The White Knuckle Drive
The steering wheel felt like it was going to snap in my hands.
I had one hand buried in Aubrey's hair, pulling her head against my shoulder as she sat in the middle of the truck's bench seat, sobbing into my work shirt. My other hand was fused to the wheel, my knuckles so white they looked like polished bone.
I wasn't just driving; I was navigating a nightmare. Every time we hit a small dip in the gravel road, I felt Aubrey flinch, a tiny, pained whimper escaping her that made my blood turn to liquid nitrogen.
"Breathe, baby. We're almost there," I rasped, my voice sounding like it had been dragged over a mile of jagged rocks.
I reached for my phone, hitting the speed dial for the station while keeping my eyes glued to the dark road. I didn't care about hands-free laws. I didn't care about anything except the woman trembling against my side and the life we were trying to save.
"Miller," the voice on the other end barked. It was Miller, one of the senior deputies who'd known Anthony and me since we were younger.
"It's Nick," I said, my voice dropping into a tone that usually made people back away slowly. "I need a unit at the old house on Miller's Creek. Now. Anthony is there holding a woman for assault and breaking and entering. Her name is Chloe. She's from the city."
"Assault? Nick, what happened?"
"She broke in. She shoved Aubrey. Aubrey's pregnant, Miller.
She fell." I felt my throat close up on the last word.
The image of her on that kitchen floor, eyes closed, waiting for a blow that never should have been coming, was burned into the back of my retinas.
"If Anthony lets her leave before you get there, it's only because he's already done something I'll have to bail him out for. Get there."
"On it, Nick. Where are you?"
"Heading to the ER. Don't call me unless she's in handcuffs."
I ended the call and tossed the phone onto the dashboard. I didn't wait for a response. I didn't need to hear the protocol. I needed results.
Beside me, Aubrey let out a sharp, hitching breath. Her hands were clamped over her stomach, her fingers digging into the fabric of her T-shirt. She looked so small—so fragile in the middle of this massive truck, surrounded by the smell of oil and pine that usually made her feel safe.
"Does it still hurt?" I asked, my voice softening as I pressed my cheek against the top of her head.
"Just... just the side," she whispered, her voice barely audible over the roar of the engine. "Nick... what if... what if the fall...?"
"Don't," I interrupted, my heart slamming against my ribs. "Don't go there, Aubrey. That baby is a fighter. It's got your blood and my... it's got us. It's okay."
I almost said my blood. The lie—the beautiful, necessary lie—was so ingrained in my soul now that I forgot it wasn't true.
To me, that heartbeat was mine. And the thought of it stopping because of some bitter, city-bred cruelty made me want to turn this truck around and show Chloe exactly what a mountain looks like when it collapses.
But I couldn't. I had to be the anchor.
I pushed the truck harder, the needle on the speedometer climbing as we hit the paved road leading into town. The lights of the hospital appeared in the distance, a cold, clinical glow against the dark Appalachian horizon.
I pulled into the ambulance bay, not even bothering with the parking lot. I killed the engine and was out of the door before the keys had stopped swinging. I rounded the front of the truck and pulled Aubrey out, lifting her into my arms as if she weighed nothing at all.
She clung to me, her fingers fisting in my shirt, her face hidden in my neck. She was shaking so hard I could feel it in my own bones.
"I've got you," I murmured, my stride long and desperate as I kicked open the emergency room doors. "I've got both of you."
The nurses started moving the second they saw us. They saw the grease on my clothes, the blood on Aubrey's arm where she'd scraped it on the floor, and the sheer, lethal panic in my eyes.
"She fell," I told the head nurse, my voice echoing in the sterile hallway. "She's fifteen weeks. Someone shoved her."
As they took her from my arms and settled her onto a gurney, I felt a piece of my soul go with her.
I stood there in the middle of the hallway, my arms feeling suddenly, agonizingly empty.
I looked down at my hands—the hands that could rebuild a shattered engine, the hands that could hold a mountain together—and I realized they were shaking.
I leaned my head against the cold white wall and closed my eyes.
Please, I prayed to a God I hadn't spoken to in years. Take me. Take whatever you want from me. Just let that baby be okay.
Behind me, the doors hissed open again. I didn't have to look to know the storm was moving. Brandon was in town. Chloe was in cuffs. And I was standing in a hallway, waiting for a heartbeat.
The peace of Willow Creek was dead. And God help anyone who tried to stop me from burying the remains.
The hospital room was too bright, too white, and smelled overwhelmingly of antiseptic and floor wax. I was lying on a narrow gurney, the paper sheet crinkling beneath me with every shallow, terrified breath I took.
They had taken my denim jacket. They had taken my shoes. I felt exposed, stripped down to nothing but my fear and the dull, throbbing ache in my hip where I'd hit the floor.
"Okay, Aubrey. Just try to relax your muscles for me," the technician said. She was a middle-aged woman with kind eyes and a soft voice, but her professional detachment felt like a wall I couldn't climb over. "I'm going to apply the gel. It might be a bit cold."
I flinched as the blue liquid hit my skin. My hands flew to the railings of the bed, my knuckles white. "Where is he?" I rasped, my voice sounding like it was coming from someone else's throat. "Where's Nick?"
"He's right outside the door, honey. Only patients in the room for the initial assessment," she said, her eyes fixed on the black-and-white monitor.
"I want him," I sobbed, the tears leaking out of the corners of my eyes and disappearing into my hair. "Please. I need him."
I didn't care about the rules. I didn't care about the hospital's policy.
I felt like I was drowning in the middle of a vast, silent ocean, and Nick was the only thing that knew how to swim.
I needed the weight of his hand. I needed the cedar-and-grease scent of him to drown out the smell of bleach.
The technician paused, looking at my heart rate monitor, which was pinging in a fast, erratic rhythm. She sighed, a small crack appearing in her professional mask. "Let me see if I can get him in here. Just keep breathing for me, okay?"
She stepped to the door, whispering something to a nurse. A second later, the heavy door swung open, and Nick practically filled the room.
He looked like a man who had been through a shredder.
His hair was a mess, his work shirt was wrinkled, and his face was set in a mask of such intense, concentrated worry that it made my heart ache.
He didn't say a word. He strode across the linoleum, ignored the chair, and dropped to his knees right beside the bed.
He grabbed my hand, his large, calloused palm swallowing mine whole. He squeezed—not enough to hurt, but enough to let me know he wasn't going anywhere.
"I'm here," he whispered, his voice a low, vibrating anchor. "I'm right here, Aubrey. Look at me."
I turned my head, locking onto his gray eyes. They were steady. They were a mountain. I let out a jagged breath, my thumb tracing the grease under his fingernails.
"Is it okay?" I asked, my voice trembling. "Nick, is the baby okay?"
The technician moved the transducer over my stomach, her eyes narrowing as she searched the graininess on the screen. The silence in the room was absolute. It was the kind of silence that precedes a disaster. I held my breath, my chest tightening until I thought I would collapse.
And then, it happened.
Thump-thump. Thump-thump. Thump-thump.
The sound filled the room, amplified by the machine. It was fast, steady, and incredibly loud. It was the sound of a miracle.
I let out a sound that was half-laugh, half-sob, my head falling back against the pillow as the tension finally snapped. "It's there," I whispered, the tears coming in a flood now. "Nick, listen. It's there."
Nick didn't look at the screen. He kept his eyes fixed on mine, his own gaze glassing over with a moisture he wouldn't let fall. His grip on my hand tightened, his shoulders finally dropping from their defensive stance.
"I hear it," he rasped, his voice thick. "I hear it, baby. It's strong. Just like you."
The technician smiled, her hands moving more relaxed now. "Heartbeat is 154. Strong and regular. I don't see any signs of placental abruption or distress. Your baby is a little fighter, Aubrey."
She moved the wand around, showing us the tiny, flickering shape on the screen.
At fifteen weeks, the baby was still so small—no bigger than an orange—but I could see the movement.
A tiny arm jerked. A leg kicked. It was a person.
A whole, separate person who had survived a fall, a betrayal, and a hurricane of city drama.
"Can you tell...?" I started, my voice trailing off.
"The gender?" The technician chuckled. "It's still a bit early to be 100% sure, and the baby is tucked away pretty tight right now. We'll have to wait for the twenty-week anatomy scan for the big reveal."
"It doesn't matter," Nick said, his voice firm and absolute. He reached out with his free hand, his fingers grazing the edge of the gel on my stomach, his touch reverent. "Doesn't matter at all. As long as they're healthy."
I watched him—the man who wasn't the father by blood, but who had stood in this white room and held my hand through the darkest hour of my life.
I looked at the grease on his knuckles and the love in his eyes, and I realized that Brandon might have given this baby life, but Nick was the one who was going to give them a father.
"We need to keep you for observation for a couple of hours," the technician said, wiping the gel off my skin. "Just to be safe. But the worst is over."
As she left the room, Nick didn't move. He stayed on his knees, his forehead coming down to rest against our joined hands. He was shaking—a fine, deep tremor that he'd been hiding the whole time.
"I thought I lost you," he whispered into the sheets. "Both of you. I've never been that scared in my life, Aubrey. Not in a building, not on the road. Never."
I reached out, my fingers tangling in his dark hair, pulling him closer. "You didn't lose us, Nick. You're the reason we're still here."
We stayed like that for a long time, the steady echo of the heartbeat still ringing in my ears. The city was still out there. Chloe was in a cell, and Brandon was somewhere in the dark, but in this room, the world was quiet.
I was fifteen weeks pregnant. My hip was bruised. My heart was battered. But the heartbeat was there. And the mountain wasn't moving.