Chapter 19
NICK
A flash of light startles me awake, then I squint against the brightness.
I turn my head from side to side, confused and so fuckin’ thirsty.
There’s a constant ticking behind my head and a curtain drawn around the cubicle where I’m lying in a bed.
Not my bed. A flurry of people are moving quickly around me.
I try to focus on their words, but it all meshes together.
Then the sound of material ripping as a nurse slices through the fabric of my shirt. Fuck, that’s a five-hundred-dollar shirt. A quick memory of buying it with Cheryl at one of the shops at Aria flashes through my muddled brain.
A guy in a mask leans over me. “Can you tell me your name?”
“Nick,” I croak out, my throat like sandpaper.
“Okay, Nick, can you tell me how this happened?”
“Fucker stabbed me in the gut.”
He nods as he shines a light in my eyes. “I’m Dr. Evans. We’re going to take care of you.”
“Alright people,” the doc shouts to the others in the room. “Let’s move. Looks like a stab wound in the upper quadrant. Pressure dressing applied, but there’s still bleeding. Vitals?”
“BP 90/50,” a voice says from behind me.
“Nick, where is the pain?”
“Left side . . . all the way up to my shoulder.” I grimace, then lick my lips. “So thirsty.”
He probes around, then presses my stomach, and I scream out as my back arches off the table.
“Just try to relax. We’re going to give you something for the pain.”
“BP dropping, 80/50.”
A nurse wraps a tourniquet around my biceps, then the prick of a needle. “IV in. Starting fluids wide open.”
“Ultrasound scanning.” Someone else on my other side holds a wand over my stomach.
"Perihepatic space clear... Pericardium... clear. Wait, here it is. Perisplenic space... massive fluid. Looks like a splenic laceration. Large amount of fluid in abdominal cavity.”
He pushes on my stomach again, and I groan. “Looks like a splenic injury.”
“Vitals please.”
“Heart rate 140, BP dropping 75/40. We’re losing him, Doctor.”
“Spleen is bleeding out. Push one gram of TXA. No time to type-match. Call the blood bank. We need uncross matched O-negative on standby. Trauma protocol.”
Their words and phrases float over me as my eyes dart from side to side.
The doc leans over me. “Nick, stay with us.”
I blink, struggling to keep my eyes open.
“We’re taking you to surgery to repair the damage.”
Movement, then lights pass overhead at a dizzying speed. I squeeze my eyes shut and envision Cheryl and Portia, begging with any strength I have left to see them one more time. We bang through another set of doors, and they angle me into a smaller, tiled, freezing-cold room.
“We’ve got a thirty-two-year-old male with a ruptured spleen from a stab wound. He’s hypotensive and tachycardic.”
Another team surrounds me as they shout orders and spit out more words and phrases I don’t understand.
A woman in surgical gear rests her hand on my shoulder. “Sir, you’re going to be fine, but we have to transfer you to the operating table.” Then she looks at the nurses on my other side. “On my count. One, two, three.”
They lift me onto a hard surface so narrow, my arms fall to the side.
Another masked face hovers over me. “I’m Dr. Chen, your anesthesiologist.” He examines the tangle of tubes coming out of the IV in my arm. “You’re in good hands. Just close your eyes and relax.”
I stare into his face, and Sal’s ghostly premonition of me dying alone shivers through me, then nothing.
CHERYL
Midnight/Christmas Eve
My father, Samson and I have been sitting in the waiting room for hours. We’ve been informed that Nick’s having his ruptured spleen removed and that the operation will take anywhere from two to three hours and maybe longer because of complications.
We’ve sat, paced, and drank bad coffee out of the vending machine. I’ve also devoured a bag of M&Ms, but I can’t slow my mind down with all the many things that can go wrong.
I jump to my feet when the doctor finally appears in the waiting room. I try to read his expression, but he’s a true professional used to delivering news—good and bad.
“How is he?” I venture. My father flanks me on one side with Samson on the other side.
“He’s lost a lot of blood and we did have to transfuse him. Although a ruptured spleen can be life-threatening, he’s young and in good health. Right now, his condition is guarded, and the next twelve hours are crucial.”
“Crucial?” I whisper. “What are you saying?”
“His overall health is in his favor, but there’s no denying the severity of the condition. Hopefully, after the anesthesia wears off he’ll regain consciousness and we will know more then.”
“Can I see him?” I ask.
“He’s still in recovery, but he should be moved within the hour. I’ll check back when we have an CCU room assigned to him.”
I’m frozen in place even after the doctor leaves. My father nudges me in the direction of the chairs, and I sit.
“Shit,” Samson mumbles next to me.
“I’m not leaving him,” I say to no one in particular, then try to reassure myself that he’ll be in CCU instead of ICU. I try to hold onto every little bit of hope for him, for me, and for Portia.
Over an hour later, and the doctor hasn’t reappeared.
Samson and my father have offered words of encouragement, but even they’ve run out of moral support. Their faces are lined and weary and a quick trip to the ladies’ room shows deep, dark circles under my own eyes.
I check in with Izzy who’s keeping watch over Portia. Right now, she just knows that her Daddy had an accident. Hopefully, the next news will be good news, but right now I just want to see Nick for myself.
A nurse finally gives us the news that Nick’s been moved to CCU, and that I can see him for fifteen minutes.
I bolt out of the waiting room and follow her through some automatic doors then to a line of rooms with a nurse stationed at every other room.
“He’s breathing on his own, which is a good sign, but you only get fifteen minutes.” The nurse pushes open the door to his room and I draw in a deep breath not knowing what awaits me.
I slowly approach the bed, my eyes glued to Nick’s prone body. The only sound in the room is the ticking of the machines behind his bed with wires and tubes connected to his body.
His usual tan skin is sallow and pale, but seeing him so still is unnerving. Nick’s natural energy usually fills a room, so unlike this frail, fragile person laying in front of me.
I stand next to the bed, and gently take his hand in mine praying to whatever higher power who still listens to bring him back to me whole and healthy.
“Please come back to me. We’ve waited so long to be together, you can’t leave me now. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
I lean in and kiss his cheek. His skin is cool without it’s natural warmth, and I press my lips together to hold back my emotions threatening to spill over.
“We’ve come so far and done so much, and there’s still so much more we have to do.” I squeeze his hand regretting all the time lost.
“I won’t guilt you about your job anymore, and I’ll support you however and whenever you need it.” I brush away my tears of regret.
“Portia needs you in her life, she—”
Nick’s fingers tighten around mine. His eyes flicker and his lips move, but I can’t hear him.
I lean closer. “What, babe?”
“Disneyland.”
I cup his cheek. “What?”
“Disneyland. We need to take Portia,” he wheezes out.
“Yes, yes.” I bite my lower lip hard, but it’s no use, so I let the tears flow, my body shuddering and crying with joy.
“You’ll have to leave now.” The nurse enters the room. “He needs to rest.”
I stroke his beautiful thick, black hair. “I’ll be back later.”
CHERYL
Christmas Day/Afternoon
“Yeah, well, I don’t care what you say, I’m not staying in this hospital.” I hear Nick’s impatient voice as I push through the door to his room. “It’s my first Christmas with my baby girl, and I’m gonna be home.”
“Your wife just had a baby?”
“Nah, my little girl is ten, but she hasn’t been in my life until now, and it’s our first Christmas together as a family. I promised her I’d spend it with her, and I’m not letting her down.”
I smile at his words and feel sorry for the nurse at the same time. When Nick wants something, he isn’t subtle, and saying no usually doesn’t work. If anything, it makes him fight harder.
“Let me talk to your doctor, Mr. Sinclair, and we’ll see what we can do, but I really don’t think leaving the hospital so soon after your splenectomy is the sensible thing to do.”
“Then it’s the perfect solution.” I enter the room and give the nurse a sympathetic smile. “I’ve known Mr. Sinclair for many years, and he’s never been known to do the sensible thing.”
The nurse and I exchange a look before she leaves, then I sit on the edge of Nick’s bed and stroke his hand. “You have to be patient.”
“Yeah, right, babe, when has that ever happened. I rested all day yesterday. Bad enough I missed Christmas Eve, but I’m not missing Christmas too.”
“It’s only been a day and a half since your surgery.”
Yeah, and I looked it up on my phone. It says you can go home in two to three days if you’re in good health.” He waves his hand over his body. “And I’m in good health.”
“Yes, but you also lost a considerable amount of blood.”
I sit on the edge of his bed and he squeezes my hand. “I just wanna be home with you and Portia.”
“We can celebrate Christmas tomorrow.”
“How fuckin’ lame is that. You gonna make the poor kid wait till tomorrow to open her presents?”
“I’m just saying that—”
“What the hell, fucker? You gonna lay around in bed all day?” Samson strolls in the room with a smirky grin. “Shit, aren’t you goin’ into Wicked today?”
“All right, wiseass.”
Samson flanks the other side of the bed, and we exchange a smile.
“When Frank told me what happened, I was fuckin’ worried, man.”
“I was way past worried.” I bite my lower lip, remembering how I collapsed into my father’s arms when he told me.