Shattered and Shaken (16 page)

Blake and I arrive to Maggiano's Little Italy, thirty minutes late. It's a cute, modern Italian two-story white-bricked building. Black tinted windows, and white lights stream around the tunneled entry; I feel underdressed. Here I am in my country girl attire, and apparently, I should've worn a little black dress, heels, and carried my Louis Vuitton clutch. “Don't you think you should've told me to dress, um, I don't know, appropriately?”

He chuckles. “Babe, you could hit the town wearing a holey granny gown, and still rock it. You're beautiful, baby,” he says matter-of-factly. Why does he find my being agitated humorous? It's annoying, sometimes - okay never, it's adorable. I'll do anything to make him happy, see him smile, and watch his abdominals contract as he laughs.
Not now, Allie, not now!
The thought of seeing his abs flex sets my panties on fire. I can't take him here.

We enter
Maggiano's hand-in-hand. Clair spots us and waves us over to the round candle-lit table covered in white cloth and surrounded by at least eight dark wooden chairs. Lying on top of the table are white plates with silverware lying on either side, and crystal-clear wine glasses that have white cloth napkins stuffed inside of them. “Evening, darlings, have a seat,” Clair smiles.

Blake pulls the chair out for me, and just as I begin to sit, I hear a deep familiar voice speak out from across the restaurant. “
Yo, bro!” It’s Brody. Blake walks over and meets Brody halfway, and they embrace each other in a bear hug. Not the one-arm slap across the back dude hug, but a bear hug. I swear I see Blake's feet come off the floor; I'm pullin' his man card. I stare at them in admiration as they show their brotherly love, in the middle of a restaurant full of people.

Letting out a fake and over-exaggerated cough, I attract Blake's attention. I do this as an attempt to break up their not-so-manly hug; they’re attracting too much attention- looking more like a couple than siblings. As he makes his way back to the table, I begin to sit, but I'm forced to stand when an unfamiliar hand encircles my arm. “Allie, right? You don't think I'm going to let you sit your
perdy self down without a proper introduction, do you?” he questions seriously. Well to me, a proper introduction is a hand shake, but to him, it's a full-on bear hug, squeezing me like a python. If he doesn't release me soon, my skeleton's going to pop out of my skin.

Finally, after what seems like hours, he releases me and I'm able to breathe again. “Of course not, Brody,” I reply with a smile, secretly thanking God for helping
me escape Brody's grasp unharmed. We take our seats and our food's already laid upon the table. In the middle of the table is some sort of rigatoni and leafy salad. Our glasses are filled with a light orange liquid. I bring the glass to my nose and sniff it before tasting it. I bring the glass to my lips, preparing to take a sip when Clair stops me.

“Sip it slowly, dear; it's delicious and the taste will linger longer the slower you drink it. It's an Italian Sangria,” she explains, holding her glass up to toast. We all stretch our glasses to the center of the table, clinking them together. “Here's to new beginnings, family, and unconditional love,”
Aken declares. We sit down and fill our plates with the mouthwatering pasta.

Bringing the sangria to my mouth, all eyes are on me. “
Mmm, it's-it's delectable,” I moan in appreciation. The sangria is crisp, leaving behind a taste of lemon mixed with orange. I don't know what it is about the Andrews and their obsession with wines, but they're like wine whispers; everything they pick out is appetizing. I've always hated the taste of wine. Every kind I've ever tasted has been either bitter or tart; guess that's what you get when you purchase boxed wine.

I eat in silence while Clair,
Aken, Blake, and Brody catch up. I don't feel left out or out of place, nothing like that; it's just I don't want to impose on their conversations; it'd be rude. Brody speaks of himself being a ‘free spirit’, banging chicks left and right, mostly women he does shoots with. I'm not comfortable joining in on this particular conversation. His having his way with women and leaving them behind as if they're trash, is a little too close to home. And my mother taught me that if you can't say something nice, you shouldn't say anything at all. Not that I obey her instructions often, but I really like being a part of this family and I prefer to avoid confrontation with them.

What I really want to do is jump over the table, punch Brody in the nose, then kick is balls so hard they get lodged into his throat, but I won't. I convince myself that some women like to be used, but in all honesty, they don't. I was one of those women, seeking intimacy to fill the emptiness inside, when all we need is someone to show us they care, and to treat us like the jewels we are.

As I jab my fork at my salad I hear the word pregnant and immediately blurt out, “I'm not pregnant!” The table goes silent and jaws drop to the table, all except for Clair, who has spewed sangria and is laughing uncontrollably. Every eye in Maggiano's is on me, waiting for an explanation. “I'm sorry. I missed most of the conversation and assumed you were talking about me,” I explain, hanging my head in embarrassment. Damn me and my nonexistent brain-to-mouth filter.

Blake rubs his hand up and down my spine in attempt to comfort me. “What would make you think we were talking about you?” he questions. Great, now I have to explain.

“Elana insinuated Allie was pregnant because you brought her home to meet us. She overheard us talking and it's bugging her,” Clair answers nonchalantly. Yes, that's exactly it. Those rich bitches have me second-guessing my body. I stood in the mirror for over thirty minutes viewing myself at different angles, seeing if I had signs of a belly pooch. As I expected, there's nothing.

Again, Blake laughs. “Happy I amuse you,” I bite out, glaring at him. He inhales trying to control his laughter. I don't get what in the hell's so amusing. Bewildered, I continue to glare holes into him. If looks could kill, he'd be dead right now.

“Babe, chill! Elana and her posse like to stir shit up, don't let 'em get to you.” He continues to stroke my back in what I assume is intended to be comforting.  I’m just a little miffed that he thinks the whole damn thing’s funny. Perhaps if he walked in and overheard someone questioning the size of his penis, or something like that, then he wouldn’t be finding it funny and rising above it. No, he’d be going all caveman and whipping out the tape measure.

“Babe, if you were pregnant, all of Nashville would know; they wouldn't have to ask you. I'd have that shit painted on a billboard over the interstate,” he announces, his smile reaching from ear-to-ear. You’ve got to be fucking kidding me “Well, I’m pretty sure if I were pregnant, Nashville would be able to see my lard ass without a billboard,” I assure him.

“Dude, cool it with the baby talk. Slow down,” Brody intrudes, agitated.

Blake turns in his chair to face his brother. “Bro, shut your hole. I was just letting her know that if she was having my baby, it's nothing to hide or be ashamed of. It's something amazing,” Blake insists. Sweet, he wants to be a daddy, but it
ain't happenin' now. The whole idea of growing another human inside of me makes me uneasy.

“We wouldn't object to being grandparents, but you would have to move here to Nashville. It's non-negotiable,” Clair says. Oh give me a break, please. Baby steps people, remember; first comes love, then comes marriage, then comes the baby carriage...

Chapter Fifteen

AS MUCH AS I’VE
enjoyed my stay in Nashville and falling in love with the Andrews', I'm excited to head home. Believe it or not, I'm not a very affectionate person. Tears may fall from my eyes, frequently, but I'm not good at comforting others as they cry; it's awkward. I'm all for honesty and don't believe in lying to someone in order to comfort them. The whole hugging and telling them everything will be okay is bullshit. Life's not a fucking fairy tale; people die, lie, and betray you. It's just a part of life that can't be avoided, and sometimes people never recover. So when the time comes and Clair has a death grip on me with tears streaming down her face, I stand dumbfounded.

Clair is a snotty babbling mess. “You take care of my baby boy, okay?” she mutters, sniffing her crying-induced nasal drainage. Yes, it is disgusting, but I can’t push her away.

“There, there,” I mumble, patting her head gently as if she is a puppy. “I'll take care of him,” I promise. Thankfully, our separation from Aken and Brody is more tolerable, less awkward. I don’t have to deal with all the crying and affectionate shit like I did with Clair. They're humongous manly men, and most men are oblivious to affection, except for Brody. Don't let his wrestler-like stature, tattoos, and lip ring fool you; he's a softy.

Brody gets a little misty-eyed saying farewell to his baby brother. As I watch them, I realize that I need to return their man cards, because it takes one hell of a man to tear up and show affection, especially toward a sibling. Their love for one another makes me smile and frown at the same time. I smile because it's nice to see Blake interact with his family, but frown because I miss that feeling I had with Kyle. I begin to wonder what persuaded Blake to attend college in North Carolina; he and his family are extremely close. I can’t imagine being states away from home. Staying on campus in Raleigh was two hours too far. Blake could've attended med school in Tennessee; there are several well-known colleges here.

Our flight is delayed due to the weather. Storms have been rolling through the eastside since yesterday. We finally touch down around midnight, and even though we haven't crossed time zones, I feel jet lagged. The airport is a little over an hour away from Jacksonville, and the sandman has invaded my eyelids; they're as heavy as steel, and as much as I fight to stay awake, the vibrations from the truck cause me to doze off.

My eyes snap open at the sound of screeching tires and Blake's arm pressing across my abdomen, keeping my head from colliding with the dashboard as he slams on the brakes and stops behind a car stranded on the side of the interstate. Before I can ask him what in the hell he's thinking, he unfastens his seat belt, throws the door open, and exits the cars as if his ass is on fire. Reluctantly, I open my door and follow behind him, keeping a safe distance from the cars traveling along the interstate. As I near the silver sedan, I hear a woman scream out in pain. Her scream is so loud it causes my ear drums to ring. I can't see her or Blake.

Forcing my feet to move faster, I scurry to the front of the car, where I see a heavily pregnant woman crouched down clinging to her stomach. “Oh God, help me,” she cries, tears falling from her face like raindrops.

Blake takes her hands and helps her to stand, placing her hands on the hood of the car. "Keep your hands flat on the car, and try to relax. Lift your head and inhale through your nose; release it slowly from your mouth,” he instructs. Making his way behind the woman, who's clearly in labor, his hands circle the tops of her hips and his thumbs press deep into her lumbar region, massaging circles into her tissue as she experiences another contraction. Her shoulders still as she holds her breath. “Just breathe, you have to breathe,” Blake urges. Blake glances to me, worry etched across his face. “Al, I need you to call for an ambulance.” He's a doctor; I don't understand his uneasiness. “Go,” he screams. His tone of voice makes me flinch.

Running to the truck, I'm determined to call for help, but I can't. Blake's ridiculously jacked-up truck is too high and I can't make it inside. It's raining, mud lies under my feet, and each time I try to push myself up, I loose traction and slip. Taking my shoes off, I run back to Blake. “Blake, I can't get in the truck.”

He glances at me in frustration. “What? What do you mean you can't?” he huffs. It's obvious, but I assume nerves have clouded his brain.

“Seriously? A blind man could see that I could walk right under your truck without ducking! It's ridiculous to have a truck that fucking high!” I yell. I understand he's nervous, but I'm doing the best I can to help him. He asked me to call for help, and dammit, I tried.

He nods his head, motioning me to join his side. "I know, babe. I'm sorry.” Damn right, he better be. He grabs my hands and replaces them where his were on the pregnant woman’s back. “Keep your hands here. When her breathing becomes labored, use your thumbs, pressing them deeply into this spot, and rotate them in a circular motion. Can you do that for me, please?”

I look at the woman in front of me. “Yes,” I nod. He runs to the truck, climbs in effortlessly, and calls for help.

When he returns, he's calm. He speaks to the woman after her last contraction ends. “Ma'am, my name's Dr. Andrews, I'm a resident at Onslow Memorial Hospital; I'm an obstetrician,” Blake announces. The woman begins to experience another contraction, but this time, she falls to her knees, blood dripping down her leg. What the fuck! I feel myself panic and look around wildly, but stop when I see Blake’s relaxed face. “I need you to answer a few questions for me. Can you try your best to answer them?” Blake asks, his voice calm.

As the woman opens her mouth to answer, she lets out an ear-splitting scream that I’m convinced can be heard for miles. She hunches over, encircling her swollen stomach tightly.

 
“Just. Kill. Me.... Please,” she pants, hyperventilating. Oh shit!

“I don't have protective gear in my car, no gloves, towels, nothing... but I have to examine her,” Blake explains, looking at me.

I look at him in concern. “But you know nothing about her, Blake,” I say, scared that this poor woman could transfer something incurable to him... HIV comes to mind. Blake goes to the woman and helps her to the backseat of her car, instructing her to lie on her back across the bench seat. The more movement she makes, the more she screams. “Allie, don't you think I know this? But this is what I do; this is who I am!” He looks to the ground where he stands in a pool of blood. “You see this? She's hemorrhaging, Allie,” he informs, pulling the pregnant woman's blood-soaked spandex shorts down her legs.

My knees begin to buckle at the sight of the bloody mess before me, but I close my eyes and will myself to be strong. It's only blood, right? Wrong. There's a black patch of what I assume is hair, protruding from her vagina. I fight the rain and lift my eyes to the sky. “Oh shit!” I mutter.

“Where's the fucking ambulance?” Blake yells, enraged. He's covered in blood from his hands to his elbows. “Baby, I need you to try your hardest to climb into the back of the truck to see if we may have left a beach towel in there somewhere,” he asks, his eyes remaining on the woman panting and screaming in agony. I do as he ask.

Running as fast as I can, I jump up and grip the tailgate, pulling myself up. Tossing my leg over the gate, I fall into the bed of the truck, knocking my breath away. Lying on my side, my eyes search the bed, and land on the blanket Blake and I used at the beach. I roll myself to the back of the bed of the truck, grab hold of the blanket and jump to the ground. On my way down, I lose my balance and fall to the asphalt. Gravel punctures my knees and blood drips from the wounds. My
adrenaline’s at an all-time high and I don't feel the pain. Holding the blanket, I run to Blake. “No towel, but there's this,” I say, handing him the blanket.

Blake's head falls. “Shit. Just…
motherfuck,” he mumbles, shaking his head from side-to-side. I'm taken off guard by his swearing, but then I realize the woman's screams have stopped. I risk a glance inside the car; my mouth drops in fear. She's pale. Her breathing's extremely shallow, and her eyes roll repeatedly into the back of her head.

“Oh my God,” I gasp. “Blake, she's losing consciousness,” I panic.

“I know,” he says barely above a whisper, defeat in his voice. He stands and rests his hands onto the top of the car, pounding it with his fist, denting the woman's car. “I can't even help her,” he whispers, his words sounding strangled. I place my hand on his shoulder. “She can't deliver the baby hemorrhaging the way she is, and I sure as hell can't stop it here on the side of a filthy-fucking interstate,” he continues. “I can't even determine what the cause is. Shit, it could be a number of things; uterine rupture, placenta abruption - all of which are harmful to the fetus, and the mother,” he explains.

He bends down to check on the lady and shouts, “Fuck!” He takes her legs and pulls her toward him, attempting to remove her from the car “Allie, you're smaller than I am. I need you to climb in beside her and hold her head up. Do not let her head hit the car or the ground as I pull her out.” I scramble into the car and capture her head in my hands. Blake removes her from the car, quickly lying her to the ground. “You remember how to give CPR, right?” I nod in conformation, feeling shit-scared. He interlocks his hands, one on top of the other, placing them to the center of her sternum. Tilting her head back, I clamp her nostril closed, and administered two breaths, watching her chest to be sure it rises with each breath I breathe into her. Lifting my eyes to Blake, I see him rise slightly before forcefully pressing his hands into her chest; I cringe from the cracking sounds her ribs make as they break.

He administers thirty chest compressions and I breathe into her two times. We complete three cycles of thirty compressions and two breaths before the ambulance finally arrives and EMS takes over. Thank God, I’m not sure Blake could last any longer. As I look into Blake’s eyes, I see nothing but pure rage. Anger isn’t an emotion Blake shows often, and it scares me.  Blake bites hard onto his lip, places his hands low on his hips, and paces back and forth, fighting the temptation to unleash his wrath on them.

His chest rises and falls rapidly as his anger flares. “You know-” he begins, but I place my hand over his mouth silencing him. “Not now, she needs their help,” I plead. He nods in agreement.

As the paramedics work on the woman, Blake informs them of her situation. Grabbing my hand he leads me to the ambulance. He fills out a report and hands it to one of the medics as they load the woman into the back of the ambulance. Once the sirens blare and the ambulance begins to take off, Blake grabs my hand and leads us to the truck. “I hate not knowing if they’ll be alright,” he breathes. He's exhausted, mentally and physically. I'm no doctor, but I can imagine that it's difficult trying to help a patient but feel completely powerless due to lack of equipment. And no matter how much you exercise, it can never prepare you for the strength you'll need to administer CPR; it's exhausting.

Even though we're covered in a stranger’s blood, it no longer matters, I lean over and kiss him. “You did an amazing job, Dr. Andrews, and no matter what happens, remember, you did all that you could do. That's all that matters,” I say, trying to reassure him. I’m so damn proud of him. He has nothing to feel defeated about; he did something no one else would've done. No one I know would touch anyone bleeding without gloves, not even a pregnant woman hemorrhaging on the side of the road in the middle of a rainstorm; it's too risky. Not Blake. He's so passionate about life, about his job; he will risk his own life for someone else’s, especially if he's the person saving it.

Blake strips from his clothes before entering his truck; he's completely naked except for his boxer briefs. Normally, I'd be ready to attach myself to him, but the blood on his arms is somewhat of a turn off. However, I'll continue holding his hand; mine's just as bloody as his. “I can't wait to get this shit off of me. We can shower together,” he suggests. As nice as it sounds to hop in a hot shower with him and all his sexiness, I can't. “Well, I can't go to your place, not tonight,” I tell him, hating to see the look of disappointment on his face.

His smile quickly vanishes. “Oh, okay,” he pouts. He's absurdly adorable when he pouts.

“Don't pout. I promised Mom I'd come home when we returned. Plus, I miss my bed,” I explain, my fingers tracing hearts to his palm. We pull into my driveway thirty minutes later and it's occupied with an unfamiliar red Jeep Wrangler.

“Whose is that?” Blake asks curiously.

That's a good question. “I don't know, Jack's?” I assume. Blake helps me exit the truck and walks me to the door. It's after midnight and all the lights are off. We use the light from his cell phone to guide us to the front door.

“Night, gorgeous, sleep tight,” he says, kissing me tenderly, passionately. The warmth of his lips causes me to go breathless.

“Mmm,” I moan, gliding my hands up his naked chest.

“Sure you don't wanna come home?” he asks, placing his hands into my back pockets and pulling my pelvis to his, tempting me.

He knows that he's my weakness, but I try not to break my promises. “I can't, really. I promised her I'd come straight home,” I explain, kissing him one last time before inserting my key into the lock.

His fingers circle my wrist; his front is to my back, and I feel his hardness press against my ass. “Alright, but you don't know what you're missing, baby.” My heart stammers at his words. Believe me, I know what I'm missing. It's ungodly to turn it down. He places a feather-like kiss to my neck, just beneath my ear. “If you happen to need me for anything, I'm only a call away,” he whispers. “You know, I'm good at role play. I've been known to put out a few fires here and there, but you already know that,” he mentions, confidently. As I listen to his feet scuff the sidewalk, I lean against the door, holding myself up by the doorknob. His words have made my sex happy and my knees weak. Cold shower, here I come.