Chapter 25 - Charlie
W hy does bad luck always come in threes? Or at least in this case, there are just so many threes popping up, it makes me wish I paid attention to that lady at a summer solstice festival I went to last year. She went on about numbers and their meanings but I zoned out looking at the mini doughnut stand. Surely three has to mean something about being tested because I'm sure as shit feeling tested right now.
Dante and Ace left for their mission twenty three days ago. That's fine and all, except it was meant to be a two-week operation. We’ve had no communication other than when they were about to go out of phone signal two days in. Dante messaged that he loved her and will be home to her and their baby soon. It doesn't matter how or what I use to try and get hold of him, I get the same answer back every time.
Nothing.
Mila has been incredibly strong over these past few days but the added worry has taken a toll and her hyperemesis has come back with a vengeance.
I've been on hold for the past thirty minutes with her specialist but because they're in the city and she's only ever had online consultations, I'm struggling to get anywhere. It's not as if I can just take her to the closest hospital. Worst case scenario I'll convince Dimi to send me his helicopter to take her. I'm not risking my best friend in the back of an ambulance for hours on end if we have nowhere to go. I'm not even sure they have proper ambulances here or if they only have the country version. Sometimes I miss the convenience of city life. I guess I'll have to agree to marry Dimi if he does send a helicopter, it will be the least I can do seeing he helped me when I needed it. I'm sure it won't be too big a deal to keep seeing Porter on the side. He can be my boy toy or something.
“You okay moye spaseniye [10] ? You want me to take over for a bit?” He holds out his hand for my phone expectantly and it's such a welcome gesture, I can't help but step into a hug with him. One ear pressed against his chest listening to his heartbeat and the other to the awful hold music repeating the same three songs over and over. I'll be a happy girl if I never have to listen to You Got a Friend in Me ever again.
“I'm good. I was just thinking, do you reckon Dimi would send his helicopter over if I agreed to marry him? He knows it would only be a marriage on paper so—”
Squeezing me a little bit tighter he growls into my ear, “You’re mine, Charlie, not his. Mine. You may have met him first but you end with me. You want to get married, fine, let's go to the courthouse. You want to practise nursing in Hidden Valley, no problem, I’ll convert my office for you. Shit, you want to relocate and move back to the city, name the date and I'll have a bag packed ready to go. But under no circumstances will you marry my brother.”
Looking up at him I can't help my grin from spreading from what he just said. “You'll convert your office if I want to stay?” I question him, completely in shock that he would even think about doing something like that.
“From everything I said, that was your takeaway. Here’s me having a little panic in case you wanted to go find a courthouse.”
“Ew, no thank you. I'd much rather set up a little nursing room so people don’t need to travel down to Woodman for things that I could treat them for.” I say scrunching my nose at his suggestion.
A sharp tone blares across the phone and the line finally connects to the on-call specialist. However, thoughts of getting any sort of help are soon squashed as after three minutes of me bringing them up to date I'm told there is little more they can do other than fluids and the same medicines she’s already on.
Fuck.
She's been almost continuously vomiting for the past three and a half hours and there is no sign of it slowing down. Not willing to risk it any more, I made the arrangements with Dr Johnson to move her to the Woodman Medical Centre for monitoring. Tasking Porter with packing some overnight bags for us as I prepare to get Mila into my SUV.
Walking into the bathroom, I'm greeted by the sad sight of my best friend curled up on the floor. Resting her head on the cool tiles with fresh blood showing on the corners of her mouth. A quick look inside the bowl she’s hugging shows pockets of blood and I know I've made the right decision to take her down to Woodman.
“Mila, we're going to move you to my car okay? Don't try to talk if you don't need to, save all the energy you can. I've got a bag of clothes and bits to take, and I've left a note on the kitchen bench for Dante in case they come home while we're away. I've messaged and emailed him as well for when he comes back into signal.”
My voice is soft as I look down at one of the strongest women I know, barely a shell of herself as this sickness has ravished her body.
“Blood,” she rasps, a worried look on her face.
“Try not to think about it. You've most likely torn your oesophagus a little from all the vomiting. Right now we need to get you past this current spell and Dr Johnson will take a look over everything in a little bit when we've got you set up. Also, we’ll hook you up to a foetal heart rate machine and we can listen to little Theodore Bartholomule the third.”
Her nose scrunches at my name suggestion for their baby and I can feel my shoulders relax a little. She might be going through one of the hardest things she’s ever done but her spirit is still strong.
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“Who knew adult nappies would become such a lifesaver,” Mila says. Her voice is gravelly after several hours of intermittent vomiting but after three days of being monitored, I think she’s on the other side of it. The fact that she's trying to make a joke about her newfound love of adult nappies means I can breathe a little easier still.
Porter has been an incredible support over the past few days, keeping watch from the waiting room and sleeping on a makeshift bed with me during the night.
Nova just let me know she will be back in a few days after spending almost a month with her sister. She was super reassuring, explaining that this has happened with Ace before in previous missions, where he would disappear for a couple of months with no clue as to where he could be, and then he just randomly walks into Beans, acting like he never left.
“I'm going to leave you to get some rest and I'll have some broth for you to eat when you wake up. Gotta get as much into you so little Elizabeth Antoinette is getting everything she needs,” I say chuckling, closing the door and dimming the lights as I leave her room.
When we first arrived Porter took two waiting chairs from the front area and pulled them into a small decorative alcove right next to Mila's room. We've taken over the nook as our everything space. He works from his laptop there and I read while Mila naps. When she’s awake he’ll sit by himself or come in and chat with us. It's not really chatting though, I usually read Mila a few chapters from her book, or we watch an episode of the first cooking show we can find. She says it makes her feel like she's not missing out on eating. That she wants to eat so badly she thinks it curbs the hunger she's always feeling but at the same time, she said she can't fathom the idea of doing it because it always comes back up. I've got a note on my phone of all the things she wants to eat again and I've decided we're going to put all of the options in a jar and pick one out for a shared potluck dinner once a month. This little group of people has slowly morphed into being my family, with Porter at the centre of it.
The crash of a door swinging open gets our attention and we both leap up from our quiet moment. Heavy footsteps echo down the halls as Porter moves to stand in front of me slightly, the glint of some sort of hunting knife in his hand.
Where the fuck did he pull a knife from?
The crash of another door bangs and slightly muffled voices can be heard timidly telling whoever it is causing a scene to calm down.
“WHERE. IS. MY. WIFE.”
The roar of the man is deafening as it echoes across the ward and I instantly know who it is.
Dante.
Back from the dead or whatever hell hole he was just in. Little does he know he's in my territory now and he's got a fight ahead of him if he thinks he's getting past me with that sort of entrance.
His steps grow louder and I swear the walls are vibrating with each thud. I see his shadow before he turns the corner, his face going through a hundred expressions in the seconds he takes to register we’re standing in front of what he wants. He looks weathered. The strain of the last few weeks clearly showing on him.
“Charlie,” he says in a low growl, the anxiety rolling off him in waves.
Porter takes a step closer to my side, looking him dead in the eye.
“Careful now sasquatch, you wouldn't want to accidentally fall on my knife for insulting what’s mine now, would you?”
“Stay out of this Vdovets. You already failed at keeping one woman safe.” Dante spits the words at Porter so venomously that I'm taken aback at the coldness he's showing, and that he mentioned the woman that Porter lost so freely.
With unbelievable speed, Porter's knife is at Dante's throat before I even have time to understand what the fuck is happening. Typical men making everything about them.
“Absolutely not!” I say, getting in between them both. “Abso ...” I say, poking my finger into Dante's chest, “lutely ...” another poke, “NOT.”
Giving Porter a push away, I turn my attention to Dante. Hissing the words at him, “ This is not about you. I know you've just gotten back from whatever hero thing you were doing but you will not come into her room with all of this hostility.” Waving my hand around him, I continue “Have you ever grown a baby? Have you ever painstakingly cell by cell grown a human being while it literally sucks the life from you. No, I didn't think you had,” not waiting for him to answer. “Every day the woman inside that room is fighting for her and her baby's life and you going in there guns blazing is not helping her in the slightest. You need to check yourself right now, big guy. I don't give a fuck about what you think you’re entitled to right now because all I know is what she's been doing, and that's sacrificing. Her body, her mental health, her entire world has fallen apart from this sickness and you better go in there and do nothing but worship her. Got it?”
My chest is heaving. I’m hot, angry, and wound up tighter than a priest at choir practice; but there is no way my best friend has gone through all of this for him to go barging in there like a bull and upset her in any way, shape, or form.
Taking a deep breath I look up at him, noticing Porter leaning on the wall behind, smirking at the scene I've now created.
“Now. If you can go in there and try not to wake her, she's been worried sick about you. No pun intended,” I sass, moving away from the door to let him pass.
His jaw is clenched and he gives me a quick nod before quietly opening the door, stopping for a moment when I say, “Oh and Dante, it's really good to see you back home. We've all missed you.”