Page 120 of All In
“I’m the father,” I said softly. “Was…the father.”
“I’m very sorry,” Dr. Barron said. “Ectopic never has a happy ending. It’s almost unheard of for a fetus to survive tubal implantation. On the other hand, a ruptured fallopian tube is a serious medical emergency. At this time, I’m confident Kacey’s going to be fine, and most likely she’ll still be able to have children.”
She’s going to be fine.I clung to those words like a drowning man in a hurricane. My pulse slowed, anchored down now by the other half of his news.
“Can I see her?”
“She’s being moved from post-surgery to recovery. I’ll have a nurse tell you when she’s ready, though she’ll likely be quite groggy from the anesthesia.”
I sat back down in the chair, my leg jumping.
“I’m so sorry, honey,” my mother said.
I didn’t look at her or anyone else. I kept my gaze fixed on the nurses’ station, following them as they went about their business, inwardly commanding one of them to come and find me and tell me I could see Kacey. So I could tell her the baby was gone.
Goddammit, she’s lost enough.
Finally, one nurse separated herself from the desk and came toward me.
“You can see her now.”
My beautiful girl looked to be asleep as I pulled a chair beside her. Her face was pale against the white pillow. But her eyes fluttered when I took her hand. My chest was filled with a relief so profound, it made me dizzy, even as my heart broke for her. For both of us.
“Hey, baby,” I said, my voice gruff.
Kacey turned her head to me, and smiled a funny, pained smile. I could see the anesthesia was still dragging at her, clouding the usual sharpness in her eyes.
“He says…she’s fine,” Kacey mumbled. “She’s safe. We don’t have to worry…”
“Shh,” I said. She didn’t know. I wouldn’t tell her now. Not while she was half asleep. “Just rest,” I whispered.
I held her hands as she drifted back into sleep. Staring at the white sheets, listening to the machine that monitored her heart, I felt the weight of it all—the relief, the grief, the guilt she had to suffer another loss. All of it pressed down on me, cracking my armor, stealing my air. I felt dizzy with the tempest of emotions that battered me like a hurricane. I had no Tarot card, no silly toy to shake and give me an answer. It was too much. So much easier to push it down, lock it all back up. I needed help. I needed my brother…
Kacey’s head moved weakly against the pillow. “Jonah,” she said.
I swallowed hard. “It’s Theo, honey.”
It’s me. Not him. I’m here now. Don’t you remember?
She opened her eyes. They were clearer now, and the corners of her mouth lifted in a funny little smile. Not doped-up but patient. “Jonah says she’s safe.”
Her hand reached up to touch my face.
“Jonah?” I whispered.
“She’s safe with him, Teddy…”
The smile still on her face, she fell asleep again.
I fell asleep with my head on the sheet and woke to Kacey whispering my name. She was fully awake now, the grief shining in her eyes. We held each other, her tears falling to stain the hospital sheets. I felt each one, each shake of her body against mine, like a knife cutting me, leaving scars I’d carry for the rest of my life.
“I’m sorry, Kace,” I said. “I’m sorry you had to go through this. I’m so fucking sorry.”
“Don’t, Teddy. She was ours. Together. Don’t try to take it all. Not this time.” She clutched my hand in hers. “Stay here with me.”
I nodded, let it go on a ragged sigh before it could bury me again. “Okay, baby. I will. I’m here.”
She smiled then, the most heartbreaking sight I’d ever seen, as tears spilled down her cheeks. “We can’t go back to how it was before. We have to say everything in our hearts.” She turned her head to me on the pillow. “I was so happy for this baby. Thinking it could show you how much I love you. I was so afraid you’d never know how much. How deep it runs. Worried some small part of you would always doubt or wonder.”
