Chapter 4
Chapter Four
Scott
F ear washes over me; I never expected to be searching for my wife. “No, no. no. Wynter, I’m here, babe. I’m here.” My throat closes, and panic sets in as I survey her body. Her arms are spread in opposite directions, and her leg appears broken with multiple cuts and scratches.
I check her for signs of life and turn her slightly. She’s breathing, but she’s unconscious. Rubbing her tangled hair off her face, I kiss her forehead and hold her head in my palm. “I’m here, babe. Fight for me. Fight for our baby girl. God, I love you so much.”
The team rushes to my side, and I hear the hitch in their breaths as they notice it’s Wynter. I glance at them, and concern is written all over their faces—the slight pinch between their eyes with lips tucked into their mouths. I can’t hold back the tears, and my words come out strangled like someone is choking me with a tie. “Please, wake up for me. What were you doing out here at night by yourself?”
Henry, one of the EMTs , takes her vitals, carefully rolling her onto the stretcher. Bravo barks, and her lids work to open. I move Henry out of the way. “Wynter. You’re going to be okay.”
Her facial expression is blank, which isn’t unusual for someone with head trauma. Pale moonlight shrouds her face and bathes Wynter’s skin in an eerie glow. I remove the camera from around her neck, and hope it didn’t press into the baby as she landed.
God, this is bad. So bad.
Henry demands, “We need to get her to the hospital… stat.”
I nod, unleash Bravo, and help carry Wynter back up the terrain. The EMT’s allow me to ride with Wynter, a perk of living in a small town. As we speed toward the hospital, the sound of the siren feels surreal. I grip her hand, whispering words of love, urging her to fight.
I’ve never been so terrified as I am right now. Henry has her hooked up, recording her vitals. Her pulse is slow, and she’s going in and out of consciousness. I grab one of her hands and cup it between mine, kissing the smooth skin between the scrapes.
The ride seems to take forever, but the ambulance comes to a stop, and the sirens turn silent. The back doors open, and Marla, one of the EMTs riding in front, motions for me to get out. Then they let down the ramp. Marla and Henry rush her into Elizabethtown General.
It’s serious enough that they didn't want to take her to the clinic in town—instead taking her to the big hospital forty-five minutes away. That’s why it felt like a long drive.
This is bad. I follow them into the emergency entrance, and they wheel her immediately into a room. As I push past the nurses, one places her hand on my torso. “I’m sorry, sir. You can’t come in.”
“The hell I can’t. She’s my wife,” I plead. It comes out harsh, but I recognize sympathy in the nurse’s eyes.
“Let us do our job.” She tilts her head. “Please. I promise to update you as much as possible.”
If I get kicked out, that won’t do Wynter any good. So, I shake my head in agreement.
The nurses give me small, compassionate smiles. “But talk to the admissions nurse so we know if she has any allergies, conditions, etc.”
“She’s pregnant. Latex. She’s allergic to latex.” This seems to surprise her, and she quickly pedals backward to the double doors.
“Okay, thank you.”
“Please, please take care of my wife. Don’t let her die.”
She gives me a tightlipped smile because she can’t promise me that.
My hands shake as I fill out the four pages of insurance and medical questions. When I hand it back in, I pace the waiting room. Why aren’t they out here telling me anything? Finally, Henry and Marla come back out.
“Is she going to be okay?” I choke out.
Marla looks at Henry as he clears his throat. “It’s touch and go. They stabilized her, but she suffered a serious blunt-force trauma to her head. I mean, that’s my opinion. I’m not a doctor.”
“I know you’re not a doctor, but you’ve been doing this for ten years. Just tell me what you know.”
He folds his palm over my shoulder. “Scotty, they’re doing an ultrasound on the baby now. Then they’re go ing to set her broken leg and cast it. As far as her waking up, they’re inducing coma to minimize brain injury.”
“Coma? What? No. I need her to wake up.”
“This is what’s best for Wynter. Sometimes, they only do it for one to two days so she can heal. She’s going to be in an unbelievable amount of pain,” Henry explains. He would make a fantastic doctor. He has this calm demeanor and strikes the right tone that causes you to listen and trust him.
He pulls me into a hug. “Anyone you want me to call for you?”
“I’ll make the calls. It’ll give me something to do instead of pacing.”
When they leave, I call both of our parents, my older brother Major, Drake, and the rest of our gang. Drake arrives first. But before I know it, the waiting room is full—Maverick and Jessica, Beau and Vanessa, and Axel and Ali, as well as our parents, and of course, Major.
As I explain what I know, which isn’t much, Vanessa’s brows pinch. “Why was she there? She hasn’t mentioned going to the gorge since before she got pregnant.”
“I don’t know. She told me she was writing today and might take a few pictures around town. Why would she be so stupid to go to the gorge at night?” I pause. “Oh God, what if she fell early in the afternoon?”
Jess rubs my back. I know this brings up bad memories for her especially since Mark died in this very hospital. It’s been almost five years since he passed away. Eventually, she found happiness and comfort with Mark’s older brother Maverick. “We’re here for you, like you all were there for me. Wynter’s tough as nails and too feisty to let a fall stop her.”
I pull her into a hug. “I’m sorry. I just needed all of you. I’m so fucking scared.”
Major asks, “How’s the baby?”
I shrug. “I don’t know. Henry said they were doing an ultrasound.”
Just as I finish my sentence, the nice nurse comes through the double doors. “I’m sorry, Mr. Wilson.”
My heart drops, and I can’t catch my breath. It’s never good when they apologize to start their sentences. Beau and Maverick grab my arms to keep me standing.
“No, Wynter is alive. I’m sorry it took so long. Baby Wilson’s heartbeat is strong, and the heart rate is within normal range.”
“Thank God,” our friends say in unison, and I sigh in relief.
“I appreciate you keeping your word. Can I see Wynter?”
“She’ll be back in her room in an hour. They’ve set her leg and are casting it now. She had to have stitches in several places. When she’s back in her room, only one person at a time and only family until she’s awake.”
“When will that be?”
“That’s up to the doctor. We’ll do a CT scan after she’s had time to rest. Likely around eight in the morning. I’ll let you know when you can go back.”
“Thanks.”
It’s already two in the morning. Her parents wrap their arms around me as tears flow down my cheeks. They’ve known me my entire life. Everyone here has except Axel. He’s older than the rest of us by a decade, but Ali came into our group, and he followed when they married.
Wynter’s dad slaps m y back. “My baby girl will fight. She has you and your baby girl.”
I nod, sucking up the tears that have fallen between my lips.
Beau, Vanessa, and Ali go to the twenty-four-hour snack shop and grab coffee for everyone. Then we all sit and wait. Finally, I ask, “Did anyone speak to Wynter today? Or see her?”
The group shakes their heads no, but Drake says, “I went by and brought her a sandwich. Since when does she like cheese?”
Small chuckles filter through the waiting room. “Since a couple of weeks ago. She can’t get enough and can’t decide which type she wants, so I just bought the grocery store out of cheddar, gouda, and Colby cheese.”
“Now she knows what she’s been missing. She would take the mozzarella off the pizza. Who does that?” Vanessa asks.
A collective answer, “Wynter.” Remembering that tidbit lightens the room momentarily, and I don’t know what I’d do without my friends.
The nurse returns and explains, “One person can go in. Immediate family only until she wakes up. And then it will be the doctor’s decision.”
Her parents say, “You go. Text us from her room.”
As I walk through the sterile corridor, the nurse extends her arm. “She’ll be in ICU until she wakes up.”
I push the door open, and I’m not prepared for what I see. Wynter looks frail like she’s been abused. Bruises litter her arms and face. I pull back the sheet, exposing her leg, and it’s covered in purple and blue bruises as well as a gash that’s been sewn up about four inches long.
In the midnight shadows of the gorge, I didn’t realize how badly her body was battered and shattered. I pull the vinyl recliner next to the bed and hold her hand.
I kiss it.
“Come back to me. I promise I’ll never let anything else happen to you. Be strong for our baby girl. We need you.” Then a wave of anger, frustration and sadness racks my body and I completely break down, sobbing.
The doctor comes in after a couple of hours, explaining that he’s given her medicine, so she’ll sleep until morning. They’ll do the CT scan and then decide whether to give her more. Knowing they’ve given her something, so she won’t wake up, I leave and let her parents visit her. One at a time. All our friends are still in the waiting room. Jess puts her arm around me and lays her head on my shoulder. “She always has to be the center of attention.”
“Yep. It’s what I love about her. Her energy is infectious, and it drew me to her way before I was willing to admit. Kindergarten maybe.”
She slaps me. “No way. I thought maybe middle school when Beau and Vanessa got together was when you started having a thing for Wynter.”
I let out a half-laugh. “Well, I remember chasing her on the playground in kindergarten, so I guess that’s where my infatuation started. For nearly two decades, she saw me as a friend and later a friend with benefits.”
“If it’s any consolation, she said the benefits were good… really good when we were in high school. She was just scared, then when Mark died… she just didn’t want to go through the pain that I did. She’s loved you as long as I can remember, but Wynter being stubborn, she had to come to terms with it.”
“I wouldn’t change a thing. Like I said at our wedding, ‘It’s our journey and… I… just don’t want it to end, not like this.’”
Jess sits up straight, taking my cheeks in her hands. “It’s not going to end. Only positive thoughts.”
My mom trades places with Jess, wrapping me in an embrace full of love. “Scotty, she’ll pull through.”
She will. She has to.
Squeezing my mom, I agree, “I know. Thanks for being here.”
“Honey, I wouldn’t be anywhere else. We’ve loved that girl since the day she came into the world. Did Drake give any clues about why she went to the gorge?”
“No, but I’m going to ask.”
Drake sits by himself in the corner, fidgeting. Although Drake is a couple of years younger than us, we played football and baseball together, but it wasn’t until Beau was in the military, and Mark passed away that our friendship developed into what it is today. One day, Drake called and asked me to play in a softball league. That turned into coaching a Pop Warner football team with him, which turned into coaching middle school baseball together.
Since Vanessa is the CEO of Barron’s Bourbon, and Jess and Maverick travel a lot, Drake has become one of Wynter’s best friends too. He’s single, so he’s always hanging out with us, eating dinner, watching games or movies, and before she got pregnant, going to bars and dance halls.
I slump into the chair beside him as he strums his fingers against the plastic arms of the hospital c hairs. “Hey, do you know why she went to the gorge? She had planned to be writing most of the day.”
He sighs, tilting his head back. “No, why? It doesn’t change the fact that she’s unconscious,” he snaps, but in a hushed tone.
We’re all scared, so I give him the benefit of the doubt. “I know. She usually texts me if she’s going to do something other than what was planned.”
“So, you make her report in? She didn’t call you… all day?” Drake asks.
“Wynter knew the surgery would be at least six to eight hours, so no, I didn’t talk to her. She messaged me to get her Bojangles on the way home. Hey, maybe the smell of Bojangles will wake her up. Can you get Maverick or Beau to take you to pick up my car?”
“Sure, I can’t see her anyway.”
Does he think she’s going to die? Is that why he won’t look me in the eye?
“Thanks, man. I love you for being here for both of us. Text me when you get back.”
When her dad returns from her room, he says, “No change, but she looks like she’s sleeping peacefully.” Brief comforting expressions rest on our friends’ faces. “You go back in. We know you’re the face she’ll want to see when she wakes up.” Her dad’s lids are filled with water, but none has fallen yet. “My baby girl is strong. She’ll make it, and it will be one more story to tell in the Adventures of Wynter. That’s the book she should write,” he says, grinning as he shakes his head.
My lips tremble as I nod.
As I walk down the cor ridor, some of the doors are open, and worry stretches across the faces of people beside their loved ones. I’m not the only one going through this type of devastation. For some reason, it helps knowing I’m not alone.
The wipe-off board in her room gives the name of the nurse, doctor, allergies, and medication list. It’s something I’m used to since I spend about thirty percent of my time in hospital operating rooms. Often, I go in with the doctor beforehand to explain the device the doctor will be implanting.
I rest my head on the bed rail while I hold her hand and drift off to sleep. I’m awakened by the transport nurse coming to take her to get her CT scan. She also informs me that I can’t go with Wynter, but I’m welcome to stay in the room.
Thirty minutes later, she’s back in the room, and the nurse informs me, “The doctor will be in after he has a chance to review the scan. It won’t be long, maybe an hour or three.”
“Thanks.”
The nurse takes her time hooking Wynter back up to all the monitors and cleans the wound from her stitches. “Will it hurt the baby if she doesn’t eat? I don’t know when she ate last. I think she ate a sandwich earlier yesterday afternoon, but I don’t know if she had anything after that.” I start to panic, nerves prickling me all over. “I’m a terrible husband not knowing if my wife had dinner.”
“Accidents happen. This isn’t your fault. But we’re hydrating her through the IV, so the baby will be fine. If it goes too long without her waking up on her own, we’ll feed her through a tube.”
She taps a few buttons on the computer, checks the monitor, and leaves me with my thoughts. I stroke my wife’s hair, kiss her forehead, and tell her about all the people waiting in the lobby for her to wake up.
It hasn’t been long when Wynter’s eyes flitter open. The doctor told me not to startle her, so I stay quiet, even though I stand and squeeze her hand.
She forces her eyes open wide and they fall shut again. But then she peers at me and mumbles, “Drake.”
I look over my shoulder, and he’s not in the room.
Does she think I’m Drake?