Chapter 19
CHAPTER NINETEEN
DRIFTER
The engine idles at the traffic light, and it feels like an age for them to change. There are no words right now that can ease her pain and anguish. And I know she’s worried because it’s written all over her face.
My heart pounds heavily in my chest, causing sickness to swell in the pit of my stomach. I grip the steering wheel tighter, my knuckles turning white.
What’s taking these fucking lights so long?
I glance over at Hell. Her face is white with worry, and she’s biting on her lower lip as her head rests on the window.
She’s lost in thought as she stares out blankly, and a lone tear rolls down her cheek and lands on her top.
I reach over and take her hand, a silent move in solidarity, but she doesn’t look at me. She just tightens her grip.
A car beeps behind me, making Hell jump in fright. I snap my attention back to the lights, noting they’re green now. I reluctantly retract my hand and pull away.
We park up outside the maternity ward and make our way inside. It’s a hive of activity.
The nurse takes our notes and shows us into a side room. Hell is quiet, and I can almost hear her thoughts as she tries to make sense of the situation. There hasn’t been a word spoken since we left the clubhouse. It’s as if neither of us know the right words right now.
Hell climbs onto the bed, and the nurse does her observations. She jots some notes down and smiles warmly.
“You’re in safe hands,” she says softly.
“I just need to attach these to you.” She holds up some wires.
“We need to check the baby’s movements and heart rate.
Is that okay?” Hell nods. “Can you lift your top for me? This wraps around your stomach.” The machine begins to beep as she adjusts the belt into place.
“That’s a good sign, right?” I ask, almost relieved.
The nurse’s smile is tight as she watches the machine closely before turning to us both.
When she takes Hell’s hand, my stomach drops, bracing for bad news.
“The baby’s heart rate is there, but it’s not as strong as we’d like.”
Hell’s head snaps in my direction, and her eyes fill with pain.
I take her other hand and give it a reassuring squeeze. “What does that mean?” I ask.
“That your baby isn’t happy right now. We see this kind of activity when the baby is in distress. What we need to do now is ensure that the baby is getting enough oxygen.” She gives a sympathetic smile. “I don’t want you to panic.”
I sigh loudly, the room heavy with unspoken words. Hell’s sobs fill the space. Her heart is shattering, and there is nothing I can do to help her, no way I can stop any of it.
“Listen,” the midwife says as she rubs Hell’s arm, “this isn’t the worst-case scenario. We just have to act quickly, okay. I need you to take some deep breaths, and I’m going to go grab you a gown.”
She leaves the room, and I slide onto the bed, pulling Hell against my chest and pressing kisses to her head.
The nurse enters with a gown and lays it on the bed along with some long socks like the type you’d get on a long flight.
“I’ll be just outside whilst you change, okay,” she says as she leaves the room again.
I slide from the bed and move Hell’s legs so they’re hanging off the side. She grimaces and clutches at the bed sheets as another wave of pain hits her.
“You okay?” I ask and automatically feel like a complete twat because nothing about this is okay. “I’m sorry, stupid fucking question.”
We wait for the pain to subside before I help her to her feet. I lift her jumper over her head and unhook her bra as she slides it off. I hold out the hospital gown, and she slides it on and turns around for me to tie it at the back.
Once I’m done, she turns back to face me.
“I’m going to help slide your leggings off, okay?
” She nods, and I get down on my knees. She holds onto my shoulders for support as I reach under her gown and roll down her leggings.
I tap her ankles one at a time for her to step out, then I help her back onto the bed before going to the door to let the midwife know.
She breezes back in seconds later.
“So, I’ve spoken to the consultant, and he would like you to have an epidural––”
“No,” Hell says abruptly. “I can’t. I . . .” she stammers.
I rub the back of her hand. “You can do this, Hell. You’re the strongest woman I know.”
“But—” There’s worry etched on her face.
“No but’s. If this is what the doctors think is needed, it’s what we do.”
“Rochelle,” the midwife’s voice is stern, and we both look at her, “we need to give you an epidural because if the baby’s heart rate continues to drop, we will have no option but to go straight down to the emergency theatre. This isn’t to scare you. I’m just giving you all the facts.”
Hell drops her head in defeat. “Okay. I’m sorry, I’m just scared.”
“That’s understandable, but please remember we have you and your baby’s best interests at heart. We also need to take a blood sample from the baby. We have to be sure the baby is getting enough oxygen. So, once the epidural is in place, we’ll get the consultant to come and do that.”
My brows knit together in confusion. “A blood test?”
“Yes. They take a small sample from the head of the baby that will allow us to see the baby’s blood oxygen levels.”
“Will it hurt her?” Hell asks, sniffling.
“No, not at all. For you, it’s the same process as a smear. The doctor inserts a speculum and then inserts a small tube. They’ll do a small scratch on the surface of the baby’s head.”
ROCHELLE
I stare across the room and out the window, looking at the skyline. The noise of the ward fades out until all I can hear is my pulse pounding in my ears.
My heart is breaking into a thousand pieces, and the last few months is playing over on repeat in my brain. What could I have changed?
My attention spans to Drifter, who’s sitting in the chair opposite me, his hands raking through his hair.
I couldn’t have changed his actions, but I find myself wondering if my own behaviour contributed. At the beginning of our journey, I became someone else entirely. I thought I was ready, but looking back, maybe I pushed him away.
Maybe I’m just as much to blame as him in this mess.
I close my eyes as a lone tear rolls down my face. I sniffle, swiping it away with the back of my hand. Drifter looks up, and our eyes connect. I see in that moment that he’s as scared as I am.
He reaches up, grabbing my hand as a small reassuring smile ghosts his lips.
“I’m sorry,” I sob, slapping my hand over my mouth to smother the noise.
He stands and pulls me into his arms, cradling my head to his chest whilst his hand tangles in my hair.
“Hell,” his voice cracks with emotion, “you didn’t do anything wrong, not a thing.
” He breathes deeply, and I can feel his heart ricochetting against his chest. “This is all on me. I’ll spend the rest of my life full of regret, hating myself.
But this . . .” He pushes me away from his chest, hooking his finger under my chin and lifting my gaze to his. “None of this is on you.”
The door swings open, and we both turn as the doctor fills the space. There’s a look of concern on his face, and it immediately has me spiralling. More sobs escape, my body shaking as my mind conjures up the worst-case scenario.
We’ve lost her.
“We need to get you through to the theatre as a matter of urgency.”
He places a clipboard on the end of the bed before turning to the midwife and speaking in hushed tones.
“What’s happening?” Drifter rushes out.
I can’t string a sensible word together as tears cloud my vision.
“No, no. This can’t be happening,” I scream.
“Rochelle,” the doctor says calmly, “we need to get you through for an emergency C-section. Your baby is in distress, and we have to act quickly,” he speaks firmly, as if talking to a scared child.
“Wait,” I whisper. “She’s still here?” I cradle my stomach.
“She is,” he confirms, “but she isn’t happy. We need you to sign the paperwork. One of the midwives will take your husband and get him ready for theatre. He can be with you through the entire process. We just need to get you prepped first.”
I lie back and watch, dazed as the room buzzes with activity around me. Nothing feels real as words are spoken around me, my brain not making sense of any of it.
Drifter is pulled out the room, and I stare after him as sickness swirls in my stomach. The doctor continues talking, but I can’t register the words.
“Do you understand?” he asks again.
“I’m sorry . . . I have no idea what you just said.” My breathing is rapid, and a nurse’s hand rests on my shoulder.
“Rochelle, we need you to calm down. Have you got any jewellery on?”
I frown, confused. Why is she asking about jewellery? As if reading my mind, she adds, “We need to take any piercings out before we go through.”
“Erm, no . . . none.”
They wheel the bed towards the door. The midwife is beside me still, and she lowers the bed until I’m staring up at the ceiling.
“I feel sick,” I mutter. My mouth is dry as I try to swallow. She nods to the doctor, and he acknowledges her back. “We can give you something for that.”
She passes me a clipboard with a form attached and then a pen “Can you sign this?”
I look at her, puzzled. “What? Why?”
“It’s procedure.”
They wheel me out the room the corridor mimicking the chaos swirling around my head and heart right now. I sign without thinking twice and hand her the forms back.
I search the corridor looking for Drifter, but he’s nowhere to be seen.
She notices. “He will be in the theatre once we have you set up.”
I nod, lying my head back and watching as the hospital lights blend into one.
Once we’re in the theatre, I’m transferred to another bed and a sheet is placed just above my chest, restricting my view of what’s happening. The machines beep, and I draw my attention to them, trying to ground myself.
Drifter finally enters, and I feel slightly relieved as he takes position by my head. He looks just as stressed as I feel.
He brushes the hair away from my face, placing a tender kiss on my head. “You are fucking amazing, you know that?” he whispers.
I offer a weak smile in return, because right now, I don’t feel amazing at all.
“Okay,” the doctor says, “we’re about to begin.”
I feel pressure on my stomach and frown. Drifter peers closer, his expression etched with worry. “Wait, she needs help,” he calls out.
The anaesthetist leans over. “Are you okay, Rochelle?”
“I can feel it,” I whisper, wincing.
“We can give you some gas and air, but some tugging and pulling is normal,” he reassures me, passing the gas and air.
I take a deep inhale, relaxing as the sounds of the room filter out. Drifter watches closely, and I wonder if he’ll pass out. He’s pale enough.
“Hmm, I’m starving,” I say, laughing.
Drifter’s frown deepens, and he glances at the nurse.
“You’re really gonna speak about food when your insides are open?” he teases.
I laugh louder, the buzz of the gas hitting me as I inhale again. “This shit’s good. Want some?” I pass him the nozzle, but he shakes his head.
“She’s out,” the surgeon announces. “You have a baby girl.”
I wait, holding my breath for her first cry, but the room is silent.
“What the fuck is happening?” I shout. And then there’s a piercing cry, and relief fills me. The rest of the room feels it too, and the atmosphere immediately feels lighter.
The mid-wife leans over. “A beautiful baby girl,” she whispers. “We’ll just get her checked over, and then I’ll bring her back to you.”
I sigh in relief, and Drifter leans down, placing a tender kiss on my head.
I squint my eyes, still groggy from sleep and pain relief.
It takes a few moments to get my bearings as I scan the room. Then I spot Drifter standing at the large window, his back to me, his frame casting a shadow over the bed.
I remain silent, watching as he rocks our daughter gently, his whole body moving as he quietly shushes her small whimpers.
And then I hear him sniffle. “I am so sorry, princess.” His voice cracks with emotion as he leans in and kisses the top of her head. “Your dad is a terrible man, and he’s really messed-up,” he continues, making his way over to the chair in the corner of the room,
I close my eyes so he doesn’t realise I’m awake.
I don’t want to break this moment. “I let your mumma down. I let you down. But I vow to you that I’m going to change.
I’m going to be a better man for you and your mum.
You both deserve better.” I hear a strained sob escape him as he tries to stifle it.
“God, if anyone ever hurt you like I’ve hurt your mum, they won’t be standing. ”
She lets out a little cry, and I open my eyes., I try to stretch out on the bed, but the pain ricochets through my body. The pain relief is clearly wearing off.
Drifter clears his throat. “You okay, beautiful?” he whispers, trying to hide the fact he’s been crying. I nod, and he makes his way over to me. I grimace as I try to lift myself up.
He places our daughter back in the crib beside us. “Wait, let me help.”
He reaches over to offer his arm for support, slowly pushing my back ‘til I’m upright.
“Do you need some more pain relief?” he asks, almost as if reading my mind.
“No, but I do need a piss.” I laugh, and he shakes his head in amusement.
They removed the catheter as soon as I could start moving my legs and getting up off the bed.
Once I’m sitting on the side of the bed, he slides on my slippers before supporting my weight and helping me up. I hobble across to the bathroom, stiffness radiating through my body. He opens the door for me and whispers, “I’ll wait out here.”
I shake my head. “Please, don’t go,” I say, scared of being left on my own whilst I’m still unsteady on my feet. He nods and helps me use the toilet. I brace myself as the sting burns like nothing I’ve ever felt before.
“Thank you,” I whisper, washing my hands as his hand rests at the base of my back to stabilise me.
He helps me back to the bed, and our daughter cries out. He lifts her to me, and she nuzzles into my chest. I reach in, releasing my breast to feed her. She suckles, and he sits in the chair beside the bed, watching with what can only be described as complete admiration.
“You’re incredible, you know that, right?” I meet his eyes and smile. “No, seriously, you’re a pro. I’m so fucking proud of you right now. You’ve made my heart full.”
“Thank you,” I whisper, looking down at this beautiful little girl.
“Hell,” he says, and I look up again. “I love you.” His voice is thick with emotion, his eyes filling with tears.
“I love you too,” I whisper. He reaches over, squeezing my leg.