Page 72 of Claiming What Is Mine

Chapter Thirty-Two

Meredith

Forget about what happened yesterday.What was yesterday? Arguing about where we want to live? It may as well never have happened. It should have never happened—no more than a silly detail—unworthy of the time and energy already wasted. It’s been sucked into the all-consuming blackhole of worry growing in my stomach. I run back and forth trying to decide what to do. I try calling his phone again and again, but each time it goes to voicemail. I tuck my hair up in the ballcap Gabe loaned me that I never returned, swipe my toothbrush, and rush out the door. My Honda races across the backroads of Logan county, passing trucks and tractors in a flash of toothpaste and tears. With each passing mile, any remnants of anger and resentment fade, replaced by fear and worry about the man I love.

What happened to him?I cannot stomach the thought of him lying in a hospital bed, much less that in his darkest moment, whatever he faced, he faced it alone. I am beside myself with worry and guilt. I should have been there. He’s asked me to move in a hundred different times, but I kept brushing it off. I let my parents’ opinion become a barrier between us. And for what? To make them happy? No. Deep down I know that’s not the reason.

I was afraid.

If you cut through all the bullshit, that’s the reason. It’s a thought I haven’t been willing to acknowledge before. But now, it stares me in the face, clear as day. I allowed fear to rule me. Fear that Gabe wasn’t who he said he was. Fear that I was rushing in without thinking. Fear that I was going to fail at another thing and still end up alone. It’s so ridiculous, I can hardly believe it myself. But it’s true. And then there's the baby growing in my belly. Regardless of my address, regardless of my income, regardless of my fear, this child is coming.

So why did I put us both through the stress?

I can’t remember a time I felt as happy as I have these last three months, and now I see what a fragile thing happiness can be. The very idea of Gabe in distress tears at my soul and I pray to God above to please, please let him be alright. I pull out every negotiation tactic I can think of. I promise to go to church more. I promise to pray more. I promise to never again judge him for the past. I promise to stop being afraid to state my opinion and stand my ground defending it (even to my parents).

The hospital comes into view ahead and I breathe for the first time since leaving home. I turn the wheel and cut a hard corner into the parking lot, screeching to a crooked stop in the first empty spot I find. Racing towards the entrance, I can’t be sure I shut the engine off. Whatever. I run to the front desk.

“Gabe Wilde.” I huff and puff to catch my breath while the blue haired woman pressing the phone to her ear glares at me with disdain. She looks away as she apologizes into the handset and asks the person on the other end to repeat what they just said. I frantically tap my foot while I stare at the hold-on-a-second finger she has aimed at me. My blood is boiling by the time she hangs up the phone and returns her attention to me. She looks me up and down in not-so-silent judgement, and after my eyes follow hers, I realize I’ve done it again. In my rush to get here, I neglected to change out of my lovely gray pajama bottoms adorned with red hearts and lips, or the crusty white men’s t-shirt I couldn’t not sleep in last night. Strands of hair are surely flying in all directions from the bottom of my baseball cap and, of course I’m wearing my fuzzy slippers. Damnit woman. “Gabe Wilde. What room is he in?” I ask impatiently.

The woman types into her computer and looks up with a frown. “Are you family?”

I scoff at the accusation behind the question. “Yes. I’m his fiancée.” Instinctively, I lift my hand to shove my beautiful engagement ring in her face, only to realize it’s not there. Sheepishly, I pull my hand out of her view. “What room?” I snap.

“Two-twenty-three,” she says, offended by my harsh tone.

“Thanks.” I wave my hand as I head for the elevators. Because I have absolutely no idea what I’m walking in to, it takes everything I can muster not to hyperventilate as I step onto his floor. “Two-twenty-three, right?” I mumble to myself as I stop outside the door. The name tag reads, Wilde. I knock gently and am relieved to hear Chet bellow, “Come in.”

One more deep breath. Put on a brave face. Here we go.

I step into the room and find Hank, Marie, and Chet gathered around Gabe’s bedside.

Gabe’s eyes are closed, and I see a cast on one arm, but otherwise he looks alright.

“What happened?” I whisper.

Hank looks confused. “Didn’t you get my messages?”

I shake my head. “My phone died. I saw your text and rushed over.”

Chet clears his throat. “Gabe was mostly delirious when I got to him, but from what I’ve pieced together, he was out with the cattle yesterday evening. See, we’ve been having trouble with coyotes for a while now, and evening is when they’re most active. Anyway, best I can figure, the herd got in the vicinity of one, and it must have spooked a few and caused them to split off. I figure Gabe probably got hurt trying to rope one in.”

“Oh my God. How bad is he?” I ask.

Gabe shifts in the bed and groans. “He’s a broken mess.” He struggles to sit up, but the pain quickly overwhelms him and he falls back, wrapping his arms over his waist.

Marie raises the tissue box to offer me one before taking another for herself. “The doctor says he broke a few ribs and his arm.”

Gabe groans again, holding his ribs while he speaks. “Probably still be lying in the field if I’d been on a four-wheeler. Like I told you, only a horse could’ve got me home in the shape I was in.”

Chet and Hank glance at each other and shrug, seemingly confused by Gabe’s statement. “Guess that’s true. By the time he came back up by the houses, he was slumped over in his saddle. Who knows how long it would’ve taken us to find him otherwise,” Chet says.

Hank jumps in. “Or realize he was missing. It’s not like he’s been around a lot lately.”

My cheeks flush with embarrassment in recognition that I’m the reason for Gabe’s spotty attendance. Gabe opens his eyes and looks at Hank. “Really? Even now?”

“Huh?” Hank asks, surprised by the questions.

Gabe reaches for the bed controls, raising the back to help him into a more upright position. “Even now—lying here in the hospital—the shape I’m in, and you feel compelled to give me shit about how much time I’ve spent clocked in at work?”

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