Page 85 of When I'm Gone

I nod, unsure what to say. More than just his wife is on the line in that operating room. Parker’s eyes are red-rimmed and swollen, but he tries his best at a relieved smile. I squeeze his shoulder and brush past them both so I can crouch down in front of Emerson. Sage is content in her uncle’s arms, clothed in her favorite polka dot pajamas. “Em?” I hedge.

He doesn’t even blink, just digs his fingers into Sage’s clothes a little tighter. “How about we go get some coffee? Let Parsley work some magic on Dad for a bit. I think he could use it.”

Seeing Emerson so stoic spikes the worry for my mom that I’d managed to reduce to a simmer until now. Em is one of the most lively people I know, full of dumb jokes and hisannoyingly optimistic attitude that I wouldn’t change for anything. Now, he just looks like he’s seen a ghost, and I’m really fucking hoping he hasn’t.

Peeling Sage from his arms feels beyond fucking cruel if she’s providing a modicum of comfort, but he’s too deep in his head and it’s clearly a dark place to be. He won’t break loose from it holding her, both because she’d somehow feel his emotions second-hand and wake up distraught, and because there’s too many people in here with loud fears that would compile with his own.

Dad does seem grateful for the kid exchange, though, as I figured he would. I don’t know what this family would do if Logan didn’t let us pass her baby around as on-demand therapy sessions. Emerson is stiff, but at least agreeable when I guide him into standing and out of the room, and I pretend not to see the concerned looks we get on our way out.

God, the fucking hospital smell is already driving me to the brink of insanity. I don’t think I’ve been in one since Sage was born. Before that, damn, must have been when my grandma died when I was in middle school. I wonder if Emerson remembers that.

“I do,” he says so quietly I have to strain to hear him.

There is no way this kid was reading my mind. “You do what?”

He scoffs. “Remember when Grammy died. You should stop thinking so loud if you don’t want me to hear it.”

He’s in there somewhere, just scared out of his mind. That’s mildly reassuring. “Always such a nosy little shit. Can’t even have my thoughts to myself.” The quip works, and I manage to remove my shoulders from my ears when I see the corner of his grin, even if it was barely there.

After we’ve found the worst coffee in Chicago, I opt for some fresh air. The smell is bothering me a lot more as the minutes tick on with no word about our mom. At least ifwe’re outside, I can breathe properly and know that Logan wouldn’t let us go without news once they have it. It takes a couple of tries, but we eventually find a courtyard that should have been locked but wasn’t, and it’s good enough.

Em collapses into the nearest metal chair, and I join him. “It’s not your fault.”

He looks shattered, like the veil finally fell away now that he’s away from everyone else. “I should have gone over there sooner. I could have been there. She was waiting for me, Chase. Who else’s fault would it be?”

“Not yours, Em,” I say firmly. “It would have happened whether you were there or not. This pregnancy was a risk from the very beginning. It had nothing to do with you.”

His dark hair flops unceremoniously across his eyes as he hangs his head. “Why didn’t you want to talk through all this with Logan? I know she tried.” It’s only a slight diversion, but it’s something that is confusing me.

Em groans. “Because there’s Logan, and then there’s you, you know?” When I don’t say anything, thoroughly perplexed, he barrels on. “Logan is… like, kind of? I don’t know? Maybe… intense? She would take control of your brain and run it herself if it were possible and when she was talking to me, all I was hearing was her saying that I’m being selfish or immature or whatever.” I raise a brow at him. When he notices, he adds, “I know she didn’t say that stuff, but it’s what I heard. It was good when I wanted a second opinion on my resume, but less so when I walked in to find our mom on the floor.”

He flinches, like he pictured it and it hurts. “I was mad when she told us she was pregnant,” I admit. Emerson leans back in his chair to show me he’s paying attention. “It bothered me. I never even allowed myself to think about the actual baby aspect of the pregnancy because I couldn’t shake this awful feeling that something would happen. All theultrasound pictures or baby name suggestions just went right over my head. I wanted to scream at you guys, like, all the time so that you would see what I was seeing. Now, she’s in the operating room fighting for her life, and I just wish I’d been more involved so she knew I cared about what was happening to her.”

My little brother’s frown deepens enough that it threatens to crack his face. “Don’t say that. Mom always knows you care. It’s not like you being concerned canceled out any of the positive aspects between you guys.”

I wait for a few seconds; he’s a smart kid. He’ll get there. When his gray eyes snap up to mine, I bite back a smile. “You just made me say your whole point, didn’t you? Fucking cop out.” But he’s finally absorbing it, the little shit.

“Logan is definitely overthinking it,” I tell him.

He rolls his eyes. “Do you ever wish we could be like those emotionally distant families who never talk about anything serious? Maybe they have something figured out that we don’t. Because this is lame.”

I laugh and so does he, the tightness in my chest giving me a break from trying to strangle me. When we fall quiet, he looks around nervously. “We should be hearing something about her soon, right?”

“Soon,” I confirm, as if I have the slightest clue. But he’s my little brother, and there’s no way I can crush him by reminding him we’re entirely helpless in this whole thing. Eventually, we finish our drinks and head back inside, finding everyone in similar positions to when we left. Well, except Logan, who is wearing a hole in the floor with her pacing. With the black and white split-dye she’s got, it makes her look like dalmatians should be very afraid when they see her coming.

I fire off a quick text to Easton, hoping that he’s not still awake at whatever-the-fuck o’clock, but I miss him regardlessof how dumb it is. He reads it immediately, telling me to let him know when we’ve heard something.

Me: You should be asleep, your test is in like four hours.

Easton: Hah. You’re funny. I’m better off with an all-nighter at this point.

Well, he’s not wrong.

The door opens, and I slide my phone in my pocket as a doctor walks in, looking exhausted. Everyone stands and gathers around with our hearts in our throats.

“How is she?” someone asks, I’m too busy grinding my teeth to notice who.

The man in blue scrubs takes a deep breath. I’m three seconds from strangling him if he doesn’t speak soon. It feels like eons, but it’s probably only a moment or two. “Your wife,” he says, looking directly at my dad. “She lost a lot of blood, but she’s alive. We, unfortunately, couldn’t save the baby or her uterus. She’s got a long road ahead of her, but she’ll be just fine.”

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