He freezes at the entrance and studies me carefully. I’m sure I look like a mess as I try to push myself into a sitting position, but I don’t want him to worry. The jabbing at the base of my skull makes me squeeze my eyes shut. I take a deep breath and wait for the pain to subside, but it feels like it isn’t going anywhere.
“How are you feeling, Marce?” his deep voice rumbles. I squint my eyes open and look over at him. There’s something in his gaze that ratchets up my pulse. It’s fear.
“Not so hot,” I admit. The room is so quiet you could literally hear a pin drop.
His jaw tightens, but he doesn’t move a muscle as he accuses, “Why didn’t you call me?”
“I just woke up.”
“Can you get in the car?” His voice is monotone. Numb. It’s not even his doctor voice. It’s more detached and robotic. As if my Ben has disappeared.
“Umm…yeah.” Wincing, I push myself up and walk toward the door while cradling my stomach with my arms.
I am seriously going to hurl.
He watches me carefully, but looks lost in his own thoughts. Or maybe it’s his past that’s holding him hostage. Regardless, I am officially freaking out right now.
“Ben?” I murmur once I’ve reached him.
The paper bag slips from his grasp and hits the floor at our feet.
“Let’s get you in the car.”
“Ben?” I repeat.
Pressing his warm hand to my back, he ushers me outside and opens the passenger door. The strap from the seat belt is tight across my chest as he buckles me in like I’m a toddler. I stay motionless as the ghosts from his past rise to the surface like smoke I can’t disperse.
Once we’re in the car, he calls the hospital through the Bluetooth speaker and says a bunch of medical terms that I don’t really understand. My leg bounces up and down in the passenger seat as his grip tightens around the steering wheel, and he disconnects the call.
I am totally freaking out right now.
“Ben?” I whisper through the silent cab.
His jaw clenches, but he doesn’t answer me.
“Ben,” I repeat for what feels like the thousandth time. “Ben, you’re scaring me.”
He glances over at me with red-rimmed eyes, then reaches over and clutches my hand, entwining our fingers. The death grip doesn’t hurt, but it’s laced with a desperation that is crippling. Still, he doesn’t say a word. Instead of prodding him any further, I squeeze his hand in return, then look out the windshield.
The sky is getting darker, blanketing the town in darkness as the buildings blur past us. Checking the speedometer, I realize we’re going twenty miles per hour over the speed limit.
And Ben never speeds.
Hunching in my seat, I breathe through a Braxton Hicks contraction as a sharp pain shoots from the right side of my stomach. His grip tightens around my hand, and I catch him watching me carefully.
“Ouch,” I mutter as the pain slowly subsides a minute later.
Blue lights glare behind us, but Ben doesn’t slow down. He keeps his frantic pace toward the hospital before pulling into the emergency entrance. Letting go of me, Ben rounds the front of the car and rips the door open. I take his hand again, and he helps me out of the passenger seat as the police officer approaches us.
“Not now, Grant,” Ben growls. “You can write me a fucking ticket later.”
Officer Grant Malone raises his hands in surrender. “How can I help?”
“You can’t,” Ben chokes out. His Adam’s apple bobs up and down as he swallows and turns to me. “Come on, Marce. Let’s get you checked in.”
He guides me inside while I look over my shoulder at Grant, Grady’s brother. Gripping the back of his neck, he watches us disappear through the sliding glass doors, looking helpless.
My heels dig into the ground as another wave of dizziness takes over, and I stumble toward the closest garbage can, puking my guts out until I’m positive I’m going to faint. Ben’s firm grip is the only thing that holds me up as I spill what little I’d eaten today while praying this feeling will go away. Once I’m finished, Ben wipes his calloused palm against my forehead, brushing away a few strands of hair that are sticking to my clammy skin. Then a wheelchair is next to me, and he rushes me down the hall to one of the rooms.
His voice fades in and out as he orders a nurse to bring him something, although I don’t register what it is. Seconds later, my arm is pricked with a damn needle.
I flinch. “Ouch. What the hell was that for?”
“It’s a steroid shot to help Little Miss’s lungs,” Ben explains.
“But…why?”
“Because you’re going to have a baby.”
“I’m not ready,” I argue. “Sway and Anthony want to be here. I’m only thirty-five weeks. Ben––”
“I don’t give a shit what they want right now. We’re getting this baby out of you.”
“What? Ben––”
“Not now.”
“Ben.” I scramble for his hand, then push it against my face. “Look at me, Ben.” He squeezes his eyes shut. “Look at me,” I demand.
Slowly, his gaze connects with mine.
“I can tell that you’re scared right now. I’m scared too. But I need you, okay? I can’t have you disappear because you’re terrified of whatever’s going on.”
He sighs as his eyes fill with shame. “I’m not going anywhere, Marce.”
“Your body might not, but the real you disappeared as soon as you saw me on our couch, and I have no idea why.”
His entire body sags as he continues to stare at me like I’m a ghost.
“Stay with me,” I beg.
“I’m not…I’m not going anywhere, Marce,” he chokes out, running his thumb against my cheek. “I just…I can’t lose you too.”
My eyes well with tears as I register his words and lean into his touch. “Lose me?”
Chin dropping to his chest, he explains, “You have preeclampsia, Marce. It’s extremely dangerous for you and the baby. It can cause liver failure as well as a lot of other shitty side effects, which are what you’ve been experiencing for the past few hours.”
“I-it can happen that fast?”
“Yeah. It can happen that fast.” His hands are shaking as a nurse comes into the room with an IV bag and other supplies.
“Excuse me, Dr. Bennett––”
“Give it to me,” he orders.
Flinching at his brash demand, she hands it over to him. He rips open a package, and before I realize what’s happening, he’s inserting a needle into my arm. I cringe when it pierces my skin.
“Sorry, babe. You’re about to get a crash course in needles.”
My expression sours. “Lovely.”
“This is magnesium sulfate. I’m not going to sugarcoat it, babe. It’s going to make you feel miserable––”
“What kind of miserable?”
“Like you’re burning up. Even your tears will feel hot.”
“That sounds promising,” I quip sarcastically.
With a ghost of a smile, he presses his lips to my forehead and murmurs, “I love you, Marce. Just…stay strong, okay?”