Fake Empire(108)

I stop the SUV with a screech of tires under the ambulance bay. I leave the car running and the keys in the ignition, just grab my phone and run toward the automatic doors into the busy hospital. There are white coats and gurneys everywhere. A child is crying somewhere close. The PA system is crackling, telling some surgeon to report to OR 1. I press the phone against my ear. “What floor are you on?”

“Five.”

I rush for the elevator bank, then alter course when I spot a sign for a stairwell. There’s a lot of nervous energy I need to burn off. I take the flights two steps at a time and yank open the door with a massive five painted on it. The hallway looks the same as the lobby downstairs, all white tile and fluorescent lights.

There’s a desk to the right.

“Scarlett Kensington,” I pant. “What room is Scarlett Kensington in?”

The nurse studies me, stern and assessing. “Are you a relative?”

“I’m her husband. The father. Where is she?”

She taps some keys on the computer. The seconds feel like minutes. “Room 526.”

I start to the right, only to discover the numbers are going down, not up. I sprint to the left until I reach 526 and burst inside.

Scarlett is sitting up in bed, listening to a white coat-clad man who must be a doctor. When she sees me, her expression collapses. I rush to her side, grabbing her hand and kissing her head.

“You must be Crew. I’m Dr. Summers.”

“Is something wrong?”

Dr. Summers looks somber. “I was just telling your wife we can’t wait any longer. I’m afraid the baby isn’t positioned properly for a natural birth. We’ll need to do an emergency C-section before the baby goes into distress.”

“Distress?” I echo. Scarlett’s hand tightens around mine.

“We’ll do everything we can to prevent that from happening. That’s why we need to move quickly.”

For the first time since I’ve known her, Scarlett looks young and scared. Frail. “Can my husband stay with me?” she asks in a tinny voice.

Dr. Summers smiles kindly, but his tone is firm. “I’m so sorry, but no. We don’t allow family members in the operating room during emergency surgery.” Emergency surgery. Those two words permeate the fog in mind. Sharp panic cuts through as dread coils in my stomach. “A nurse will be in shortly to take you downstairs.”

I’m frozen. Scarlett’s breathing is quick and choppy. “You knew? When we were on the phone?”

“They told me there might be complications when I came in. I knew you’d get here as soon as you could.” She gives me a wry smile that falls short. “Sorry for freaking out on the phone.”

“I should have had my ringer on. What complications?”

“What Dr. Summers said. The baby isn’t flipped the right way. But since my water already broke, they can’t wait any longer to see if it will reposition.”

I inhale, torn between pelting her with more questions and avoiding freaking her out.

A woman in pink scrubs enters the room. The nurse smiles at Scarlett. “Ready to become a mom?” Her cheer doesn’t sound feigned, but it doesn’t register as real. This isn’t how this was supposed to happen. It doesn’t feel like a happy, joyful moment.

Scarlett smiles back but doesn’t reply.

The nurse gives an understanding nod. “Ready?”

“Ready,” Scarlett replies. Her hand squeezes mine.

I lean down and kiss her forehead, letting my lips linger. “I love you.”

Scarlett’s grip tightens. “I love you too.”

Then she lets go. The nurse wheels her bed away.

“As soon as there’s an update, someone will let you know,” she tells me on her way out.

All of a sudden, I’m standing in an empty hospital room, alone. My body feels heavy, my limbs disconnected. Breathing becomes difficult. I need out of this tiny room. I’d go outside if I weren’t terrified of missing an update.

I walk back into the waiting room in a daze. Asher stands when I appear. Honestly, I forgot he was here.

“Isabel went back to the office. What’s going on?” Asher asks. “That seemed sort of fast.”

Under any other circumstances, him pretending he knows anything about childbirth, specifically the length of time it takes, would be amusing. I’m too anxious to do anything but pace right now. Back and forth. This waiting room looks the same as the one in the cardiac wing. While waiting to hear if Hanson had made it, I didn’t experience any trepidation. His death wouldn’t make me lose any sleep.

Scarlett’s would shatter me. Just the hypothetical thought has my throat tightening and my eyes stinging. I feel like ants are crawling across my skin. Like my clothes are too hot and too tight. I try to take deep breaths, to pull in the air tinged with antiseptic.

“Crew, you’re freaking me the fuck out. What is going on?”

In. Out. In. I keep pacing. “She’s in surgery.”

“Surgery?” Asher’s eyes widen. “Is that…normal?”

“No, it’s not normal,” I bite out.

“Do you want me to…call anyone?”

“I don’t care.” The honest answer is I don’t know. Scarlett and I never discussed who we’d invite to the hospital or when we would. I figured I’d be with her, that we’d get to make these decisions together, after we had a healthy baby.