Page 71 of Say You Want Me
I just look at her as Beau inserts an IV. I watch as he continues to try to talk to her, but she doesn’t move. She lies there, blood all over her clothes, glass in her beautiful hair, and cuts all over her body.
“Wyatt!” Thom yells. “How many weeks pregnant is she?”
My eyes don’t move from hers. “She’s twenty-four weeks.”
Twenty-four weeks I’ve had her.
Please God don’t let me lose her.
MY MIND CAN’T STOP SPINNING.I’ve never felt as desperate as I do now. I’ll do anything for her to be okay, but it’s out of my hands.
The ambulance ride was agony. I sat there as she had tubes, needles, and monitors beeping every one of her vital signs. They asked questions that I think I answered. She laid there.
Not moving.
And each second that passed, a piece of me died. I should’ve turned the wheel the other way. I should’ve left ten minutes later. I should have told her I love her. I should’ve done so many fucking things. But I failed.
We make it to the hospital, and I hold her hand until they tell me I can’t go any farther. The moment when my skin lost contact with hers, I felt like I was going to collapse. I don’t know if she’ll be okay or when I can see her.
Zach, Presley, Trent, Mama, Daddy, and I all sit in the waiting room. I recount the details of the accident as best as I can. Presley and my mama have a constant stream of tears. Zach and Trent offer me silent support. Each of them grasp my shoulder, tell me it wasn’t my fault, but I just keep talking. I tell them about how the deer sent the car into a spin, how the roads were the perfect storm, and how I couldn’t get the car to correct. I know what to do when a vehicle is fishtailing or spinning, but it was as if it made it worse.
“There was nothing you could do,” Trent tries to reassure me again. “None of us could’ve prevented the deer, Wyatt.”
“If something happens to her . . .”
Zach grips my arm. “She’s in the best care possible.”
They took Angie into immediate emergency surgery, explaining the baby was in distress and they found signs of internal bleeding. I tried to ask questions, but they said they needed to get in there and would be out as soon as they could.
There’s nothing I can do right now but pray.
So I do.
I hold my mama’s hand and try to stay strong.
Each time I close my eyes, I see her smiling face. How happy she was when we were talking about names. Just three hours ago, she was sitting on the porch swing, rubbing her stomach with her face filled with life.
I feel like I’m dying inside.
I’ve failed her and our daughter.
Seconds turn to minutes which fade to hours. Time passes, and I feel as if I’m petrifying.
Each time the door opens, my heart stops.
Each time they talk to another family, my heart breaks.
“I can’t sit here!” I stand, needing to move. “I can’t wait for them to tell me.” I’m shattering. I can feel it. A pained sound rips from my throat, and Trent embraces me. “I can’t wait for her to die!”
“Don’t think like that. You have to be strong. You have to have faith, brother.”
Faith.
Presley releases a sob at that word, knowing damn well that’s what Angie wants to name our little girl.
“I need her to be okay. I have to talk to her.”
Trent grips my shoulders. “I know. The doctors are working on her. No news is good news, Wyatt. It means she’s fighting.”
