Released (Caged #3)(80)

“What the f*ck does that mean?”

“It means your wife has been in some seriously rough labor for a long time, and I’m concerned it won’t matter how long she does this. The baby’s not going to come out that way.”

My head tried to find some kind of frame of reference for what he was saying, but I couldn’t figure it out. What did he mean, she wasn’t going to come out? She had to come out eventually, didn’t she? She couldn’t just stay there!

“It sounds like you are suggesting a cesarean,” Mom said.

I turned quickly to my mother’s concerned eyes.

“I think it’s best for both Tria and the baby.”

“She doesn’t want one,” I told him. “There’s no way—she doesn’t even want an epidural.”

“We may not have a choice, Liam,” the doctor said.

I tried to ignore his words. I couldn’t even get over the tone. I looked to Mom for some kind of magic answer, but the look on her face made it clear she didn’t have one.

“She said she…she wanted all natural…you know?” I tried to explain. “That’s about as far from natural as you can get.”

The doctor looked from me to Julianne and then took a long, deep breath.

“Liam, if Tria doesn’t agree to a C-section, you’re going to have to sign a waiver for me.”

“A waiver?”

“Yes,” he said with a stern look. “If you are going to go against my recommendation, the hospital can’t be held liable if your wife and baby die.”

My mind and body froze, and I fought against the images that tried to force their way into my head. There were too many, too fast, and every one of the faces was Tria’s. I felt my throat close as I tried to take a breath, and I felt sweat beginning to gather at the back of my neck.

“No,” I whispered.

Mom’s arms were around my shoulders, and she held me a moment before pushing me back and looking me right in the eyes.

“We’ll go talk to her together,” she said. “It will all work out, but you have to listen, Liam. You have to do what the doctor says. I won’t let anything bad happen again—not as long as I’m here.”

As soon as the doctor told Tria, her eyes went wide, and she turned toward me.

“No,” she whispered. “That’s not right. That’s not the way it’s supposed to happen!”

“Tria, I think we have to—”

“No! I can do this!”

With burning eyes, I gripped her hand and refused to let go. I rested my other hand against the side of her face.

“Please, Tria,” I begged as hot tears started to run down my face. “If something happened to you…to the baby…God, Tria…I can’t…I can’t…”

She reached out and grabbed me, pulled me to her, and started sobbing.

“I didn’t want it to be this way!” she cried.

“I know,” I said against her neck. “I know baby, I know...I know…”

She sobbed. I sobbed. Though there were at least a half dozen other people in the room, they were completely invisible.

“It’s all about sacrifice,” I whispered. “Right? It’s not what we want anymore but what she needs.”

“Uh huh,” Tria blubbered.

“I love you,” I told her. “We have to do this…we have to.”

“I know,” she replied.

As soon as we agreed, Tria was quickly transferred to one of those rolling beds and hauled away as I tried not to let my heart tear straight out of my chest to follow her. Chelsea and Julianne tried to calm me as we headed down the hall to the surgery preparation area.

In a daze, I let them pull a blue gown up over my arms and tie it in the back. A matching hat made its way onto my head, and some foot coverings were put over my shoes. By the time they covered up my face with one of those paper masks, it all came crashing down on me.

None of it was going right—not at all.

This was dangerous—far, far more dangerous for Tria and the baby than just having a natural birth.

What if it the doctor made a mistake? What if something happened to the baby? What if…?

I was driving myself insane.

“She needs me,” I whispered to myself.

“Mr. Teague?” a nurse called out.

She smiled and pointed to a doorway. I followed her blindly.

“Don’t worry, Mr. Teague,” she said. “We’re going to take really good care of your wife and the baby.”

I nodded and walked heel-toe behind her until we reached another room with bright lights and lots of people. Tria was up on a high table with her arms stretched out from her sides and secured to some kind of crossbeam on the bed.

She looked crucified, and the very idea made me cringe.

I swallowed hard and made my way to the side of her that didn’t have the IV in her arm. She turned toward me, and her eyes were almost as red as the rest of her face, but at least she wasn’t screaming anymore.

“Hey, babe,” I said quietly.

Tria blinked.

“I didn’t want this,” she whispered.

“I know,” I replied. “But we’re going to get through it—just like we always do, right?”