Page 102 of Beyond Oblivion

“Camille,” Trenton whispered, his voice broken, his eyes wide with terror as he took in the scene. “We need to get you to the hospital. Now. Tommy?” he called, glancing over his shoulder.

“Meet me outside,” Thomas said, turning on his heels.

Trenton scooped me up, blood smearing across his clothes. I leaned into him, trying to focus on my next breath, to hold on to the remnants of hope that fluttered weakly in my chest. Each step he took was like another beat of the clock, ticking away the time I had with the tiny life inside me. I wanted to tell him it would be okay, to reassure him, but I couldn’t make a promise I didn’t know if I could keep.

We’d held on to it all so tightly, every moment savored, even knowing it might end in heartbreak. But even as I felt in my heart it was slipping away, I only felt gratitude that we’d let ourselves feel it all—the joy, the risk, the hope of what might have been.

“Baby?” Trenton said, snapping me back to the present. “You with me?”

Liis reached back, her fingers pressing against my wrist, lingering just long enough to be sure. “Her pulse is strong, Trent.”

“There’s so much blood,” he said, his eyes scanning my stained T-shirt and then my face. “She’s losing too much blood.” He wasn’t speaking to Liis or to me, but to himself, barely holding it together, his eyes filled with a desperation that made my heart ache.

“It’s going to be okay,” I assured him, reaching my fingertips to graze his face.

“Please don’t leave me,” he begged.

“Trent,” Thomas said. “How’s she look?”

“Pale. She’s clammy,” Trenton reported. “Please hurry, Tommy. Please just…” his voice trailed off.

The car ride passed in hazy fragments. All I could focus on was Trent’s hand wrapped tightly around mine, his grip grounding me as the world spun. His face was set, jaw clenched, eyes staring straight ahead with that fierce, unbreakable Maddox determination, like he could will everything to be okay if he just held on hard enough.

When we reached the hospital, Trenton didn’t wait for the car to stop completely before he threw the door open, lifting me in his arms as he lithely crawled from the back seat. The desperation in his voice cracked through the night as he yelled to the hospital staff the second the ambulance bay doors swept open.

“I need a stretcher!” His words were more than a plea—they were a demand, raw and urgent, fueled by the sheer force of his need to protect me.

Three nurses rushed forward with a gurney, their faces turning from routine efficiency to alarm as they took in the scene—clearly recognizing me from earlier. Trenton’s arms trembled as he lowered me onto the stretcher, his eyes never leaving mine. His grip slipped from my hand, but his fingers brushed my cheek, a silent promise that he wasn’t going anywhere.

“Sir?” a fourth nurse said, turning his face to view the cut on his forehead. “They’ll be taking her to the same room as before, but you’re going to need stitches for this. You need to come with me.”

“No, just… take care of her.”

“We will, but you need to let me take care of this while they focus on your wife and the baby.”

“Please,” he choked out, his voice breaking. “Just… please.”

Those were the last words I heard him say before they whisked me away. The wheels of the gurney squeaked against the linoleum, each turn taking me further from him, but the look of helpless, fierce love on his face left an imprint in my mind. Soon, I was in the same room we’d occupied earlier, a place we’d left with so much hope just hours before. Now, under the bright, sterile lights, that same room once again buzzed with urgent activity as the medical staff moved quickly around me, their voices overlapping in clipped, urgent tones. Despite the flurry of movement, a heavy sense of dread lingered beneath it all.

“Camille? Sorry to see you back so soon. We’re going to figure out what’s going on with you, okay?” Greg, the Physician’s Assistant, turned to speak with a nurse before moving on to the next thing on his mental checklist.

“Sir? Sir!” a nurse said, chasing after Trenton as he forced his way into my room.

“I’m not leaving until I know they’re all right,” he said.

“I told you,” the male nurse said. “I told you earlier. That’s the same guy from a few years back. The one who carried his girlfriend from a car wreck for miles with a broken arm, and refused pain meds to set it so he could stay in her room.”

“Is that you?” his nurse asked.

“Yeah,” Trenton said. “And I’m not leavin’ her this time, either.”

The nurses traded glances, and then Greg nodded. “He can stay.”

Chapter Twenty-Four

Trenton

The whiskey had stopped burning my throat an hour before, my teeth were numb, and I was seeing two of Jorie, the bartender. Six weeks before, that would’ve been a signal for me to tab out, but since the baby’s memorial service, drinking myself just shy of unconscious was the only thing that seemed to dull the rage coursing through my veins.

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