Page 79 of Crashing the Altar
A sharp inhale sounded behind me. “Jesus.”
I could understand Tripp’s shock. It was jarring to get a good look at the stretched-out organ that wasn’t ever meant to be outside the body.
“You got this?”
Turning to peek up at my husband, I caught sight of his grimace as he stared down at the bloody mess set before me. He would stay by my side if I needed him, but I could tell he was hoping with all his might that wouldn’t be the case.
“Yeah, I’ll let you know if I need any help.”
An expression of pure relief filled his face at my dismissal, and he was quick to retreat toward the Winfields’ crew to offer them his assistance.
Digging into my bag, I pulled on a pair of gloves and got right to work. Blocking out the rest of the world, I let years of training take over in my tireless attempt to reverse the prolapse, desperate to avoid amputation as a last resort.
Relief surged when I finally got everything back in its proper place, and I swiped at my sweaty forehead with the back of my hand. Looking up, I was surprised to find the sky had transitioned from black to a tableau of dark blues and purples as the sun threatened to crest over the horizon. I’d lost all track of time while focused on my task.
On my knees for hours, I rose on stiff, shaky legs, and my thigh muscles screamed in protest. With a hand pressed to my lower back, I stretched, relishing the sound of several vertebrae cracking as I did so.
Straightening, I sucked in a deep breath through my nose.
Big mistake.
I’d been running on pure adrenaline, blocking out the rest of the world, and now that it was wearing off, my senses were coming back to me. Chief among them being my sense of smell.
The scent of blood hung heavy in the air, as did the stench of the afterbirth discarded nearby, and several things happened at once.
A rush of heat washed over me.
Excess saliva filled my mouth.
My stomach lurched.
Without conscious thought, I took off running toward the trucks circling my makeshift surgical site. Vision hazy, I had no clue as to whose pickup I gripped the tailgate of before doubling over and vomiting in the grass. Tears sprang to my eyes as my stomach continued to clench long after it had been emptied, leaving me sweating as I dry heaved.
I was only vaguely aware of my hair being held back as a hand stroked soothingly between my shoulder blades. Tripp must’ve seen my mad dash across the lawn and come to help me.
“Penny, are you okay?”
Not Tripp.
“Get your fucking hands off her!”
There he was.
My hair fell in a curtain around my face as Jake moved away from me, whether by choice or by force, I didn’t really know.
“Cool your jets. I was just checking to see if she was all right.” Jake scoffed.
I coughed up some more bile before I was finally granted a reprieve from the nausea. Hand pressed to my belly, I wrinkled my nose at the sour taste in my mouth. After a few shaky inhales, I managed to stand upright with the aid of the strong fingers that circled my biceps.
“Should’ve never brought you out here.” Guilt laced Tripp’s words. I didn’t want him beating himself up for my sensitive stomach. It wasn’t his fault.
Turning in his arms, I used my thumb to try and smooth out the lines creasing his forehead. “Hey, I’m okay. Pregnancy made the smells hit me a little harder, is all.”
“You’re pregnant?!”
My eyes widened when I realized my mistake, and Tripp whipped around, fully in guard dog mode, growling, “That’s none of your damn business.”
Jake’s eyes searched mine before asking, “Is it mine?”
