Page 82 of Method for Matrimony

Frank kept me calm—enough, anyway—while we waited for the paramedics to arrive. Then he gave me another wink and said, “See you for coffee and a Danish in no time,” before he walked off.

Then there was a bunch of scary stuff. There was a neck brace, a stretcher, various questions spoken in calm and friendly tones, likely to dissuade me from panicking.

But I did start panicking. Right about the time the ambulance doors closed and it sank in what was happening. Paramedics were talking about my heart rate, about my pupil dilation.

Then I started asking about the baby. Quiet at first, but then I started yelling. Screaming, more accurately. I was somewhat hysterical.

It was not pretty. Well, until I passed out again. Whether it was from a panic attack or my injuries or a little of both, I couldn’t be sure.

Then I could’ve sworn I was on a plane. Or a hot air balloon. I was traveling in the air somehow.

After that, I didn’t remember a lot until they finally got me an ultrasound and I saw our baby, with a heartbeat, wriggling around with no apparent damage done.

ThenI relaxed.

As much as someone could relax in a hospital bed.

I didn’t have my phone. My purse wasn’t with me when I was taken out of the car, and then I’d been transported to another hospital out of an abundance of caution because I was pregnant, and the doctor wanted me somewhere with a level three neonatal care unit.

Nora was my emergency contact, and the doctors assured me that they’d reached her, and she was already on her way. I’d wanted to be tough and call her and tell her she didn’t need to be here, that I could handle this alone, but I couldn’t do that. Because no way in hell could I handle this alone. My heart wouldn’t stop thundering, my fingers were numb, and there was a bone-deep sense of dread inside me that I couldn’t shake.

Yeah, I could not be in this sterile hospital room that smelled of bleach and death with all the monitors and the lack of any kind of distraction in the form of my phone or some kind of Netflix show.

I needed my best friend.

But that was not who came through the door of the hospital room.

No, it was my fuckinghusband.

I hadn’t thought much about him. I’d been too busy spiraling about what could’ve happened, what might still happen. Yeah, I’d heard the baby’s heartbeat an hour or so ago, but that could’ve been her last minutes of life. Maybe I’d shaken her up too much and there was some kind of delayed trauma.

Those were the kinds of thoughts banging around in my throbbing head. Not exactly logical, but a pregnant woman on her best day might not be described as logical.

Kip had obviously come from the building site, and he’d obviously gone through some kind of turmoil on the drive here.

He did not look good. His hair was in disarray, like he’d been close to tearing it out, and his eyes were wild, feral even. The energy radiating off him could only be described as pure panic. When his eyes settled on me in the bed, horror draped over his features.

He was on me in a handful of long strides.

“Baby,” he rasped, leaning over as if he was going to kiss me or something but catching himself halfway.

He smelled of wood and salt and… Kip. Part of me relaxed. Slightly.

He hovered over me for a few moments, neither of us saying anything.

I didn’t want him to move. Actually, I did want him to move. I wanted him to come closer. I wanted him in this bed with me, and I wanted to curl up against his chest, burrow in there with his arms around me, and feel… safe.

Maybe if he’d stayed just a second longer, I might’ve opened my mouth and asked for just that, but he stepped back, yanking the chair by the bed as close as possible. He settled into it like he didn’t quite trust himself to stand anymore.

I stared at him, unable to speak, too afraid of bursting into tears. And despite how fucking nuts it was, I remembered that I was supposed to be icing him out. He wasn’t interested in me or the baby. He’d said that himself.

But then why was he here?

Why did he look so fucking… tortured?

“Fuck.” He rubbed his hand over his mouth in anguish.

That was the only thing that could describe his expression.

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