Two Blue Lines (Crossing The Line #1) (26 page)

No one spoke.

“Well,” he said as he stood. “If you think of any, let the nurse know. I’ll have her get everything prepped, and anesthesia will be in to see you. I expect we’ll be heading back within the hour.”

Silence descended as that sunk in. Really. Sunk. In.

Oh, God. I thought I might puke.

I was gonna be a father tonight.

It was a well-orchestrated flurry of activity as the nurses prepared Mel for surgery. Papers signed. Medications given. She was shaved. The anesthesiologist, a grim-faced older dude, came in and went over his part in the surgery, which equaled putting Mel to sleep since her lab work was so bad she couldn’t have a spinal. Long story short? We were scared shitless and I couldn’t be there when the baby was born. I wasn’t quite sure how to feel about that.

A soft-spoken nurse named Vanessa took a moment to pause in the midst of the whirlwind and focused on me. “We’ll get you updated and in to see the baby as soon as possible, okay?”

I nodded once, my attention ripped across the room as Mel’s dad paced a hole in the floor, his fingers mussing his hair. I’d never imagined the unflappable Mr. Summers would let his fear show like this.

Mel became utterly still, her gaze riveted to the sterile white walls and generic watercolor painting of a landscape that decorated the room. I wondered if she was mentally preparing herself, but I sensed something was off, and as the clock ticked down toward go-time and the activity sped up in the room around us, I couldn’t break through to her. I held her hand, but she was not inside her brain right then; not engaging me.

“Mel, baby?” I shook our joined hands trying to get her attention. “Are you all right?”

She shrugged as tears quivered on her lashes, then fell and caught on her lips.

“Okay,” one of the nurses said, donning her surgical mask. “It’s time to go.” They began to unplug everything and roll the bed away.

Suddenly, Mel squeezed my hand in a deathgrip. “Reed!”

I had no choice but to follow along as they rolled the bed out of the room and down the long, fluorescent-lit hallway toward the double doors marked ‘OR.’ My heart started to pound erratically, torturously. I seriously thought I was going to be sick. “Baby,” I tried to reassure her. “It’ll be okay. But I can’t go with you.”

“I don’t want to die . . .”

Oh, God. Ice filled my soul. “You are
not
going to die,” I said with as much conviction as I could muster, meeting one of the nurse’s gazes for reassurance. She seemed kind and her eyes crinkled as if she smiled at me from behind her mask.

“I’m so sorry,” Mel cried, her grip tightening even more. She was openly sobbing now, her voice catching on every other word. “I didn’t mean it . . . I’m scared . . . I’m ashamed . . . didn’t mean . . . I just don’t want you to hate me . . .”

We were fast approaching the doors. Faster than I liked. She was clutching my hand and I was sure I’d have nail marks. My mind was reeling, trying to make sense of what she was saying. “Mel . . .” I was forced to pull my hand away as the bed began to breach the doors. “You have nothing to be scared of. It’ll be fine. I love you.”

She craned her head and I got one last glance of her tear-filled eyes. “Promise?”

I nodded. “Of course.”

“Please! Promise . . . even if . . . even if the baby isn’t yours . . .?”

I blinked as the doors swished shut behind her, absolutely, blindingly numb as the last word that floated out was: ‘
Jonah’s
.’

October 31
st

You Slay Me

I
simply stood there, staring at the OR doors for I don’t know how long. I simply could not move. Surely I’d misheard her. But I knew by the shocked look on her mom’s face that I hadn’t.

Eventually, a nurse slipped out long enough to wrap a band on my wrist. “Here’s your baby band. We’ll get you to the NICU as soon as we can.” She smiled into my dazed eyes. “Congratulations, Dad.”

Then I snapped out of it.

I couldn’t face Mel’s parents. I couldn’t stay. I couldn’t leave.

I just didn’t know what to do. Or think.

I spun around and sprinted out of there, blindly rushing away to find a place to be. Just be.

I roamed the hospital corridors for maybe an hour, and eventually found myself in the chapel. I sunk into a pew in the middle of the room, inhaling the scent of candle wax and flowers, and taking in the simple, stained glass mosaic up front.

I took stock of what I was feeling because it was like a tornado was raging through my body. God, I was confused. I was hurt. I was sad. I was scared. I was anxious.

But, above all, I was freakin’ pissed.

Jonah?

Really?

I hung my head. How could he? My best friend. And the only girl I’d ever loved. He knew how I felt about her. And now I may have to hand her and the baby over to him? Was that how this would go down?

The betrayal had been swift, fierce, and deadly. And I wasn’t sure how I’d survive it.

But, in a final knockout punch, Mr. Ross’s words rung through:

Don’t waste time wondering ‘what if?’ What’s done is done . . . Just take the bull by the horns . . . Be a man . . . It’s a day to day battle. Just keep fighting it.

Damn it.

I absently fingered the band that the nurse had placed on my wrist, then twisted it and read the print:

ID #334779

BABY SUMMERS, MELISSA

D.O.B. 10/31/14

TIME: 2232

INFANT SEX: FEMALE

Every cell in my body quivered and I couldn’t help but smile. A little girl. Mel was right.

But there was no battle for me to fight any more if this baby wasn’t mine . . . and I’d be damned if I’d let Jonah walk away from this.

I’d bypassed steam out the ears and worked up a nice blinding rage by the time I got to Jonah’s.

I would’ve liked to have ripped down the street and squealed into his driveway, but the trick-or-treaters still lining the streets prevented my grand entrance. So I settled for pulling in, slamming into park and pounding on his door with my fist.

His mom answered, her eyes just as hollow and lifeless as the last time I’d seen her at the funeral. She studied me blankly for a couple moments before she seemed to remember who I was. “Oh. Hi, Reed.”

“Jonah here?” I bit out. My body was vibrating now, barely tethered down to its fury.

She nodded and stepped back. “Jonah! Reed’s here.” She walked away without another word, leaving the door cracked open like a space cadet, giving me a glimpse at their living room, which was strewn with dirty dishes and trash, the TV tuned to some sitcom. Jonah’s little brothers were on the floor with coloring books, his dad zoned out in a ratty recliner, beer in hand.

Life goes on, huh?

Needing to move, I ran down the stairs to the yard; raked my fingers through my hair.

Behind me, the front door clicked shut and Jonah padded down. “Hey, dude. What’s up?”

I shuddered as Jonah’s feet crunched on the dry grass. Fresh anger and grief poured through me. This was the end of so many things . . . our friendship being only the tip of the iceberg.

I hung my head. “Melissa had the baby.”

Silence. “Tonight?”

I nodded.

More silence. I guess he was figuring out something was wrong. Maybe he felt guilty? I turned and faced him.

“Are . . . is everything okay?” he finally asked.

“No.”

He stepped toward me. “What? What happened?”

I clenched my fists as the tears began to stream down my face, making me even angrier. “You. You happened. How could you?”

How could you? How could you? How could you?

She was mine . . . I loved her . . . she was mine . . .

I pounded out those words like a mantra as I pounded my fists into his face. Over and over. But something else in that dark Halloween night taunted me. Slayed me.

I think it might’ve been the silent, wounded way Jonah took his ass beating, never once raising a hand to defend himself.

October 31
st

Fix Me

I
left Jonah slumped and bleeding in his Bermuda grass and sunk into my car, breathing hard, my heart thumping an erratic tattoo in my chest. I’d meant to tell him a thousand things, to wail on him for breaking my heart, yes, but also to make him—literally force him if I had to—stand up and do what was right. My God . . . what if that was his baby? Could my heart take that kind of pulverizing?

I seriously wasn’t sure.

I roared the ignition to a start and eyed him through the windshield. All I could make out was his outline in the darkness, the porch light several feet behind him. He didn’t move. His eyes, though I couldn’t see them, seemed to eat me up in the blackness. But what did he have to be angry with me about? I wasn’t the one who had committed the ultimate backstabbing.

I threw my car into reverse and tore out of his driveway, hating that I felt angrier than when I’d arrived, my agony literally eating my soul a new one.

I pounded the steering wheel and slammed my foot down on the gas.

Away.

I. Needed. Away.

Now.

Now.

Now.

Yesterday.