Page 120 of Trusting You

30

Carter

Easton and I burst through the hospital doors—I finally remembered his name, his dodging and speeding through cars helped me with that, because I have to thank him, later—and directly to the nurse’s station ahead.

“Lachlan Hayes,” I burst out as I slam my palms on the counter to stop my momentum. “He and a baby, Lily Tobias, were just brought in an ambulance.”

If the lady is startled by my appearance, she doesn’t show it. She merely grazes her attention from me to the computer screen and begins typing.

“The baby was brought to Pediatrics Emergency Care and the male directly to Critical Care,” she says.

I part my lips, unsure what to say. Locke has gone into intensive care? And Lily…?

“The floors?” Easton asks behind me.

“Five and here. Critical Care is on this floor.”

“All right.” Easton spins me to face him. “You go check on Lily. I’ll go see about Locke.”

I nod. It sounds as good a plan as any.

“If either is stable, we’ll go find the other. Got it?” Easton continues.

“Yes.” I swallow. Lily.

Pressure lifts from my shoulders as Easton loosens his hold. “Let’s go.”

We follow the signs to the elevator, and when the doors slide open, Easton’s parting words to me are, “It’s going to be okay. I’m gonna call Astor and the guys. All you have to do is focus on the baby. All right?”

“Yes.”

That’s the only word I’m capable of responding with. Easton doesn’t mind. He gives me a brief hug, my nose filling with the scent of leather and another woody smell I can’t identify.

“Stay strong, baby girl,” he says, and then he’s gone.

The trip to the fifth floor is silent and—thankfully—alone. When the doors slide open, I rush to the nurses’ station, the proximity to Lily gifting me with the words I need.

The nurse, after asking if I was a family relation—I’ll be her mother, goddammit, if it means I can see her—directs me to an examination room, where I’m told to wait outside until the doctor is finished.

I can’t sit. The plastic scoop chairs aren’t inviting in the least, anyway, and neither is the coffee machine, or the people in scrubs and doctor’s jackets wandering by with smiles or their attention buried in clipboards. Nothing makes me comfortable, not the white walls or the crackling intercom or the squeak of sneakers against bleached floors.

It’s all too familiar.

I can’t be still; I won’t stay here. I’m going to burst through this fucking door and hold that child if I’m tackled by security or shot where I stand, I don’t fucking care.

Lily’s wail pierces the air.

My palms hit the wall and skid down. My knees won’t hold my weight because, dear God, thank God, Lily’s alive and pissed off. “Lily!”

I slide to the door on shaking legs and push on the lever. “Lily!”

A group of doctors turns from the gurney where they’re standing. “Miss, you can’t be—”

But they’ve left space between them, a wide enough gap where Lily, seated on the mattress, turns and sees me.

Her face crumples, and it’s the most beautiful sight I’ve ever seen.

“Maaaaaaaaah!” she cries.

---