Page 21 of Fiend
“Is it Essa?” The peace that had come over me quickly diminishes. I don’t know how much time has passed, but the once dim lights in the nursery are now bright, and there are a few other nurses moving about, checking on babies and doing things on computers.
“Yes. She’s out of surgery and in recovery now—”
“I need to see her.” I sit up in the chair, holding Poppy’s head carefully, and stand. The movement must wake her up because suddenly, there is a sharp cry piercing the room. I pull her away from my chest to stare down at her. Her little face is red as she cries, these little wails escaping her round lips.
She squirms in my arms, and I tighten my hold marginally, nervous she’s going to fall right out.
“I can take her.” Charlotte holds her arms out, and I take a step back, pressing Poppy against me.
“I’ve got her,” I growl out. She’smine.
The nurse laughs, not the least bit perturbed by my words. “She’s probably hungry. Why don’t you feed her, and I can explain your wife’s situation?”
She gets me one of those premade bottles that all you have to do is shake and put a nipple on, then it’s good to go. I press the nipple to Poppy’s lips, and her head shakes back and forth, her lips and tongue making these tiny suction noises before she finally locates the nipple and sucks it into her mouth, swallowing greedily.
“Well, damn, baby girl. You really were hungry, weren’t you?” I give her my brightest smile before looking up at the nurse seated on a rolling chair in front of me. My smile falls, and I glare at her, waiting for her to speak.
She clears her throat. “Essa was brought in by the ambulance because she fell and was bleeding. She had a placental abruption which means the placenta detached from the inner wall of the womb. She went into surgery for an emergency cesarean section. The baby was delivered without complications and in perfect health which is a great thing for being born a month early.”
She smiles down at Poppy eating, and I squeeze her a little closer to me, overcome with pain at how I could’ve lost her.
“Your wife,” she continues, “had complications with bleeding. But they managed to get it under control, and she’s now in recovery.”
“She’s okay?” I ask, but it sounds as if nothing came out of my mouth with how breathless I am. Full of fuckingrelief.
“Yes, sir. She’s still asleep from the anesthesia, but she should be waking up soon. She’ll be sore and groggy, but we can discuss all of that later, if you’d like.”
“I need to see her.”
“As soon as she wakes—”
“IsaidI need to fucking see her.Now.And Poppy is coming with me.” My eyes dart down to her for a brief moment. Her sucking on the bottle has slowed tremendously, and it seems she’s back to sleep already. I pull the bottle from her lips and set it in the chair beside me.
“Let’s go.” I stand, cradling Poppy to my chest.
“Sir—” The nurse stands along with me and from the pinched look of her brows, I can tell she’s about to argue with me.
I take a step closer to her, but not too close so she can’t touch Poppy. “Let’s make one thing clear. This isn’t up for fucking debate. Take me to my wife—now.”
I watch the slow bob of her throat as she swallows before she squares her shoulders. “All right. Let’s put Poppy in the bassinet. It’s safer to move her that way.” I nod and place her in the tiny box-looking thing. The nurse wraps her in that blanket again, and then she’s pushing the thing out of the room; apparently, it has wheels.
I grab my shirt and pull it over my head as I follow her down the hall, right alongside Poppy. She takes a left, and about halfway down this hall, she stops in front of a closed door. She pushes the flat, silver handle, and the door clicks open. A steady beeping floods my ears, and my heart rate kicks up. I take a breath and hold it, letting the pulse in my ears reverberate through me.
I hold the door open for the nurse as she pushes Poppy into the room, and I trail closely behind, letting the door click shut.
One step.
Two.
Three.
And there’s my baby doll. I release the breath I had been holding. The beeping is the heart monitor. That’s her heart. Beating. Alive.
She’s fuckingalive.
I run to her side, clutching her face in both of my hands. She’s pale—even more so than usual. Her black hair is sweaty and plastered to her forehead, so I brush it away with my fingertips and bring my lips to her nose, eyelids, cheeks, ears. Every fucking inch of her.
I rest my forehead against hers and close my eyes, breathing her in. Feeling her.
