Chapter 38
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Wyatt
I’ve sat in this cold, sterile hallway for an hour. Sixty minutes of watching the second hand on the wall clock.
Alex is safely asleep on the pediatric ward—hooked up to a monitor and breathing through an oxygen tent.
I sat with him, clutching his little dirt-stained hand tightly until he finally fell asleep, his small body finally giving in to the exhaustion.
I thought being with him would take away from the gnawing terror of not knowing if the woman I love is ok.
He’s safe. Because of her. He’s alive because she didn't think twice about diving into a furnace for a boy who isn't even hers by blood.
But I haven’t seen her yet. I moved back to the waiting room because I couldn’t bear the thought of not being here when the doctor finally had news.
Behind those double doors, they’re still working on her.
My hands are still stained with black soot, my knuckles raw, and my lungs heavy with every breath, but I don’t feel any of it. All I can feel is the terrifying void in my chest where my heart used to be.
The doctor steps through the double doors, and I’m on my feet before he can even call my name.
“Mr. Miller?” he asks. “Are you Emily’s next of kin?”
“Yeah, of course,” I answer frantically, “she has nobody else…it’s just us.”
He nods sympathetically. “She’s in recovery. She’s still asleep, but you can go see her now.”
The breath I’ve been holding for hours leaves me in a ragged, broken shudder. “Oh…thank God.”
“There are just a few things I need to speak to you about first,” the doctor says clinically.
“She sustained mostly superficial burns to her body. We’re not concerned they’ll leave any lasting damage or need extensive treatment, but her lungs took the brunt of it.
Smoke inhalation is our primary focus now.
Thankfully, she managed to shield your son.
She likely saved his life by taking the worst of the heat herself. ”
I close my eyes, a fresh wave of guilt and agonizing pride crashing over me. Emily. My brave, selfless, beautiful Emily. She went into that fire for a son that isn’t even hers, but she loves him like he is.
“She’s going to need to stay for a few days so we can treat the inhalation and monitor her oxygen,” the doctor continues. He pauses, looking down at his clipboard. “But…her bloodwork showed something else.”
I stiffen. “Something else? Is there a complication?” The panic in my voice cranks up.
“Her HCG levels are significantly elevated, so we have had to adjust the treatment we’ve been able to give her,” he says, looking me straight in the eye. “Mr. Miller, did either of you know that she’s pregnant?”
The world stops. The sound of the monitors, the rush of nurses, vanishes into a deafening silence. I stare at him, my mouth suddenly bone dry.
Pregnant.
Emily’s pregnant?
“Wh—what?” I stammer, no longer able to form a sentence. “N—no. We didn’t…are you sure?”
“We’re sure,” he says with a small, sympathetic nod. “Judging by the levels, our best estimate is that she’s around seven or eight weeks along, possibly more.”
Seven or eight weeks?
The math hits me like a freight train. That night. Her dad’s empty house. The mattress on the floor when I told her I wanted her to myself. I’d joked about her being pregnant, secretly craving the thought of it, never imagining that we’d already made it a reality. Something surges in my chest.
She was in that fire. My son was in that fire. My unborn child was in that fire.
I reach out and grab the back of a plastic waiting room chair to keep my knees from buckling. She saved more than she even realized tonight.
“Can I see her? I need to see her.”
The doctor nods and pushes the door open for me.
The silence of her recovery room is a stark contrast to the noise down at the ranch this evening. It’s still echoing in my ears. The only sound in here is the mechanical hiss of the oxygen mask covering her face.
I pull a chair close to the bed, my legs almost numb. Seeing her like this, so still, her skin pale beneath the streaks of soot they haven’t fully scrubbed away, makes my chest ache. I reach out with a trembling hand, and I brush a stray lock of hair away from her forehead.
“You’re a goddamn miracle, Emily Callahan,” I whisper, my voice thick with the tears I’m holding back.
I look down at the thin hospital blanket covering her. My mind is still reeling from the doctor’s words.
Seven or eight weeks.
I hesitate for a heartbeat, then slowly, I lay my hand flat against her stomach.
Above our child. My palm is large enough to cover nearly the whole space where our future is currently hiding.
The heat of her body seeps into my skin, and for the first time since I saw the smoke rising over the trees, I feel like I can breathe.
She’s carrying my baby.
“You saved him, Em,” I murmur, leaning closer so my forehead rests against hers. “You saved Alex. Now I need you to be here for our baby.”
The reality of it hits me all over again.
I almost lost the woman I’ve loved for twenty-three years and the child I didn’t even know we had.
The thought makes me want to roar and cry all at once.
I’ve spent so much of my life guarding Alex and myself, but I’ve never had anything as precious as the two lives currently resting under my hand and my son, who’s fast asleep in a hospital bed.
“I told you I was never letting you get lost again,” I whisper, my thumb tracing her beautiful skin. “And I meant it. You just rest, baby. When you wake up, I’m going to be right here. We’re going to be right here. I’m never letting go.”
I don’t care about the ranch right now. I don’t care about the damage or the smoke or the work waiting for me. I stay here a while, my hand anchored to her, watching every difficult breath she takes, waiting for the moment those blue eyes open and find mine again.
* * *
I must have fallen asleep against the edge of the mattress. My head is resting on my crossed arms. What wakes me is the warmth of her thigh against my shoulder, and then, a slight shift in the sheets.
I bolt upright, my heart frantic. “Emily?”
Her eyes flutter open, but she struggles to focus. “Wyatt,” she croaks. It’s a scrappy, sandpaper sound that makes my own throat ache.
“Emily, baby, I’m here.” I’m on my feet in a second, my hand smoothing the messy tangle of hair away from her face. “I’ve got you.”
“Alex,” she wheezes, her chest hitching in a sudden, sharp panic.
“He’s fine, Em. He’s in the pediatric ward just down the hall, and he’s doing great. He’s asleep with my dad. You saved him. You did it, baby.” A hot tear escapes and tracks down my cheek. I don’t even try to wipe it away.
She nods weakly, her eyes welling up. “It hurts.”
“I know. I know it does. Just rest. You’re safe now.”
I want to crawl into that bed and pull her against me, to shield her from the pain the same way she shielded my son from the flames. I want to tell her about the life growing inside her, but I can’t. Not yet. She’s too fragile.
I watch her drift back into an exhausted, shallow sleep as I brush my fingers through her hair continuously. For an hour, I watch her breathe, thinking about how her body is currently fighting two battles at once, recovering from the smoke and growing a new life.
She stirs again, her hand clutching at the rails. “Wyatt! Wyatt!”
“I’m right here. What’s wrong?”
“I feel like…I’m going to throw up.”
Shit.
I grab the nearest basin as she heaves. I hold her steady, rubbing her back as she hurls up nothing but bile and bitterness. My mind is racing. I have no idea if this is the smoke inhalation or if this is the first sign of the news the doctor gave me.
“Easy, baby,” I soothe, pulling her hair back from her face. “That’s it. I’ve got you.”
When her retching subsides, I set the basin aside and sit on the edge of the bed, wiping her mouth with a cool cloth.
“I’m sorry, Wyatt,” she murmurs slowly, her eyes closing in shame. “I’m such a mess.” She winces as I lower her back down to her pillow.
“Emily, you saved our son’s life. You’re the most beautiful damn thing on this planet.”
She pulls a face, clutching her ribs. “It fucking hurts to breathe, let alone throw up. God, what kind of meds do they have me on? Why don’t I feel numb yet?”
“They can’t give you the heavy stuff, Em.”
Her brows pinch together in confusion. “What do you mean? My lungs almost exploded, Wyatt. Give me the good stuff.”
“They can’t,” I say, trying to steady my voice, but I’m trembling inside. I take her hand, lacing my fingers through hers. “Because…you’re pregnant.”
She lets out a dry, raspy snort, a laugh that immediately triggers a violent coughing fit. She struggles to catch her breath, and for a second, I’m terrified I’ve finished what the fire started.
“Wyatt,” she gasps once the coughing dies down, her eyes wide. “Did you hit your head in that fire? Because I’m pretty sure you just said I was pregnant.”
I press my lips into a thin line and nod. “I’m serious, Em. They ran your blood when you came in. You’re having my baby.”
Her mouth falls open. She looks around the sterile room, blinking slowly as if she’s waiting for the hallucination to end. Then she looks back at me, her nose scrunched up in total denial.
“I’m…what?”
I can’t help it—a small, lopsided smile breaks through my worry. She looks so damn funny, so completely floored. “You really didn’t know?”
“Does this look like the reaction of someone who knew?” she snaps weakly, though there’s no real heat in it. “Wyatt, we drank champagne like it was going out of fashion last night. I had no fucking clue.”
Her face suddenly pales, real terror replacing the shock. “Shit. Wyatt…is the baby okay?”
The panic in her voice kills my smile instantly. “I don’t know yet, baby. The nurse wanted to wait for an ultrasound until you were fully awake. But I’m here. Whatever happens, we’re in this.” I clutch her hand in both of mine.