Chapter 8 Quinn
I swam my laps, enjoying the rhythmic motion of the water as my body sliced through it.
Swimming always soothed me, which, considering how I was introduced to the water, should surprise me.
However, I think it was the fact that all three of them had, at that time, made me feel safe and secure, so much so that swimming had become a regular exercise for me.
I ran every morning and, four times a week, I did my laps.
My hand touched the poolside, and I lifted my head out of the water. Hard blue eyes stared into mine, and I jerked back in surprise.
“Gray?” Looking around, I realized there was only one other person in the pool, and I was, as they say, shit out of luck. He was crouched down at the poolside, like he was ready to pounce.
“We need to talk.”
“About?”
“Queeny, why you being awkward?” His head tilted to the side as he baited me. “You know as well as anyone that your stunt last night was a delaying tactic. It doesn’t wash with me, and it won’t wash with Jett either. He’s determined. You know what he’s like when he decides something.”
Placing my goggles on top of my swimming cap, I stared up at him as I treaded water. “What if I say no?”
“Do you think it’s an option?”
“What about it all being my choice?”
“I’m on your side in this,” he told me quietly. “You seem to forget that.”
“You make it easy to forget when you’re a massive dick all the time,” I snapped back.
This whole thing with him looking down on me like this was pissing me off.
“Ambushing me in the pool is a cheap shot, Gray.” Placing my hands on the tile, I pushed myself up.
Strong hands took hold of my upper arms, and effortlessly he lifted me out of the water.
Without breaking eye contact, Gray handed me my towel before he dropped my flip-flops beside me.
“How long do you need?”
“More than you plan to give me,” I snarled as I brushed past him and headed to the locker rooms.
The locker room was open plan, and I genuinely hated that.
There were three stalls only, and they were usually occupied, but today I was in luck as one was free.
Grabbing my stuff from my locker, I headed to one of the stalls.
With a quick squirm and a tug, my suit was off, and wrapping my towel around me, I headed to the showers.
I didn’t need to wash my hair, as the cap had protected it, but I strongly wished I’d had that to my advantage.
I didn’t want to talk to him, Jett or any of them. Not about this.
They knew enough. The rest? They seemed to be filling in the blanks, and I was not okay with that.
But I also knew they had found out more, and they wanted to ask questions of me that I didn’t have the answer to.
To do that, they were going to tell me what they had found out, and I knew I didn’t want to know.
What could I do, and more importantly, what good would knowing do me?
As I finished my shower, I slowly made my way back to my stall. Another girl was in the locker room, and she gave me a courteous reflexive smile before I was in my stall and locking the door behind me.
With a heavy heart, I sat on the small bench and stared at the floor as I considered what they were going to say to me. Or ask me. Could I do this again? Jett and I had been through this when he collected me from the hospital.
“Where am I?” I asked as I looked around the sparse white-walled room. Looking down the length of my body, I realized I was in a single bed, with a really bad blanket and only one chair in the corner of the room. A nurse was at the bottom of the bed.
Why was there a nurse at the bottom of the bed?
“Am I in . . . the hospital?”
“Hey there, you’re awake, been waiting for you.” Her smile was kind, and she looked gentle and calm. Soothing.
“Who are you? Where am I?”
“My name’s Susan. You’re at Nashville Memorial Hospital,” she told me as she walked around the side of the bed to stand beside me.
Pushing myself up the bed into a sitting position, I watched her warily. “Are you with them?”
“Them?” She had wide eyes, slightly set too far apart. They were light brown in color and . . . kind. Everything about her screamed kindness. It was weird and unnerving.
Looking back down at me, I saw the horrible hospital gown, and a feeling of dread overcame me. With a trembling hand, I placed it over my stomach, above the covers. With closed eyes, I asked the question.
“I lost the baby?”
“You did.”
Tears slid down my cheeks as my fingers tightened on the blanket that covered me. Covered my loss. “How?”
“We don’t know a lot.” Susan sat gently down at the side of the bed. “I was hoping you could tell me?”
Shaking my head, I kept my eyes tightly closed. “I don’t remember.”
“You took a fall.” Her voice was soft and even. “You have a cut to the side of your head, which we think is the cause of your unconsciousness.”
“It happened because I bumped my head?”
“You were found at the bottom of some steps; do you remember falling?” Susan asked me.
Did I? No . . . wait. Yes, I was running. My head snapped up as my eyes looked around the room wildly. “Are they here? Did they get me?”
Susan grabbed my hand; her gentle squeeze soothed me. “Shh, no one’s here. You were taken in because a lady found you at the bottom of the steps. You were unconscious, your head was bleeding, and you had bleeding elsewhere.”
“The fall caused it?” I asked as I tried to keep my voice calm, even, soft, like Susan.
“I think so. Do you have someone we can call for you . . . ?”
“Quinn, my name’s Quinn.”
She gave me a warm smile as her other hand stroked over the hand she was holding. “You’re going to be okay, Quinn.” I felt her hesitate. “You still have to pass the baby.”
“What?” I could feel the sobs building, and I fought them back; this was no time to cry.
“You’re about sixteen weeks, yes?”
I nodded, and she watched me. “We’ve administered the drugs while you were unconscious so you can complete the miscarriage.
I’ll need you to take another two tablets soon if nothing happens.
You need to deliver. It won’t be long now.
The baby will be very small, so some slight discomfort may occur as we wait until everything passes naturally.
Do you have someone to call, someone who can be here with you? ”
“Is my purse here?”
“No, honey, we didn’t have any way to contact your family.” She paused. “Do you have family?”
“Yeah.” No. Shit, I couldn’t phone my dad. He still didn’t know I was pregnant. No one knew. Fuck. What did she mean I had to deliver?
“I can get you a phone? Or you can write it down, and I can call them?” Susan stood and pulled out a notepad and pen from her pocket.
“No, um, a phone. Please.”
“Okay. I’ll be right back.”
She was as good as her word; she came back with a phone and a clipboard of admission papers. Ignoring them, I took the phone and then waited for her to give me some privacy.
When she was gone, I threw the covers back, and with a gasp, I fell awkwardly out of bed.
My head was swimming. Did I have a concussion?
The pain in my back was dull and aching, and I didn’t know why.
I felt something move and cried out as a feeling of wetness coated my thighs, and looking down, I saw the blood run down my legs.
Susan must have been right outside the door, because she was beside me within moments.
Her hands caught me, and together, we made it to the adjacent bathroom, where she hastily put a bowl over the toilet and urged me to sit down.
As I did, she pulled up my gown and started to clean my legs as best as she could.
I was aware of the passing, and with care and gentleness, Susan helped me stand as she turned me away from the bowl and handed me wipes to clean myself while she covered the bowl and removed it from the bathroom.
She came back almost immediately, and when I had a pair of underwear that were not mine and a pad for my bleeding, I was taken back to bed.
Numbly, I let her put me back into the bed and cover me up.
“That was quicker than I thought,” she said quietly. “Why were you out of bed?”
“I wanted to use the bathroom,” I lied easily. I wasn’t telling her I was trying to get to the window so I could check I was really in Nashville. My trust limits were very, very low at the moment, and my heart was breaking from everything that was happening since I woke up.
“You should have called for me,” she reprimanded gently as she handed me a cup with water. “Drink this.”
“What is it?”
“Quinn, it’s just water. I’m not going to hurt you.”
That’s what they said. I remembered why I was running, and I remembered falling. I remembered screaming as I fell and then nothing.
“Sorry, I’m just disoriented and,” my breath caught, “heartbroken.”
“I know, honey, I know.” She patted my hand and then handed me the phone. “I’ll let you make that call. I won’t lie, I’ll feel better when your fella turns up.”
Well, that would be a trick.
She left me again, but I saw the concerned look in her eyes, and I felt bad for doubting her. I stared at the black handset for too long.
I knew five phone numbers off the top of my head — my dad’s cell, my home number, and three Santos.
A tear fell over as I realized I’d been absently rubbing my hand over my abdomen.
Hesitantly, I lifted the phone and dialed my house.
Anne, my stepmom, would come, but could I trust her not to tell my dad? I hung up and called the safer option.
“Jett?” The tears flowed heavier. I heard his concern, and I was scared I wouldn’t be able to speak. “I need you, just you. Don’t tell anyone else.”
“Where are you?”
“Nashville Memorial.”
“Why?” He was already moving; I could hear him jogging down the stairs.
“Just come, Jett. I need you.” My voice was choked with tears.
I heard a thud and then the engine of his car starting. “Where are you, emergency?”