and given the severity of the accident, I would have been shocked if I hadn’t seen any. The baby is just fine and was perfectly protected by Olivia. You’ll need to refrain from sexual intercourse for a few weeks, but given Olivia’s current condition, I don’t think that will be an issue.” She tries to make a joke to lighten the heavy mood, but it falls flat. Noting that I’m not sharing in her amusement, she wipes the smile from her face and continues more solemnly. “We’ve been monitoring the baby via internal ultrasound, and so far, everything looks perfect. The baby’s heartbeat is strong and measures right on target. We’ll be watching both of them very closely, obviously, but I’m really pleased with how things look.”

I’m speechless, stunned silent. I physically cannot speak. I nod my head up and down, trying to process all the information her doctors have machine-gunned me with. Dr. McCarthy and Dr. VanderVeen look at me and then to each other, not knowing what more to say.

“Owen, we know we’ve given you a lot of information. If you have any questions, just let us know,” Dr. McCarthy says, breaking the awkward silence and gripping my shoulder in an effort to reassure me.

I nod my head again, acknowledging them. The doctors turn to leave and I grab Dr. VanderVeen’s wrist, stopping her.

“How far along is she?” I ask quietly, my eyes not leaving Olivia.

Dr. VanderVeen looks through the chart quickly and replies, “Ten weeks. You’ve got a strong baby there,” she says, smiling, and they both turn to leave me alone with my thoughts.

Olivia’s pregnant. I’m going to be a father.

MY HEAD IS POUNDING. I mean pounding like the worst headache I’ve ever had in my life. I’m having a hard time opening my eyes. They are so heavy. I force them open as my brain starts to register the sounds in the room.

There is constant beeping—lots of beeping. I try to move my hand, and while it cooperates, the movement sends a sharp pain up my arm, so I abandon my attempt. Looking up, I notice that the ceiling is white. I turn my head slightly to the right, not an easy feat with the pounding in my skull. Ouch. There are flowers everywhere.
Everywhere.
There is also a board on the wall.

My nurse? I take stock of my surroundings more thoroughly. I’m in a hospital bed. I lift my gaze and notice that my arm hurts because I was pulling tangled IV lines that are secured into the top of my hand. Instinctually, I twist my hand so the tangle loosens and I can move my hand more freely. I close my eyes and right myself, so I’m facing the ceiling again. God, the throbbing.

I feel movement to my left. I slowly turn my head to find Owen, his head down, sleeping. His hand is lying on my upper arm. He’s so beautiful. His wavy brown hair is disheveled. He has several days’ worth of facial hair. Somewhere in the back of my mind, it registers that I like it.

I don’t want to wake him. He looks exhausted. I watch him sleep, his back rising and falling with his breaths. I don’t know how long I sit there watching him, but suddenly, he twitches and his hand squeezes my arm. I reach over my body with my other hand and place it on his head. Letting my fingers trail through his hair, I enjoy the softness of his curls. I give his scalp a slight scratch, something I do when we cuddle, which he loves. I smile as he lets out a low, breathy moan of pleasure. His head rubs against my arm, trying to nestle against me.

As if he were shocked, he sits up, his eyes wide and terrified, hunting around frantically. He finally realizes where he is and looks down at me. The corners of my lips lift weakly for him and his face goes from panic to sheer joy. His hand reaches out and caresses my cheek, my face leaning in, desperate for the feel of his touch.

“Hello, beautiful,” he says with a smile. He stands from his chair and leans over me to press a button.