Page 29 of Reclaimed (Hostage Rescue Team)

It took another hellish six hours for the dry labor to run its course. Five more agonizing hours of contractions, followed by one hour of pushing.

“Just one more,” the doctor said from his position between her open thighs at the end of the table.

A fiery pain burned all around her vaginal opening, like someone held a blowtorch to her tautly stretched flesh. Gritting her teeth, she gathered her remaining strength and pushed with all her might.

Her legs shook in the nurses’ grip, every muscle straining. A strangled scream of mingled rage and pain tore free. She barely felt the tears flowing down her temples and dripping into her hair.

The baby popped free and the pain ceased instantly.

She dropped back to the table, exhausted, shaking all over. And God help her, she was too afraid to look. She couldn’t bear to see her dead child.

Her stomach twisted. She gagged and turned her head to the side, where a nurse immediately held a stainless steel bowl beneath her. Nothing came up.

When the dry heaves finished, she collapsed back against the clammy pillow. One shaking hand came up to cover her eyes as her face crumpled.

“Do you want to hold him?” the doctor asked quietly.

Him? A little boy?

Fresh tears bubbled up. The physical pain was over but she knew the emotional pain had just begun.

She dropped her hand, her gaze unerringly going to the tiny figure wrapped in the blanket the doctor held.My baby.My poor baby.

Sitting up, heedless of the blood or the nurses trying to clean her up, she automatically reached for her son, desperate to hold him.

The doctor placed him in her arms. Instinct had her cradling him tight to her chest, against her heart. Oh, God, he was so tiny. Way too tiny. Fragile.

She bit her lip, feeling like she was crumbling apart inside.Why?Why had God done this to her? To her child?

She made herself pull the edge of the blanket back to see his little face. A funny sound shot out of her. A high-pitched cry of grief and denial.

Adam James. A.J. for short. That’s what they had chosen for a boy’s name.

And he was…God, he was perfect she thought with another spasm of grief. His little nose was perfect, his skin wrinkled and red. All his little fingers and toes were there; he even had little nails forming.

A tear landed on his cheek. She carefully wiped it away, devastated.

Had he suffered? Had he been afraid? He should still be safely tucked inside her, giving her those wonderful little flutters and kicks.

The nursery had been painted, the crib all set up. She’d grown so used to rubbing her belly and talking to him all the time, eagerly anticipating his arrival in the spring and the moment when she finally held him in her arms.

Not the way she was holding him now. Never that. How was she supposed to go on now?

Another nurse came in, stood by her bed with a phone in her hand. “I’ve got your husband on the line,” she said softly. “Do you want to talk to him?”

She stared at the nurse.Adam? He knew?The thought of hearing his voice right now was more than she could bear.

Summer curled tighter around her baby and shook her head as the heartbroken sobs she’d been holding back finally broke free. She didn’t want to talk to Adam. Didn’t want to talk to anyone.

She couldn’t bear this. Didn’t know how to deal with this searing pain, this horrible emptiness.

The nurse was murmuring to someone in the background, but the words didn’t register, or the fact that it might be Adam on the other end of the phone.

“He’s heading to the airport right now,” the nurse told her a few moments later. “He said he’ll be on the first flight back. He said to tell you he’s sorry and that he loves you, and he’ll be here as soon as he can.”

Summer turned away, curling onto her side with her dead son held tight in her arms. Not caring about anything right now, she didn’t answer. She was too lost, too devastated to even comprehend this loss or how she was going to survive it.

All she could do was cradle A.J. to her breast and grieve, alone. It was her fault. Her body hadn’t been able to sustain or protect him, yet she’d selfishly gone ahead with the IVF treatments anyway. And he’d paid the ultimate price for it.

---