If You Leave: The Beautifully Broken Series: Book 2 (36 page)

“It’s all over. Everyone has been adequately threatened and apparently all is well.”

I hand her the milkshake.

“I’m glad,“ Mila answers. “I didn’t want him to say anything at all, but you know how men are.”

Scowling, she rolls this way and that, trying to get situated. I bend and adjust the giant pillow that she keeps behind her back.

“Better?”

She nods, but I can tell she’s lying. “I can’t get comfortable today,” she grumbles. “My back hurts. And my hips. And my everything. It’s probably because I’m getting so enormous. And because I’m stuck in this freaking bed.”

I eye her tiny body. “Yeah, you’re enormous. You look like a gnat with gas. Sit still and I’ll do your nails. It’ll keep your mind off of it.”

“You can try,” Mila sighs as she examines her hand. “But my discomfort refuses to be ignored.”

“Well, we’ll give it a shot.”

I have painted her fingers and have moved on to her toes before she finally brings up Gabe. I’ve been waiting for it. Actually, I’m surprised it took her this long.

“So, are you going to tell me more about how it’s going with Gabe?” she asks, attempting to be casual.

I smile. “It’s great, actually. I know he’s only been home a day, but apparently his nightmares have gotten better and things are on the right track. We’re good, Mila. It’s hard because so much has happened, but I’m just so happy he’s back. That’s all that matters right now. We’ll deal with everything else.”

“I know that feeling.” Mila nods. “I’m sorry you had to go through all of this, Mad. But trust me, sometimes the hardest situations make for the best happily-ever-afters. I have to believe that you’re gonna get yours. Gabriel has definitely put the work in.”

“I know,” I agree. “I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop. To find out that it’s not real. That I just dreamed it—that I’m going to wake up and he’s still going to be gone. But so far, so good. It’s real and he’s here and everything’s OK.”

“You’ll get used to it,” she tells me knowingly, glancing at my face.

I look up at her. “Used to what?”

“Used to loving someone like that, used to not waiting for it all to collapse. I know it’s hard, especially after he left you like that. I know how that feels. Gabe loves you too, you know. Anyone can see it. And one of these days, you’re going to realize that what you have is real. You’ll learn to trust it.”

“God, I hope so,” I murmur, knowing exactly what she means. We slip into silence as I finish up her toes, each of us lost in her thoughts.

After a while, after the nail polish has dried, Mila shakes her head, as if to shake the thoughts away.

“I could really use a shower,” she tells me wryly. “I only get to have one once a week, you know. It’s the grossest thing ever. Those sponge baths just don’t do it for me.”

“You do smell,” I agree and she slugs me. “OK. I’ll help. Let me go get your stuff ready and I’ll be right back.”

She nods and I make my way into her bathroom to get her shower bench ready, and line up all her bath products so she doesn’t have to reach for them.

I come back and take her spindly little arm, helping her from her bed. Her muscles shake as we walk, evidence of how much they’ve deteriorated over the past few months of disuse. The doctor said it was normal, that she’d build them back up after the baby was born, but right now she’s so clearly weak.

“You really do have chicken legs now,” I tell her helpfully as she takes off her robe and I settle her on the bench. “Just like Tony always said.”

Thinking of Tony makes my throat instantly tight, makes me instantly sad, and I wish I hadn’t said it. I guess Mila thinks the same way because she punches me again.

“Ow,” I grumble as I turn on the water nozzle and accidentally spray her in the face with it. She screeches at the cold water, grasping at me with wet hands.

“Hey,” I shriek, grabbing her. “I’m sorry. Calm down before you hurt yourself. You were up entirely too much yesterday. You don’t need to push your luck today.”

She obediently settles down and sits still as I spray her hair with warm water and work it into a lather with shampoo. I hum aimlessly as my fingers massage her scalp, then as I rinse the soap out.

I absently space out, lost in my thoughts; thinking about Gabe, and about what he might do. Will he maybe move in with me? It’s all so exciting and new and terrifying.

Suddenly Mila startles, grasping at her stomach, pulling me out of my thoughts.

“What’s wrong?” I ask anxiously. “Are you in labor?”

She shakes her head, flinches as she curls over into herself.

“Ow. No, I don’t think so. This isn’t right,” she mutters. “Labor is supposed to be a gradual thing. This… owwww.” She moans, clutching at her stomach again. She glances up at me, her face suddenly pale. “Maddy, this isn’t right. Something’s wrong.”

Shit. It’s because she was up yesterday.

“Pax,” I shout in panic, but I quickly realize that he won’t be able to hear us from in here.

My hands are shaking so much that I can barely get her out of the shower. Somehow I manage, but just as I reach to turn the water off, she screams, loud and shrill, before she completely doubles over.

Looking down, I see that the sudsy water swirling around the drain has turned red with blood.

Within seconds it turns into more blood than I have ever seen.

Pax is just telling me how interested his grandfather is in DefenseTech’s armor when we hear a bloodcurdling scream. I can’t tell if it’s Maddy or Mila, but it doesn’t matter.

We both lunge to our feet and race down the hall.

As we burst into the bedroom, Maddy is pulling Mila out of the bathroom. Mila is completely naked, dripping wet and covered in blood.

“Pax,” Maddy shrieks. “We need an ambulance.”

I immediately pull out my phone and dial 911 but Pax shakes his head as he scoops up his unconscious wife.

“There’s no time,” he shouts over his shoulder as he runs down the stairs with his bloody wife in his arms.

Fuck.

Mila rips a sheet from the bed and we follow Pax as fast we can. Mila is bleeding so much that there is a wide trail of blood on the stairs. Maddy slips in it, tumbling to the landing, smearing blood onto her clothing, her hands and her face.

I pull her up and we race to meet Pax at the car.

“Here,” Maddy tells Pax, thrusting the sheet at him. “At least cover her up.”

“Hurry up,” he grunts, holding Mila out so that Maddy can ram the sheet down around her. “We’ve gotta hurry. What happened, Maddy?”

“I don’t know,” Maddy admits, her voice shaking. “I was giving her a shower and then she screamed. There’s way too much blood.”

And there is. It’s gushing everywhere, dripping through the sheet and onto Pax, saturating his clothes.

“I’ll drive,” I offer, leaping into the driver’s side door. Maddy dives into the back and Pax collapses into the passenger seat with Mila on his lap. It’s tight, but in his desperation he makes it work.

“Hurry,” he commands me, although there’s no need. My foot is already on the floor.

The wheels on the Charger barely touch the ground as we fly toward the hospital. As I drive, Maddy calls up to Pax, “Do you know her doctor’s number?”

“Of course not,” Pax snaps back. “I don’t know that shit. Just call 911. They can let the hospital know that we’re on the way.”

So Maddy does, her voice shrill as she tells the dispatcher the situation.

Mila doesn’t open her eyes for the entire ten-minute drive to the hospital, regardless of Pax’s pleading.

“Mila, just look at me,” he begs, pushing her hair out of her face. He tries to wipe the blood from her cheek, but he only makes it worse. “Please wake up,” he mutters helplessly.

There is blood everywhere.

Way too much blood.

“She’s not breathing,” Pax suddenly blurts, dropping his ear down to listen at her mouth. “She’s not breathing. Jesus Christ.”

Maddy scrambles to try to help from behind us, to try to see, just as I pull into the parking lot. Before I’ve even come to a stop at the curb, Pax has the door open and is laying Mila out on the sidewalk.

“Breathe, baby,” he begs as he kneels and gives her a breath. “Breathe.”

He’s frantic and desperate and covered in Mila’s blood.

“Pax,” Maddy cries, pulling at his arm. “We’ve got to get her inside. We don’t have time for this.”

She pulls at him, but Pax isn’t thinking clearly and he shakes her off, turning back to Mila, trying to breathe into her mouth.

He’s interrupted by a team of people bursting through the doors with a gurney. Pax lunges up with Mila in his arms and thrusts her at the medical team.

“She’s not breathing,” he tells them in desperation. “Please—help her.”

The doctors and nurses close in around Mila as they lay her out on the gurney and rush her inside.

As they do, Maddy clings helplessly to the side of the gurney. Looking down, I see that Mila’s eyes are still closed and she is as pale as I’ve ever seen anyone. More terrifying than that, though, are the words coming out of the nurses’ mouths.

She’s unresponsive.

There’s no pulse.

We need the paddles.

Maddy flinches as she hears them, tears running down her cheeks.

“It’s going to be all right,” Maddy tells her sister as the team shoves the gurney through the double doors and out of our sight. “Mila, you’re going to be all right.”

“Mila, I’m here!” Pax calls after her, when a nurse blocks his way. But Mila stays motionless. She couldn’t hear any of it.

Fuckkkkkk.

I’ve never felt so helpless as when I watch them take her away. I know there’s nothing I can do and from the looks of all that blood staining the sheets covering her, I’m not sure there’s anything anyone can do. There’s no way she’s not going to die.

There’s so much blood.

Hell. All of a sudden the blood reminds me too much of that night in Afghanistan and my senses threaten to overtake me: the smell of blood, the taste of fear, the feel of panic.

The smoke.

The death.

The bloody children.

I fight it off, trying to breathe.

Maddy needs me. I can’t lose my shit.

I take a deep breath, sucking in the fear and releasing it on the exhale.

I suck in the panic, releasing it on the exhale.

It’s a trick Dr. Hart taught me and it seems to work.

By the time Maddy collapses into my arms a minute later, turning her face into my chest, I’ve calmed down. I can breathe again.

I’m fine, even if Mila is not.

What the fuck? Where’s the justice in that?

Maddy hides her face as if she’s hiding from what is happening, hiding from the world, hiding from death. I choke as I realize something.

Loss is her greatest fear. She just lost Tony and now she might lose Mila too.

Her bad thing has caught her.

I close my arms around her. It’s the only thing I can do.

*     *     *

“She’s going to be all right,” Maddy says for the hundredth time as we all pace in the hospital waiting room. “She’s going to be fine. I can’t lose her too. I just can’t. She’ll be fine.”

I don’t even think she knows she’s speaking. The words just automatically come out of her mouth at timed intervals, wooden and lifeless. I agree with her. I tell her that Mila will be fine, even though I don’t believe it myself. Maddy doesn’t even notice.

Pax is in his own world. They wouldn’t let him back with Mila and he’s like a caged lion out here. His muscles coil as he walks in tight circles. The tension in this room is palpable. I can taste the fear in the air, but no one acknowledges it.

“They’re doctors,” Maddy tells Pax. “They can fix her.”

Pax looks up, his eyes completely stark, but doesn’t answer as he paces past Maddy.

In turn, Maddy paces past me.

It’s a continuous, nerve-racking cycle.

We’re left out here alone, wondering what the fuck is going on. The worst thing is the not knowing. But knowing will be even worse. I feel so certain about that. Because there’s no way Mila can survive.

There’s no way.

And as I look at Pax and see how his face is drawn, how he’s so pale, how he’s pacing and flexing his hands and trying to breathe, I know he knows it too.

His bad thing has caught him too.

The very worst possible thing.

Seconds tick by. Then minutes. Then an hour. Then two. A nurse comes out a time or two to tell us that the doctors are still working, that they’ll come back out when there’s more news.

More time passes.

I get Pax and Madison coffee. I get them water. I go to the restroom and bring them back wet paper towels to wipe the blood from their faces. Neither of them even notices.

They are immersed in fear.

“She was so cold,” Madison tells me, her voice almost emotionless. “She was so cold, Gabe.”

I rub her back, I pull her close. I watch the clock.

Another half hour passes.

There’s no way she survived. There’s no way.

Finally a doctor emerges from the double doors. He looks exhausted.

But more than that, he looks gutted.

Shit
. I suck in my breath.

Pax leaps to his feet and Maddy freezes, both waiting for the worst, praying for the best, afraid to know which it is.

“She’s going to be OK,” the doctor assures us, after what seems like forever. “Her placenta detached, causing her to hemorrhage. And when you handed her to us outside, she didn’t have a pulse. She had lost that much blood. Her body shut down—in total shock. We managed to revive her, thankfully. It took us a while, but we were able to stop the blood flow and repair the damage.” He pauses, letting that sink in.

Both Pax and Maddy look stricken.

“She really died?” Pax asks in shock.

The doctor nods. “She had no heartbeat when she arrived. But we were able to bring her back within two minutes. She’s going to be fine. And she’s asking to see you,” he tells Pax. “You’ll have to keep it short. She’s exhausted.”

Pax immediately starts toward the door, but pauses. “The baby?” he asks anxiously, his eyes glistening wet.