Bring Me Back(18)

“Hello?” I answer. “Laura?”

“Hey, have you seen Ben?” she asks, sounding frazzled. “He was supposed to be here an hour ago. I tried calling him but his phone keeps going straight to voicemail.”

I sit straight up in bed, white-knuckling my phone. “He left for work on time. What do you mean he’s not there?” My voice spikes with fear.

I hear a sudden ruckus in the background—Laura and Ben work in the ER.

Laura’s quiet and I hear shouting. Orders for meds and IVs and other things I can’t understand.

Suddenly, Laura mutters, “Oh, shit.”

“Laura—?”

“I have to go.”

The line goes dead.

My stomach sinks, full of dread. I feel my heart stutter and race, trying to pump blood to my starving brain—starving because I’m holding my breath.

My phone has fallen to the bed but I pick it up and call Ben.

Like Laura said, it goes straight to voicemail and all I hear is Ben’s cheery voicemail. “Hey, it’s me. Ben. I’m not able to answer my phone right now, but don’t worry, I’m a doctor so I’m probably just saving lives. I’ll call you back later.”

I try again.

And again.

And again.

I’ve never been so desperate in my life.

I know, logically, it’s probably nothing. Laura probably had a critical come in and it was bad, and she had to go. It means nothing.

Nothing.

Nothing.

Nothing.

Then why am I freaking out so bad?

My phone rings again, and it’s Laura. I breathe out a sigh of relief. She probably realized what it sounded like and she’s calling to tell me not to be crazy.

“Laura?” She sniffles in response. “Laura?” I say again, the unease creeping back in me.

“It’s Ben.” Her voice cracks. “They brought Ben in.”

“W-What do you mean?” I stutter, even though I do. I have to hear her say it, though.

“It’s bad, Blaire. He got hit by a drunk driver or something, I don’t know the details yet. They rushed him back to emergency surgery, but … ”

“But?” I can barely utter the word. I’m holding on so tight to my phone that I’m surprised it doesn’t shatter in my hand. I think I’m unconsciously using it to hold myself together.

“I’m not going to lie, it’s bad, Blaire. Really bad. You should get here.”

At her words, I crumble and the sobs break through. “I don’t know if I can drive,” I tell her with honesty.

“I’ll call a cab for you,” she says, and her own distress is palpable. “And Blaire?”

“Yeah?”

“I know this means shit, but I’m so sorry.”

“Thanks,” I mumble and hang up the phone. I immediately run to my closet and pull on a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt. I slip my feet into a pair of flats when I hear a horn honk outside. That was fast.

I grab my phone and purse and dash outside into the waiting car. They already know to take me to the hospital so I don’t have to say a word.

I know I have to call Ben’s mom, so I force my frozen fingers to move over my phone and find her information.

I’m surprised by how quickly she answers, but I guess most people assume a late night call is an emergency.

“Blaire?” she asks. “Is everything okay?”

Another sob breaks through my lips. I keep seeing Ben lying broken and bloody on the side of a road, waiting for someone to help him and it’s killing me. I know he’s at the hospital now, but what about before.

“Blaire?” she says again and I realize I haven’t spoken.

“It’s Ben,” I say, and my voice is almost unrecognizable to myself. “You need to come to the hospital. Now.”

“I’ll be there as soon as I can,” she says, and I can already hear her bustling around her room. “Hang in there, Blaire.”

I close my eyes and pinch the bridge of my nose. “I don’t know if I can,” I say, but she’s already gone.

The cab lets me off at the emergency room doors. I throw a wad of cash at him. I don’t know how much it is or if I even have enough to cover the cost. I don’t care. All I can think about is Ben.

Ben.

I feel like there’s a hole in my heart and someone’s tearing at the edges, damaging it beyond recognition. I’ve never been more scared in all my life.

He’ll be okay, I tell myself.

What if he’s not? I ask.

I don’t know.

I rush into the hospital and the glass doors whoosh open and closed behind me. I run up to the counter and the women working there look up.

“Can I help you?” one says in a pleasant, calm tone.

“M-My fiancé,” I stutter, out of breath, “h-he was brought in. I think he’s in surgery.”

“Name?” She blinks up at me, no urgency in her tone.

I know she’s trying to be helpful, but I want to bash her head in. “Benjamin Carter.”

“Let me look.” She taps her fingers against the lacquered table and scans the computer. “It looks like he’s still in surgery, but you’re welcome to wait in the waiting room.” She points to the plastic blue and green chairs.