Chapter 39 – QUINN
QUINN
“How’s Baby Valentine?” I ask Skylar, my phone tucked between my shoulder and my ear as I approach my car and get in. I start it up, and she comes through CarPlay on my screen.
“She’s good. Sweet. Pukey. Not sleeping. Pooping and peeing every ten minutes and wanting to nurse every five.”
I grin as I pull out of the garage, look both ways, and take a left to head to the stadium.
Skylar went into labor while I was at the team’s away game a week ago Thursday.
I was devastated not to be here when it happened, but we flew home that night, so I got to see her and the baby in the hospital the next morning.
“Sounds like typical new baby stuff.”
“In all its glory,” she deadpans. “But really, how weird is it that I grew a baby, pushed it out of my vagina, and now I’m feeding it from my boobs?”
“Um. I think that’s called normal.”
“I know. But it’s still weird. I asked Aston if he still wants to have sex with me, and he told me I’ve never been sexier. But how? He has to be lying, right? I don’t feel sexy. Not even a little.”
“Because you’re a hot baby mama with huge, milky tits. It’s a caveman thing.”
“I guess. He’s pretty much the best husband and dad ever, so I’m not complaining. And Zoey is loving being a big sister. Are you still planning on coming by this evening?”
“If that’s okay. I’ll text after the game and see where you’re all at and if it’s a good time. And yes, I’ll bring pizza, but only cheese, so it’s not spicy.”
“Fantastic. Brae is working today, but I think she’ll try to jump over after too. She’s on till seven though.”
I merge onto the highway to get to the stadium. I left extra early this morning. After sneaking out of Rhett’s. Speaking of…
“How’s your guy?”
I smile. “Good. He’s good.”
“We want to meet him. Like for real. More than the handshake I got.”
I tense and chew on the corner of my lip. “I know. But I already feel bad you’re keeping this secret for me and meeting him will only make it more real.”
“Quinn, I love you, but this secret is super fucked. You have to tell your brothers.”
I close my eyes for a half-second and grip the wheel a little tighter. “I know. It’s killing me not to.”
“Then just do it. What are you waiting for?”
I prop my elbow on the lip of the window and lean my head into my hand while I drive one-handed. “I don’t know. Don’t you think it’s worse if we tell everyone midseason?”
“I mean, maybe for Russel. I think Mason and Crew and even your dad will understand. Eventually. They’ll come around, is what I mean.”
I laugh. “Very reassuring, Sky. Thanks.”
“The longer you go without telling them, the more pissed they’ll be.”
She’s right, and I know it. Plus, I’m falling for Rhett. Head over heels falling. I don’t think I need time to figure this out with him. I think we both know what it is.
“I’ll talk to Rhett about it. Maybe during the bye week. That’s coming up. The guys are still talking about going to Vegas for Hayes’s bachelor party.”
“Not Aston and I feel bad about that. I told him he could go, but he doesn’t want to leave the girls.”
“Or you.”
“Or me,” she agrees. “I’m one of his girls.”
I smile at that. “You are. I love that.”
“Roman will just be back from Germany, so he’ll be wiped too. I doubt he’ll want to be away from Brae a second longer than he has to.”
“He’ll go for the weekend though. Maybe Hayes will stay on with everyone else who’s going.”
“Maybe.”
I hear Valentine start to cry in the background.
“Oh, that’s her hungry cry. Of course. Time to nurse.”
“Enjoy, Mama. Love you. I’ll text after the game.”
“Love you. Drive safe.”
My phone cuts out, and music instantly picks up, blasting through my speakers, and I sing along.
Tailgating traffic up ahead makes me frown, and I step on the brakes.
A loud bang cracks the air in time with my body lurching forward from being hit from behind.
My seatbelt catches me in the chest and robs me of my breath, but saves me from shooting up into the steering wheel and windshield.
But it doesn’t matter.
The back of my car fishtails left, the car that hit me nailed the back right, shooting me into the other lane. I spin the wheel to try to compensate, but the car won’t reverse course.
Tires screech, glass crunches, metal grates.
It’s a cacophony of the worst possible sounds.
A scream lurches from my lungs as I smash into the car in front of me, and another car from the other lane slams directly into the back passenger side.
My left side slams against the door, and my head bashes into the window, causing excruciating pain to radiate up through my skull before everything goes black.
Beep. Beep. Beep.
Everything hurts. My head. My body. I don’t know where I am. My eyes crunch tight, but before I can open them, someone is talking to me. Someone I know.
“Quinn, you’re in the hospital.”
Braelyn.
I blink to blinding light right in my eyes and immediately close them again as a fresh wave of agony ripples through me along with a masterclass level of nausea.
“Wiggle your toes for me, Quinn.”
Wren.
“Am I doing it?” I think I manage to say.
“Yes. Good,” she praises. “Can you feel this?”
Something sharp pokes along my legs up to my arms. “Ow. Yes.”
“C-spine is clear. We’re going to take the neck brace off,” Micha announces. “Try not to move, though. You have a pretty nasty concussion.”
I can tell.
“Trauma surgery is—oh my god, Quinn?!” Katy. But… trauma surgery? How bad am I?
I must be pretty bad because nothing feels good. Everything feels awful. Fuzzy. Tingly. Nauseous. Painful.
“Brae,” I manage. “Don’t call my family. Not till after the game.”
“Don’t worry about that right now.”
I open my eyes and search for her even as the room spins like I’m on a ride. “I mean it. Promise me.”
Her face, wrought with worry, shifts in front of mine. “Okay. Fine. I promise.”
I cough, then choke. Oh god.
I’m rolled by about a dozen hands keeping me stable and aligned on my left side.
Unable to stop it, I vomit all over the floor.
It’s horrible and oddly embarrassing, but I can barely comprehend it.
My head is throbbing like nothing else, but it’s more than that.
My heart is fluttering in my chest, the sensation making my nausea worse as it goes up.
Something is wrong.
I can tell. It’s a wave of something coming over me. An aura almost.
I’m crashing.
“I’m not feeling well.” It’s all I can get out.
“Shit,” Braelyn hisses. “Roll her back. Her BP is dropping. Quinn, hang on. We’ve got you. Hang on.”
“Open the saline wide,” Wren yells. “Stand by with epi. We need O-negative in here now. Shit. Look at her upper left quadrant.”
I feel a pinch and burning by my subclavian in my upper right chest.
“I want an abdominal CT stat, and someone get me the portable ultrasound,” Katy demands. “I want the OR prepped and ready. We need to move fast. Judging by the amount of ecchymosis, it looks like a splenic lac.”
“Central line is in,” Micha announces. “Quinn, we’re going to sedate and intubate you.”
“Etomidate is on board,” Brae states. “Succs going in next.” Then her voice is by my ear. “I love you. You stay with us.”
I can’t respond. I can’t move. Then my world is black once again.