One Baby Daddy (Dating by Numbers #3)(111)

“Wh-what do you know?” I stumble over my words, barely hanging on by a thread.

“I have no idea. All I could find out is she’s been unresponsive.”

My world comes crashing to a halt from that one fucking word.

Unresponsive.

Trembling, my hands shaking, my legs ready to give out, I ask, “Is she breathing?”

Logan must sense my lack of control and helps me take a seat. “She’s breathing, but if she’s unresponsive, she could possibly have a head injury.”

“And what does that mean for the baby?”

He shrugs, shaking his head. “I don’t know, man. If there’s internal bleeding, they’ll remove the baby, especially if there was a rupture in the placenta. There are so many things that could have happened; I don’t want to guess.”

“No one has come out here to talk to anyone?”

Logan shakes his head, lips firmly pressed together. “No. Nothing.”

After a few minutes, Chris joins us in the waiting room and holds on to Shannon, stroking her arm and occasionally kissing the top of her head. I know she’s close to Adalyn, so getting the call at the game and then leaving to drive here on her own to the hospital must have been terrifying. Thank God Chris checked his phone before he drove all the way home so he was there for me. I wouldn’t have been able to drive here. Other than the hustle and bustle of the hospital around us, the room is pretty silent, all four of us in our own heads.

Slouching in my chair, hands crossed on my stomach, I lean my head against the edge of my chair and close my eyes, praying to whoever wants to listen to please spare my girl and baby.

Please, please let her be okay. Please protect her and wake her up. Please let me see those beautiful brown eyes again, please let me see that smile, please let me feel her lips, taste her one more time. Please . . .

Please let me be able to meet my baby.

Pressing my fingers into my eyes, I let a few tears fall before wiping them away quickly.

“Hey, she’ll be okay,” Logan says next to me. “She’s tough. She’ll be okay.” Clearing his throat, he adds, “And when she makes it through this, I want you to know, I won’t be interfering anymore. You don’t have to worry about me, man. She’s all yours, she’s always been yours.”

Tilting my head to the side, I look Logan in the eyes. Man to man. He loves her, but he’s letting her go. For me. He silently bows out, and I can’t do anything but respect the fuck out of him, especially for saying it to my face. Lending my hand out, he grasps it and we do an awkward shake side hug, putting our grievances behind us.

Tragic events bring out the best in us at times, the pleading side of us, the forgiving side. I’m all three right now. But mostly begging and pleading to anyone who will listen.

After what seems like hours, a doctor comes through the door and calls out Adalyn’s name. I press my hand against Logan’s shoulder as I stand. Without even thinking twice, I say, “I’m her boyfriend and the baby’s father.”

I know the rules about giving information family only, boyfriends don’t count, but the baby, that’s a different story. He must see the desperation in my eyes, because he pulls me to the side and takes a deep breath.

“The baby is okay. We have a heart monitor hooked up right now, and we’re keeping a close eye on him.”

Him.

My world starts spiraling. We’re having a baby boy. A son.

Tears spill from my eyes, and I make no attempt to wipe them away.

“There was some distress from the accident so that’s why we’re monitoring closely.”

Swallowing hard, I say, “And Adalyn?”

Looking around, the doctor questions if he should tell me or not when I plead with him, my tears falling faster and harder. “Please,” I choke on a sob. “Please just tell me.”

Sighing, he leans forward and says, “She’s in a coma. She suffered a traumatic brain injury when the car was hit. Her head slammed into the window . . . lost some blood . . . severe bruise . . . scar . . . broken wrist . . . cuts and scrapes.”

She’s in a coma. I have no idea what else he said. My girl’s in a coma.

“A coma?” I swallow hard. “What does that mean?”

“It means, we’re playing the waiting game now.”

After a few more prolific medical terms thrown my way, he says he’ll walk me to her room. Before I leave, I give everyone an update, and tell them to go home, but none of them move. Instead, they stay put and ask if I need anything.

It might not be the family I grew up with, or the friends I’ve known and loved for a very long time, but this little family of mine in California, it’s more than I could ask for at this very moment.

The hospital staff doesn’t seem to slow down as I walk past them, and I can’t help but remember what Adalyn told me when we were in New York. The stress of her job, the bad news she would have to hear the doctors deliver, the losses she experienced on a daily basis, how mentally tough her job was. I pray I’m not one of the loved ones a nurse has to see walk away, heartbroken and shattered.

When we reach the room, the doctor turns to me and says, “The only reason I’m letting you back here is because this is your baby, and because I know if you stay out there longer, people are going to start noticing you. For privacy, I’m allowing you to hide away, instead of being the talk of the waiting room.” He grips my shoulder and reaches for the handle.