Chapter 10 Declan
DECLAN
Two weeks after I promised Willow I’d stay out of her medical business, I see her name on the board at the nurses’ station.
I knew she’d be coming for a viability scan.
I’m one of the people who set it up. I thought about it all last night, how I’d be seeing her again today, or rather that I wouldn’t be seeing her.
Seeing her name on the board is a reminder of all the things that could go wrong, made even worse by the words “elevated BP” next to her name.
My stomach drops. I tell myself not to notice the room number next to her name, not to walk by that room.
I’ve recused. I’m not her doctor. But my feet don’t listen.
I tell myself I always do this, walking the unit like some eejit with nowhere better to be. I tell myself I always walk all the way down the hallway and nod at the nurses in their rooms, that it’s a coincidence when I end up outside her room, peeking in.
Nurse Nicole pushes the cuff again, frowning at the screen.
Willow tries for lightness. “Is that…bad?” she asks. Paper crackles under her as she shifts. She’s wearing the soft kind of dress that remembers being a T-shirt. Her hair’s pulled up, the line of her neck bare. She looks like someone who meant to go back to work after a routine check.
Nicole looks up and catches my eye, and for a second, she forgets about the strange tension she picked up on between the three of us and Willow, validated by our recusal. She says out loud, “Doctor—” and then stops herself, saying, “I’ll page Patel.”
But then Willow’s eyes follow Nicole’s and catch mine. Her gaze lingers. Green, sharp, scared. “Can…Dr. Murray come in?” Her voice is gentle, unsure if she’s allowed to ask.
It should be the moment I shake my head, remind her I’m not her physician, and walk away. But her fear is evident in the way her hands are tearing at the paper sheet underneath her and the widening of her big green eyes.
“Is that…would it help if I was here?”
She nods, squeaks, “Please, Declan,” and I step inside but keep my hands to myself, telling myself presence isn’t the same as care.
Numbers don’t lie. They can’t. 148 over 94 blinks up at me, smug as a warning light on a dash. Too high. Not in the red that sets off alarms, but high enough that the gut in me that’s learned to trust patterns goes cold.
Nicole repositions the cuff and hits recheck. The cuff deflates. 150/96.
“Are you getting repeat pressures and labs?” I ask Nicole, concern sharpening my senses.
Willow huffs a laugh that sounds brittle. “It’s one high reading. Please don’t make me do another. I hate the cuff.”
“Everyone hates the cuff,” Nicole drones, nonchalant, a pen in her mouth and her eyes still on the screen.
“Like taxes,” I offer.
“Like men who think they’re funny,” Nicole says, shooting me a look, and I pretend to be offended, clutching my chest.
“I ran from the car. The cuff hurts. I’m nervous,” Willow says, listing the reasons her blood pressure might be high. It almost makes me chuckle.
“All that can certainly push it up,” Nicole says gently. “If that’s the case, let’s wait and see if it settles. If it doesn’t, we’ll move you to observation for a bit.”
Willow’s chin lifts. “I have a shift. I can’t no-show. Not being able to pay my bills isn’t going to lower my blood pressure.”
“You can,” I say, quiet. “And if the numbers stay like that, you should.”
Her eyes snap to mine. “You don’t get to order me around.”
“I’m not ordering you, for feck’s sake.” I hold her gaze and keep my hands at my sides. “No one here is ordering you or will order you to do anything. But you should know that preeclampsia starts quiet and ends loud.”
Silence, save for the machine. Her hand moves, uninvited, to the small round of her stomach. It’s early, but no one here is pretending we don’t all know what’s at stake. Three. Her fingers splay; something tightens under my ribs in sympathy.
I prod, forcing her to understand my point. “Do you have a headache?”
“No. I’m just…floaty.”
“Dizzy?”
“A little,” she admits, and I can’t help but notice the way her mouth presses into her cheek, twisting as she realizes I’m right.
It’s a mannerism I’ve noticed from her a couple of times.
I wonder if her children will have it. I haven’t known her long enough to feel like anything she does is familiar, but somehow I do.
After a moment, she whispers, “I hate hospitals.”
“So do I,” I answer honestly. “But listen, if it’s nothing, it’ll be quicker.
If it’s something, it’s less time spent here if you let them help you now.
Let them be careful now so we don’t have to be heroic later.
Do you really want to see how a guy like Dr. Byrne acts when he’s the hero?
” I smile warmly at her, raising my eyebrows, and she smiles back. Her smile is thinner, more careful.
She looks up at Nicole and nods. Nicole’s smile is easier than both of ours. She says, “I’ll get Dr. Patel and request an observation bay.”
Willow looks up at her and asks, “Are they going to take blood?”
“Just a little,” Nicole replies, clipping her pen into her scrubs pocket.
“They’ll always stop before you run out,” I offer, channeling Sean’s ease even when I don’t feel it.
I feel scared for her and the babies. I realize again why the recusal was necessary—this fear would impede my judgment.
Willow huffs something like a laugh, and I realize I’ll do anything to hear that sound.
Nicole slips out with her pen still clipped to her pocket, leaving us in the hush of paper sheets and the cuff still squeezing Willow’s arm.
“You need to start taking this seriously,” I say quickly, my eyes darting to the door.
Willow blinks at me, startled. “I am taking this seriously,” she grunts, tugging at the bottom of her dress. “I’m here, aren’t I?”
I shake my head. “That’s not enough, and you know it. You need to do more than just show up for scans. You’ve got three lives in there, Willow.”
Her jaw tightens. “What about my life? I’m more than an incubator, you know.”
I lean forward and hiss, “Of course I know that. Do you realize how much your safety means to me, so it does?” I reach for her chin and gently pull her face to look up at me.
She inhales sharply, her eyes moving back and forth between mine.
“This isn’t just about the babies. I can’t lose you, Willow.
” After a pause, I add, “I’m booking you into a Lamaze class. ”
Her laugh is small, incredulous. “Lamaze? What’s the point? Isn’t that the part that comes naturally?”
“Nothing about birthing triplets feels natural. Listen, I want you prepared when you have these babies,” I bite back, then rein it in. “Everything is easier if you’ve prepared enough.”
She shakes her head, cheeks coloring. “I’m not doing that alone.”
“Good,” I say. “You won’t. I’ll go with you.”
Her mouth opens, then shuts again, like she can’t decide whether to argue or thank me. Finally, she mutters, “You’re ridiculous.”
“Ridiculously effective,” I correct, and I hold her gaze until the door bursts open with Dr. Patel holding the handles of a wheelchair. She pats the seat and smiles at Willow.
“Ms. Abel, I’m Dr. Patel. I hear we’re giving you the VIP tour,” Dr. Patel says affectionately. Willow rolls her eyes at the wheelchair and gives me a wide-eyed look, mock-dramatic. I can’t help matching it with the same twist of my mouth she had earlier.
“Not my favorite club,” Willow chirps, scooting off the bed.
“Same cover charge everywhere,” Patel replies.
“Here’s the plan. Pressures are elevated.
With triplets, we take that seriously. We’ll keep you tonight to watch you, run labs, decide if this is transient hypertension or the early whisper of preeclampsia.
If the numbers drift down with rest and fluids, great.
If not, we’ll start a low-dose antihypertensive and send you home with a cuff and a schedule you’ll hate.
You’ll text us readings. You’ll think we’re overbearing.
We won’t apologize. Either way, we have tools. You’re in the right place.”
Willow nods, jaw tight. “Okay.”
“And you’re not in trouble,” Patel adds, softer. “Your body is asking for attention. That’s not failure. It’s information.”
Willow’s eyes close like she needed to hear that. “Thank you.”
Patel glances at me. “Dr. Murray.” A beat. “Out.”
“Out,” I echo, and I retreat, knowing it’s the right thing to do the same way I know that it’s better for Willow to hate me than to risk her safety. But when I look back, she catches my gaze, and I sigh in relief knowing that she doesn’t.