Crash (Brazen Bulls MC #1)(55)
Two hours after Willa’s shift was supposed to end, she slumped into the nurse’s lounge and dropped onto the sofa next to the phone. Death seemed to surround her lately.
She dialed Rad’s pager and keyed the number for the lounge phone and then 14. That was their code—if he turned the pager upside down, 14 would read hi. Sometimes, she’d page him only those two numbers, just to say hi without needing him to call. For a moment, she considered adding 911, because she really needed to talk to him, but that would only worry him. So she keyed the lounge and their hi, and she waited, letting her head drop back against the sofa.
The patient who’d been in 307—her name was Amber—was not going home with her baby. After hours of hard but unproductive labor, with pain exacerbated by increasing doses of Pitocin, and the fetal heart rate starting to depress dangerously with every contraction, Dr. Galen had performed an emergency C-section. The baby—a little girl; her parents hadn’t known ahead of time because they’d wanted it to be a surprise—had the umbilical cord wrapped around her neck three times, and during labor it had tightened around her tiny throat like a noose.
She had been born alive but unresponsive. She’d died in Willa’s hands as she’d tried to revive her.
The doctor who would do a C-section to make sure she got home in time to drive to her lake house for a weekend had waited too long to perform one that might have saved a life. Willa doubted she’d have proof of that, but considering the scene the furious, childless father had made, it was possible that at some point, somebody in an expensive suit would ask her what she thought.
The phone rang, and she answered it. “Labor & Delivery lounge, Willa Randall speaking.”
“It’s me, baby.”
Not until that moment, hearing his voice, had she felt tears. Now they surged up into her throat. “Hey.”
“What’s wrong?” His tone sharpened into worry—even in her single syllable, he’d heard that she was not right. “Why are you still at the hospital?”
“A hard birth. Baby didn’t make it.”
“I’m comin’ to get you.” That was such a quintessentially Rad reaction—he didn’t say he was sorry or ask if she was okay. He knew she wasn’t and did something to fix it.
But she didn’t want him to come to the hospital. “No. I need to get home to Ollie. But Rad—I don’t think I’m up to tonight.” There was a party at the Bulls clubhouse. It would be the first time Willa would be around his brothers in a social capacity. She knew he’d been looking forward to it, but she wasn’t in the mood for a wild party.
He didn’t argue or suggest he was disappointed. Instead, he said, “I’ll meet you at your house. You leavin’ now?”
The mere thought of his arms around her eased her heart a little. “I need to check my notes before I go, but I’ll leave in about ten minutes. I’ll see you there.” She wanted to make sure she had everything noted properly and completely. She had done everything right, and she wanted to remember every moment, in case a suit was filed.
“Okay. I’ll be there.”
She fully expected him to try to change her mind about the party later, but for now, he was giving her exactly what she needed.
When she had made her notes and collected her bag and her helmet, she went out into the corridor and down to the elevators. The one right before her opened, and she faced a young man in a dark suit. Next to him, on a rolling cart, was a tiny white casket.
“You should cover that,” Willa said as she stepped aside for him to pass. “You’re supposed to cover it.” It was exceedingly terrible form to stroll through a labor and delivery ward pushing a casket obviously intended for an infant.
When adults died, and older children, they were taken from the room on a gurney and placed into a body bag away from patients’ eyes. They were delivered to the funeral home on a gurney and prepared as usual before they were placed in a casket. But infants weren’t normally embalmed. When a baby died like this, at birth, or before it, they were taken from the room in someone’s arms and placed directly into a tiny casket.
Willa had never understood why that step wasn’t taken somewhere more discreet.
The young man in the suit showed obvious shame—he’d forgotten the cover. Willa guessed him to be new at this difficult job. From a shelf on the cart, he pulled a black felt cover and spread it over the casket.
Willa took her hand from the elevator doors, and they closed and let her escape from that scene.
oOo
He was sitting on the steps at the end of her walk, waiting for her.
About two weeks into their…relationship? Acquaintance? In their case, both terms defined the same thing—they’d been in a relationship almost from the moment they’d met. About two weeks into their relationship, he’d replaced her door with a beautiful, heavy oak model, custom made, and a brushed-nickel handle and knob. Now she had the deadbolt, with a thumbturn, and a security slider, and no other locks. But he insisted she was safer, and she believed it. The heavy thunk when the door settled into the jamb gave her a snug feeling.
He’d replaced the locks on her back door, too. No double-key locks anywhere. When he’d done it, he’d wanted to keep a set of keys. But they’d only known each other those two weeks, and Willa hadn’t been able to say yes to that, despite all he’d done for her. No matter how close she felt to him, how connected, how safe he made her feel, two weeks was not enough time to be sure. So she’d told him no, and she’d told him why.