20. Clay
Clay
We are a guy short now that Jamison decided to move back to Minneapolis. He and his wife recently moved back to his wife’s hometown for the extra help, and I can’t blame them. But fuck are we feeling his loss at the station.
Being a man down and having a night like this feels like being kicked in the face on little sleep.
It doesn’t help that Abby isn’t feeling good either.
I can’t be there to console her, which isn’t helping matters.
We are riding in the back of the fire engine, the sound of the siren alerting those on the street of our presence.
We have been on back-to-back calls since I walked into our station tonight, and I haven’t had a chance to check in on Abby. As much as we can have our phones on us if we are sitting around, when on a call, we can’t have our phones for personal communication while out.
I look over at my brother, and he can see the agony on my face because he understands what it’s like when one of us is in pain.
We wear the other’s pain in moments like this, and he knows how much I want to be with Abby right now.
But my mind needs to be on the guys tonight.
They depend on me, and I have to be focused on them.
We pull up to the scene and find two vehicles involved in what looks to be a motor vehicle accident. It doesn’t look too bad, but I can see onlookers on their phones, and one of the drivers seems to have a gash across his forehead.
The truck stops, and we hop out, walking over to the wreck to assess the damage to the vehicles and to take note of how many victims there are.
My guys are walking around the car to the right, which sustained the biggest impact, while I’m taking in the perimeter.
I look down and note something by the rear tire, which looks familiar.
I bend down and notice it’s a key that looks much like one I have on my own key ring. I bend down to grab it, and I feel all the air in my lungs escape.
It’s a fucking SpongeBob key, eerily similar to the one I have.
What are the chances someone has the same damn taste in keys?
I’m hopeful someone just loves SpongeBob as much as Abby.
But my panic doubles when I look up and take in my brother speaking to someone in the back seat of one of the vehicles in the accident.
As I move toward him, it feels like everything around me goes eerily quiet.
The only thing I can hear is the blood pounding loudly through my ears.
The alarm I’m feeling coursing through me is beyond anything I’ve ever felt.
I can’t lose her. I know he’s talking to her.
The way his expression holds tension in his muscles, I know he’s holding it together for me.
I reach River, and his focus is on whoever is in the backseat, so he doesn’t even look at me.
He’s blocking my view into the car, speaking to the person, but now there’s so much damn noise around me, along with my heart pounding, I can’t make out much from his communication with the victim in the car.
But now that I’m closer, I can focus enough to hear it’s a female’s voice.
I want to shove my brother out of the way and take over, but he’s rooted in place. It’s like he can read my mind in this moment, and it confirms my fear that it’s Abby in that seat. That key isn’t a fucking coincidence. She’s there, and I need to get to her. My life is in this car.
“River, move out of my way.” I grab his bicep, urging him to move.
Without looking at me, he tries to free his arm away from my grasp.
He stays trained on the person in the car, his focus solely on them.
The way he keeps his face trained on her, he’s treating her beyond a victim—he’s treating her like she’s family.
I feel it down to my core. It’s this damn twin thing others just don’t have, and it’s fucking powerful. Right now, it’s fucking pissing me off.
“River, move out of my way. Now!” I yell.
“No,” he roars, something I’ve never heard from him. He’s commanding, and it’s confirmation of why we don’t treat family. He knows that if I get in his way, I’ll throw everything out the window. And he needs to keep a clear head between the two of us.
He looks back into the car, this time addressing her by name, “Abby, look at me. I know you’re scared. Does anything hurt?”
“No, I just can’t get the door open. I think it’s stuck,” she says. “And I can’t stop throwing up.” I can tell she’s been crying from the way she’s catching her breath.
“Did you hit your head?” my brother asks her.
“No. I was throwing up before the accident. I just don’t know what’s wrong with the door,” she says as she tries to open it.
The way the cars hit one another, the airbags deployed on the sides of the vehicle. She was, luckily, wearing her seatbelt, but it must have jostled the latch on the doors in some way, keeping her and our crew from easily opening the doors on either side.
After a few more minutes, our guys are able to get to her. They’re gentle with her, and once I’m able to see her in the light, it’s evident she doesn’t have a scratch on her.
Her eyes are puffy from the tears, and she looks exhausted, but you wouldn’t guess she was involved in a car accident. She’s placed on a stretcher by the paramedics. Luckily, no one stops me from running to her.
“Abby, baby, are you okay?” I move my hand through her hair.
“The baby, Clay,” she says, tears falling, fear evident as she looks at me, and all I want to do is take the pain away.
“The driver looked back when he noticed I was sick, and he took his eyes off the road. He ran the red when he wasn’t paying attention.
” She struggles to catch her breath, likely from crying.
“But luckily, the light had just switched, so the other car wasn’t going too fast. The windows were open.
Things went flying everywhere. Then the airbags.
It all happened so fast. It could have been a lot worse, but I’m still worried. ”
“We’re going to get you looked at, alright?” I reassure her. “I’m going with you.”
I look around me until I spot my captain.
“Hey, Cap, I’m sorry to do this, but I have to?—”
“Go, Nichols, I got you covered,” he yells to me, and I don’t hesitate. I hate leaving my guys in this position, but they seem to have it covered. I nod over to my brother and run back to Abby. My mind wouldn’t be in the right place if I stayed back.
I hop in the rig, and we’re off. I try to stay quiet beside her, but it’s hard not to check on her, making sure she’s not bleeding or injured in areas she may not be feeling due to the adrenaline coursing through her body.
Once we get to the hospital, I follow her into the emergency room, and we get transferred up to the maternity floor.
We arrive in triage, and thankfully, the floor isn’t too hectic tonight. She’s quickly hooked up to monitors, and the baby’s heartbeat is strong. It’s a relief to hear the baby’s heartbeat on the monitor, and I see the tears flow down Abby’s cheeks as she must be feeling the same relief I am.
Now I can check that off my mental list. I can see some relief on Abby’s face as well, even though she still looks a little green from whatever she’s fighting from the food she ate earlier.
A nurse comes in with an ultrasound machine, asking questions regarding the accident.
Abby reaches for my hand, and it’s hard to miss the way her body tenses as she rehashes what happened.
Hearing the baby’s heartbeat is reassuring, but I know so much can still be wrong.
Most of all, the biggest concern after a car accident is a uterine rupture.
The nurse explains the ultrasound to us and begins imaging.
Even under these tough circumstances, it’s difficult not to get excited about seeing our baby on the monitor.
The baby is moving a ton, even if Abby isn’t feeling movement yet.
The nurse explains everything to us as she measures the fluid and prints the images for the chart.
Once she’s finished, she tells us that she’s going to speak to the doctor on call and return shortly.
“It’s hard not to be scared. I wish I had just stayed home, Clay,” she says, regret marring her features.
“Abby, how would you have known? It could have been worse. Being dehydrated has its own list of complications too.” I need her to understand there’s no fault here.
“I’m so scared, I just want—” She’s interrupted by the doctor coming in.
“Hi, Abby, I’m Dr. Elkerela, the OB-GYN hospitalist tonight.
I hear you were in an accident. I’m sorry you had to go through that,” she says as she walks over to the fetal strip to look over the monitors showing the baby’s heart rate and the contraction monitor that shows no contractions at this time.
“Well, the good news is there are no signs of a uterine rupture,” she smiles at us both, “and the baby looks great on the ultrasound. Of course, this does not mean I want you getting up and celebrating just yet.
I want you to take it easy. You need to monitor for any bleeding or cramping, and make sure you get some rest. You still suffered a trauma tonight. Now I hear you were on your way here due to some severe vomiting, is that right? Can you tell me more about that?”
I sit back and listen to Abby speak to the doctor about her symptoms relating to her food poisoning, and I’m incredibly comforted to hear she’s going to be okay.
There is an immense amount of relief washing over me, knowing Abby and our baby are going to be okay.
My heart feels like the bulldozer that was resting over it can be lifted slightly.
We stay at the hospital until the doctor feels comfortable enough to discharge her.
After getting some IV fluids and some medication for the nausea and vomiting, Abby is feeling relief from her food poisoning as well.
Before the doctor signs off for us to officially head home, I can’t hold back any longer, and I speak up.
“Dr. Elkerela, I’m sorry to bother you with yet another question, but Abby and I don’t live together, and I’m just wondering—is it safe for Abby to be alone after the accident?”
I can tell Dr. Elkerela is taken aback by my question, and her eyes volley between the two of us, while Abby looks like she might smother me with a pillow. I have no shame in my question, so I stand a little taller and throw a smug smile her way while the doctor directs the answer at both of us.
“I am not too sure I’m going to make you very happy with this response, Abby, by the look you’re giving Mr. Nichols, but I’d feel more comfortable if you weren’t alone for the next few days until you follow up with your regular OB in the office.
” With that, she gives us one more curt smile and heads out.
Satisfied, I turn to grab my turnout coat, while I notice Abby stays still and is likely planning a way to murder me in my sleep.
“Looks like you just got yourself a new roomie.” I wink at her. “I’ll make sure to get my stuff into the spare room tomorrow. You won’t have to lift a finger.” I blow her a kiss.
“You know, I could ask Malloy to sleep over instead of you,” she says, and I laugh.
“Over my dead body, princess. Get dressed. I’m taking you home.”
There’s a finality to my tone. I leave no room for discussion. Abby once loved it when I took command, mostly in the bedroom, and as things started to shift during the end of our marriage, I got soft with her because I thought she was more fragile.
I guess I saw her as more breakable. Maybe that was wrong of me; I see that now. But I’m done handling her with kid gloves. I want my wife back. All she’s talked about is wanting herself back, the person she was before all the treatments started. So I’m giving her the Clay she once had as well.